Jamie logan

I was standing outside a slaughterhouse when a chicken suddenly appeared behind a parked car.

She had escaped from one of the transport trucks carrying thousands of birds to their deaths.

For a moment she just stood there, confused and exhausted. Cars rushed by. Workers searched nearby.

I picked her up and held her close.

To everyone else, she was just one chicken among thousands. But in my arms, she was an individual. Scared. Vulnerable. Alive.

Instead of entering the slaughterhouse that day, she left with me.

Years later, she still spends her days sunbathing, dust bathing, and chasing bugs through the grass.

All because she got lucky enough to be seen.