That’s Nugget.
She’s not just a chicken. She’s his chicken.
Every morning before school, Finn runs outside barefoot to find her. He talks to her about spelling tests and clouds. She follows him like a loyal dog and waits for him by the porch every afternoon.
After his mom left last year, Finn went quiet. He stopped smiling, barely ate, and slept poorly. Then Nugget wandered into our yard—this awkward little puff of yellow—and everything changed. Finn started laughing again. Eating. Living.
Yesterday, Nugget disappeared.
We searched everywhere. Woods, roadside, coop—nothing. Finn cried himself to sleep holding her picture.
Then this morning, she was back.
Standing in the driveway like nothing happened. Muddy. A small scratch on her beak. And tied to her leg—a red ribbon with a tag:
“Returned. She chose to come back.”
Finn grabbed her and wouldn’t let go. He skipped breakfast, school—everything—afraid she’d vanish again.
Later that day, an elderly woman arrived in a rusty pickup. Nugget had been caught in her garden fence. She freed her, added the ribbon and tag, and hoped she’d find her way home.
When she met Finn, she told him Nugget said he was brave. He hugged the woman and whispered thank you.
The next morning, Finn went back to school smiling. Nugget stayed in the coop. Hope had come home with her.
Sometimes, kindness doesn’t roar.
Sometimes, it arrives with a ribbon.