Why a little brown chicken crossed the road off exit 181 to live beneath a pear tree at the Rumble Road BP is still a mystery to all of us that knew and loved her. Sadly, she recently passed away, and in her memory, this is her story:
Seven years ago, while I was working at the Rumble Road BP and checking the parking lot, a hen walked over the hill from the direction of the interstate and right up to me. More surprising than that was that she started following me around, contentedly clucking away. I called this new friend Ms. Rumble. Before Ms. Rumble, I knew nothing about chickens, only that they ate chicken feed and laid eggs. We didn’t sell chicken feed, so I gave her a hotdog and she tore it up.
She wasn’t allowed inside the store so she would wait for me outside by the front door unless a pickup truck would pull up to a pump and she would scamper out and perch on the tailgate while the driver pumped their gas. Ms. Rumble had a big thing for trucks and when delivery trucks arrived, she’d jump up in the back with the delivery man, sit on a box and watch him scamper up and down the ramp.
