Out of the corner of my eye I saw a bird, a red fowl, strutting like a rooster. I stared at it a moment. Spreading its wings, it saw me and started to charge, as some will do. I turned and ran away through the park. I ran until I couldn’t see it anymore. It was almost dark now, and when I crossed the street, I heard motorcycles coming. I kept walking in a hurry, and the cycles got louder, and when I stopped to catch my breath I turned and saw people riding past me, like a blaring windstorm, a whole line of loud motorcycles with rumbling pipes and red taillights.

*

Several months earlier, Jessie had given me a small red fowl in the park. It was harmless and small enough to hold in my hands. The fowl was partially red with spots of orange, a rounded chest, and a sharp beak. I lifted it and said, “What’s your name? I’ll name you Red Fowl,” and Jessie and his girlfriend Shawnee laughed.

They had their own fowl. The people around the park kept fowls and brought them to the park for exercise, feedings, sharing them with anyone who wanted to see them. Right there, I made the decision: the fowl was mine. I would feed it and watch it grow into something bigger, a rooster or larger fowl, whatever it was. The fowl cocked its head and looked around. I could see its little chest breathing. I put my hand on its chest and felt the tiny heart, the pulsing beat, rhythmic. The fowl was alive. I put it in my jacket pocket to keep it warm and safe. The fowl kept still then, never moving. When I put my finger in the pocket I felt the bird nibble, which tickled a little, but it was never painful. It never scratched at me or tried to get out of my pocket all night. I felt an overall sense of acceptance with it, as if it needed me and I needed it. It’s strange to articulate the feeling for me, but the others in the park felt the same way about theirs. Fowl, fowl, fowl.

Jessie, Shawnee, and I walked past the park and along the road that runs beside the highway until we got to Jessie’s house, where music was blaring and a party was going on.

“It’s a party to celebrate nothing and everything,” I said. “It’s a party to celebrate my new fowl, this bird.”

“We were already here,” Jessie said. “We just went outside to give you the fowl. Be careful with it, though. Someone brought it here to my house. My own fowl’s so big now I can’t even carry it around like I used to. It scratches my skin. Claws at my mouth. I’ve heard it will knock out teeth if I’m not careful, so I have to keep my eye on it.”

“I have to watch it for him,” Shawnee said. “I’m the one who keeps it tame.”

“Mine won’t be that cruel,” I said. “I won’t feed it so much. I’ll let it nibble at my finger and peck on me as it grows, but I won’t let it get out of control. Not this fowl.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Shawnee told me. “That’s why I never took a fowl. Jessie offers one to me, but I haven’t ever taken it. Just look at Jessie’s fowl. The thing is so big it lives out back in a coop and shrieks in the morning and at night. It wakes him up shrieking. You have to feed it or it’ll attack you. I googled that shit once. Those fowls become aggressive and will charge you, and if you walk away or turn your back, it’ll attack. Fucking all around Albuquerque.”

Jessie was chewing on a straw. “You have to raise your arms and flap them so that it thinks you’re a bigger creature than it, and you gotta hope it goes passive.”

“My fowl won’t attack me,” I told them.

“Be careful with it. If you’re not careful with the fowl, it will want to be fed all the time and become angry.”

I took the fowl out and looked at it. Its beak was tiny, and it seemed to almost smile at me. What kind of fowl smiles? But mine did—or at least that was the way I saw it.

“Come inside,” Jessie said, but I declined. I wanted to enjoy the fowl myself, not share it with others. Others inside the party would want to see my fowl.

“No way am I going inside,” I said, and laughed a little. “I’m taking this fowl home.”

“Good luck,” they both said.

I unlocked my bicycle from his porch and rode it back home, where I would have to hide the fowl from Rae. She wouldn’t like the fowl, never. I steered my bike with one hand so I could check on the fowl in my jacket pocket. Its eyes were glowing in the dark as it looked up at me, smiling. I had a happy fowl, and it made me happy. It was fine right there in my pocket, with me protecting it, already grooming it. The fowl wasn’t trying to hurt me or make any noise at all. The fowl was so nice.

When I got back to the house, I hid the fowl in the bedroom in my dresser drawer so Rae wouldn’t find it. I told it good night and looked at it. The fowl had no odor whatsoever. It never made a sound, just breathed its chest in and out, breathing heavily for a tiny thing.

That night I wasn’t able to sleep because I kept thinking about the fowl. I took it out of the dresser drawer while Rae slept and stayed up all night in the living room with it, looking at it and touching it and letting it nibble and peck in my hand. I had no appetite and the thought of food made me feel sick to my stomach.

The most fun thing about the fowl was feeding it, and like most things, it grew quickly and became bigger, but it began to smell bad and shit and vomit in the house. The fowl was too big to hide from Rae, so I had to carry it with me to the park and leave it there. It tried to follow me, and when I picked it up and threw it, I must’ve injured it, because then I saw the fowl drag itself across the ground toward me. I ran away from it that night. I kept hiding from the fowl anytime I saw it in the park, but it always saw me and ended up back at my house, which frightened Rae and caused us to fight.