February 11, 2014 – Dreams of an Olympic medal may have to wait, but there’s no reason I can’t enjoy an Olympic sport in the safety of our snow-covered yard. Today, I am a luger. I took one of Mom’s cookie sheets and slicked up the bottom with wax. Then, I assembled my gear. Charlotte sewed a black neoprene bodysuit for me out of an old knee brace that Mom had hanging around. She even added a lime green fringe – my favorite color. I grabbed a pair of ski goggles, and a sleek motorcycle helmet that Violet spray painted with golden wings. All I had for shoes were my snow boots. I thought they might be too heavy and cause the luge to drag, but they would have to do.
It took Sawyer, Peaches and Charlotte to get me into the suit. It was tight and hugged the entire outline of my body. I could hardly breathe! The pullets had to help me walk up the hill by Mom’s office window. I couldn’t even lift my wings to wave!
They settled me onto the cookie-sheet sled with a plop. I waited on my back with my eyes and toes pointed toward the sky. This was a huge hill, made even larger over the last couple of days by the plow man who cleared the upper driveway. Steady your nerves, I told myself. You are about to make history!
Dolly Parton pulled the goggles over my eyes while Maisy slapped the side of my helmet and yelled, “GOOD LUCK, HAPPY!” even though I would have heard her just fine at a lower decibel. Since we didn’t have push-off paddles, Dottie and Kellie Pickler gave me a hearty shove that sent me airborne over the initial crest, and on to the brilliant course that we had carved out of the side yard’s downhill landscape. What a thrill! I took the first curve high on the wall which thrust my rectangular toboggan into the first straightaway. I was flying! Above me, the colors of the sky convened into a bluish-gray blur, and the worm I had for breakfast came back up. But I was exhilarated! I hit the second curve hard, and thought for a second that I might crash into the wall, but I recovered without mishap. I was online throughout the lower section of the track and finished the race blowing into a snowbank at the back of our coop.
What a rush! I jumped up, tore off my helmet and let out a celebratory whoop! The other hens raced to hug me and offer congratulations. Wilma gave me my time: 3:27. Not bad! Though, to be honest, we have no other chicken-driven sled drivers to compare my time against. Waffles, Kellie Pickler and Peaches now want to become lugers like me. I’m going to have to sneak into the house tonight and grab the rest of Mom’s cookie sheets. I think we should build a bobsled, so we can run the race together. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even organize the first Chicken Olympics! Dottie and Maisy have their sights set on ice dancing. I told them to go for the gold! They’re already wonderful dancers. How hard can ice skating be?