Chicken Run

So I'm cycling along Windsor Road, and I see three people ahead of me: a lady waving her arms in my direction, a man standing awkwardly outside a house, and a policewoman standing beside him holding a chicken under each arm. Here's how the scene goes:
Waving Lady (beckoning me over): 'Do you know anyone around here who keeps hens?'
Me (feeling strangely proud at this): 'Actually yes, there's a woman who sells eggs on a street round the corner...'
Policewoman (looking red-faced and flustered and in faltering English): 'Chickens, chickens, what do I do?'
Man Beside Policewoman: Silence.
Me: 'Would you like me to go to the egg lady and ask if her birds have escaped?'
Policewoman: 'Yes, you go, now.'
Waving Lady and Man Beside Policewoman: Silence.
I make moves to set off.
Man Beside Policewoman: 'Actually, the chickens belong to the house we're standing outside.'
I stop the bike. 'Oh.'
The policewoman marches round the back of the house to investigate. The man picks up his briefcase and rushes round the back too.
Waving Lady: 'Well, the officer really shouldn't have to spend her time chasing naughty hens, and why doesn't she speak English, and what a strange man...'
I smile and go on my way, feeling like I'm an extra on 'The Archers'. Then I enter the Post Office, where I see the woman from the day before with the dog, whom my darling toddler had been compelled to say 'Dirty dog' to for no reason. The woman doesn't have her hound with her today and gives me a beaming smile. I figure she wasn't too offended by Freddie's comment. Phew. Now I'm on the set of, perhaps, Neighbours?

The telephone rang the other day and a distant voice said, 'Hello, Mrs Raj?'. I said, 'Er, Mrs Ridge?'. The caller said, 'Yes, Mrs Ridge. How are you today?'. I said (and this was true that day), 'Well, actually, I've got breast cancer and am having a bad week.'. There was a pause. Then the caller said, 'Oh well, these things happen. Can I interest you in some accident insurance?...'.

I wrote an email to my oncologist recently with a list of questions which he diligently replied to, point by point. In answer to my query about what kind of injection my hormone jab would be (I asked: 'Will it be in my tummy?'), my oncologist wrote back, 'Yes, although we prefer to call it the abdomen.'. Perhaps next I can ask him about Freddie's dinky, my husband's bot bot and my tootsies and see what he says...

I'd better go to beddy bye-byes. Though I'm not feeling very sleepy, and sheep aren't doing it for me at the moment. Perhaps I should count those chickens...