My news editor once asked me, “Samuel, do you live on a farm?” Though the owner of nine chickens and a dog, I have to say, somewhat regretfully, that I live in the suburbia of suburbias, right next to Redwood Middle School.

If you’re my avid fan (notice the singular noun), you’ll realize that I’ve lost a chicken, as in my last chicken-related column, I stated that I had 10 chickens. I’m sure you’re wondering what happened to that chicken, so here goes.

It’s a Sunday night, and I am madly rushing to finish my homework. All of a sudden, there is a muffled disturbance from the backyard, kind of like when someone farts in a really crowded classroom, but then no one can get out so everyone starts panicking. Bad comparison? You’ll understand later.

I walk outside, flashlight, wiry 105-pound frame and blue belt Karate credentials ready for a fight. I sweep the flashlight to the chicken coop, and I see the culprit right away.
There’s my dog, growling deeply, hair raised. Standing about 4 feet away is a skunk, eyeing her suspiciously, rear end raised like a cop with a gun.

Let’s analyze the match up.

My dog is considered a more intelligent breed and weighs a solid 50 pounds; the skunk probably weighed less than Shaquille O’Neal’s left toe. In the world of survival of the fittest, those extra pounds can mean life or death.

But the skunk is related the “crazy nastyass honey badger,” an Internet meme popularized by a viral YouTube video. Apparently, the honey badger is quite the fighter. Fearlessly, the honey badger is shown killing cobras and eating honey from a bees’ nest, even as the bees swarm around him.

My dog takes a hesitant step forward. Like with two western cowboys locked in a duel, the tension is palpable, and every movement brings a reaction. The skunk raises its behind in reaction; my dog flinches and backs down. I can see my dog calculating the situation. Do I run away? Do I lunge and kill it? I try to call my dog over, but she doesn’t notice me. She quivers, hesitates and then promptly pounces on the skunk with all her force. All chaos ensues.

The situation is frantic. My dog is yelping and whimpering wildly, the skunk’s spray causing momentary blindness. My dog was not fast enough; the skunk released its gas right before my dog could disable it.

Strangely, the skunk wasn’t moving. I approach it. Like I said, no worries, I know Karate. I had just decided on finishing the skunk with a club when it raised its tail, aimed, and … kept it raised.

Fortunately for me, my family and my international fan base, the skunk seemed to be out of gas.

Realizing it was fatally injured, I left it to die in dignity. Unfortunately for my dog, though, she smelled for two days like … well, there really is no word for it. Maybe the smell of burning natural gas.

And thus ended the saga, going badly for the small guy, as usual.

What, you want to know what happened to my chicken?

Two words: noodle soup.