By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026 June 16, 2026
The town expected a dramatic showdown.

There would be bravery.
There would be danger.
There would probably be explosions.
After all, this was Clucker’s Gap.
Instead, the villains defeated themselves through their own stupidity.
Which, according to Marshal Chester Finch, was becoming alarmingly common.
The mystery of the nitrogen-enhanced chicken feed had finally been solved.
The feed had been spread by the Dinklage Family Ice & Snow Removal Company.
This puzzled everyone.
Especially because Clucker’s Gap had not seen measurable snow since President Taft was in office.
The Dinklages were respected members of the community.
They were also little people.
And because everyone knew them, no one ever questioned why their feed truck drove around town at all hours.
Least of all Marshal Finch.
That changed one evening.
Finch was conducting an Official Moped Patrol and Beefy Burger Procurement Mission.
Lou Anne’s Diner was only three blocks away.
His stomach had already filed the paperwork.
Suddenly a cloud of chicken feed exploded into his face.
The Marshal swerved.
His beacon spun.
His siren squeaked.
A chicken applauded.
Finch wiped the feed from his eyes.
Ahead of him was the spreading truck.
But he couldn’t see anyone driving.
“Remote control!” he shouted.
This was the most modern explanation he could think of.
He spun his moped around and gave chase.
The pursuit reached speeds approaching twenty-three miles per hour.
Eventually the truck pulled into the Dinklage farm.
Finch parked behind a hay bale and watched.
To his astonishment, one of the Dinklages stepped out.
Then another.
Then another.
The truck had not been empty at all.
The driver had simply been hidden below the dashboard.
Finch gasped.
The mystery was solved.
But another mystery remained.
Why?
That was when he looked through the farmhouse window.
Inside sat dozens of terrified Dinklages.
And dozens of chickens.
The chickens were guarding every door.
Every hallway.
Every exit.
General Clawford himself sat atop the refrigerator.
The giant rooster wore a sheriff’s badge for reasons no one understood.
The Dinklages were hostages.
Forced to spread chicken feed throughout town.
Finch’s eyes widened.
“This ends now,” he whispered dramatically to himself.
No one else was present.
He removed a strange cone-shaped device from the front of his moped.
It had been issued years earlier by a government agency that no longer existed.
He attached it to the siren.
Then he flipped three switches.
The resulting sound was unlike anything ever heard in nature.
Part European ambulance.
Part foghorn.
Part accordion.
Part extremely upset goose.
The noise blasted across the farm.
WAAAAAAHHHH!

HONK!
SCREEEEEEEE!
WAAAAAAAH!
The chickens froze.
Their eyes widened.
General Clawford dropped a spoon.
The noise intensified.
Several chickens immediately fled through open windows.
Others escaped through the chimney.
One reportedly tunneled through a wall.
Within seconds the farmhouse was completely cleared.
The Dinklages erupted into cheers.
General Clawford dove out a window and vanished into the darkness.
The hostage crisis was over.
Or so it seemed.
At that exact moment, the fleeing chickens crashed into a group of outlaw chicken smugglers hiding behind the barn.
The smugglers panicked.
They ran into the county livestock inspector.
Who panicked.
He backed into a manure wagon.
Which rolled downhill.
Into the smugglers’ truck.
Which crashed into a fence.
Which released three angry goats.
The goats chased everyone into the sheriff’s office.
Where they accidentally confessed to every crime they had committed over the previous five years.
Marshal Finch arrived just in time to witness the arrests.
The sheriff shook his head.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Neither have I,” Finch admitted.
The sheriff looked at him.
“So what exactly did you do?”
Finch thought about it.
“Mostly I turned on the siren.”
The sheriff nodded.
“Fair enough.”
The next morning the town held a celebration.
Mayor Buckley presented Finch with a plaque.
It read:
FOR OUTSTANDING SERVICE IN A SITUATION THAT RESOLVED ITSELF
Finch proudly accepted.
Then he spent six hours writing the official report.
The report was 127 pages long.
Most of it consisted of diagrams showing chicken movements.
The final sentence read:
‘Marshal Finch successfully arrived after events had already begun resolving themselves.’
To this day it remains the most honest law enforcement report in Clucker’s Gap history.
As sunset painted the sky orange, Finch climbed aboard his faithful moped.
His beacon flashed.
His siren chirped.
A distant rooster crowed.
And somewhere beyond the town limits, General Clawford was undoubtedly planning something foolish.

Marshal Finch sighed.
Trouble never rested.
And neither, apparently, did chickens.
To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.
Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes! 🐔🏍️🚨





















A Note From Benjamin





