We haven't talked chickens in a while. I am sure that their numbers in Echo Park have dropped dramatically in recent gentrification years. And not just in terms of representation at Chicken Corner. But they're not all gone. My daughter has a few favorites that she likes to tease through the chain link fence of their home. She likes to say "Cucuy!" to them. I also know a few people who keep them, and occasionally I hear roosters, though not constantly as I used to when I lived on Sargent Place. And a couple of days ago I saw a brown and black hen. She was on Whitmore. Strutting along on the sidewalk. I slowed the car to look at her. I thought about driving on, but then I thought of loose dogs and the like, and so I pulled over to see if I could help the chicken back to her pen or yard. Whichever the case. She hurried ahead of me to a driveway. There was a woman nearby, on the street, and I asked her for information regarding the chicken. She'd never heard of any chicken. So I knocked on a door. An amiable Latino kid answered. He was about 13, had a big chain around his neck and a buzz cut. He didn't know anything about a chicken, though he did come down to the sidewalk to see if he could get a look at it. The next people I asked were some anglos getting out of a white van. Didn't know anything about a chicken, but the guy did go back to the van and ask a guy in the driver's seat. At which I heard an English accent. "He (sic) goes everywhere," said the accent. "He's fine" roaming the sidewalks of Whitmore. So I left our feathered flaneur to her perambulations and went clucking about my own business.

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