The gods that rule over journalism can be cruel. Breaking news inevitably happens just as you're about to clock out on a Friday. That source you've been trying to reach all week calls during the few minutes you slip away for a bathroom break. Computers crash on election night.
But sometimes, those journalism gods are funny, funny dudes.
Several weeks ago, I posted to my Facebook what was one of my first (if not my very first) stories I wrote as the education reporter. It was a hard-hitting way to introduce myself to the beat -- a riveting expose on a chicken that had taken up residence on the UHV campus.
A friend commented that my last story on the education beat should also be about a chicken -- just to really round out my proud journalism career.
At the end of this month, I'm moving to Atlanta to attend law school. And the journo-gods must subscribe to my Facebook because I think they delivered some chickens to DeLeon Plaza today.
A co-worker's husband reported seeing the fowl over the lunch hour, so I rushed a few blocks over to do what will likely be my last investigative report on wayward chickens.
Whereas lots of students and staff at UHV provided theories as to how the chicken ended up on campus, I couldn't get any information from the stragglers at the gazebo today. No one would say much about the downtown chicks.
It's pretty clear every one was in on the conspiracy to free the chickens from what has got to be their least favorite day of the year -- National Fried Chicken Day.
Or perhaps it was indeed those mischievous deities-o-journalism, trying to give me one last smirk before I say goodbye. It worked.
Did you see the chickens downtown today? Know how they got there?
Did anyone warn them Church's Chicken is just a few blocks away?
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