*hijacks your words* “Washington, the terrible chicken raiser” What now? That is my new prompt for you
"Put your back into it!"
Wash paused in his efforts to give Sarge one long, appropriately timed start for that comment. “Put my back into catching an escaped chicken?” he repeated, deadpan.
Sarge didn’t hesitate or pause or really seem to mind the ridiculous factor his words carried. “Maybe try to lure it back with a chicken dance.”
Wash stared again until Sarge stopped giving suggestions. It took about two minutes. “Look, first you saddle me with this chicken coop that I have no idea how you got-“
"It was a donation from the tooth fairy," Caboose interjected. "I lost my tooth one time when I fell really hard going up stairs at the base and I asked for a chicken instead of a dollar. Yep. She was probably just slow getting here because she had to bring it a house, too."
"-just because I mentioned, mentioned, that I like cats. Which, for the record, does not extend to all animals.” Wash kept going through Caboose and every other interjection patiently. “We don’t do anything with the eggs because no one knows how to cook, and Caboose and Sister and Grif have told me I’m not allowed to kill it and roast it.”
"That’d be mean. Chickie is my friend," Caboose added again.
"So now I’m taking care of a live chicken, and you’re all not helping me get it out from under this tiny rock cave it ran into.”
"Hey, I suggested grenades," Tucker said with a shrug.
Wash stared. “That’s not the point.” He crouched down to peer under the rock, hearing the chicken flap its wings excitedly at the prospect of freedom. “Or helpful.”
"Hey, man, if you wanted helpful, you came to the wrong canyon.”