Portable chicken coop was supposed to be a practical joke on me

My friend had just returned from a week in the United States travelling to North Dakota and Minnesota by car. We were discussing his visit over coffee when he mentioned dropping into a Tractor Supply Store. “They had a portable chicken coop,” he said. “You could move it around the back yard. I almost bought one for you as a practical joke. I thought $169 was too much for a practical joke,” he said. “Really,” I said, joking that I now know what our priceless friendship isn’t worth. “Can you imagine the reception from customs if you came along pulling a chicken coop behind the Yaris?” I asked He grinned and nodded. My friend is the kind of person who would make sure the chicken coop was solid: in other words ‘put together and hitched to a trailer behind their car.’ I can imagine the resulting scene at North Portal. A harried text from U.S. Customs to the Canadian side reads: “Heads up, Older couple in white Yaris pulling what looks like plastic-based chicken coop coming to your border. Too conspicuous, too weird to not warrant inspection for possible smuggling, alien or terrorist activity.” My friend and his wife arrive at Canada Customs. An officer comes out. “Welcome back to Canada. Have you anything to declare?” “No, just the chicken coop on the trailer. Here is the re- ceipt?’ ”How long have you been in the United States?” “Almost a week.” “What was your purpose? Where did you go?” “We got tired of sitting around the apartment looking at each other. We went to Fargo in North Dakota and Thief River Falls in Minnesota.” “Why Thief River Falls?” “It’s nice country. My wife likes the casinos.” “Tell me more about the chicken coop.” “I was in a Tractor Supply store and I saw this 10x12 foot chicken coop. I thought it would make a good practical joke for my friend in Moose Jaw.” “Why didn’t you leave it in the box to transport all the way to Moose Jaw?” “Well, I wanted to make sure all the pieces are there and in place. My friend is a little challenged working with anything more complicated than a ball point pen.” “We want to inspect your plastic chicken coop,” the customs officer gestured and another officer with a sniffing police dog approached. “What for? Do you think we’re some kind of terrorists?” The first customs officer ignores the question, and asks; “Are you sure you haven’t got something else to declare?” “I guess we both have a can of pop we are drinking. A root beer and a Pepsi.” “OK and that’s all?” “Yes, what is this? Do you really think us old people are a threat to your security?” “We’re just doing our job, sir.” My friend mutters under his breath: “Somebody should be shot for being so stupid.” “I heard that, sir. Get out of the car now and come with me,” his voice turned stern. At that point the alarm clock woke me up. Ron Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net