Grounded at Gate 7

Every year, the chickens of Sunny Meadow Farm talked about the Great Migration South. Every year, they chickened out. But this year was different. This year, they had plane tickets.

The Departure

Chester Cluck had spent three months planning this trip. He'd compared fares on seventeen different apps. He'd packed exactly 7 kilograms of luggage (he wasn't paying for overweight, not after last time). He'd even printed his boarding pass because "you never know with technology."

"Gate 7," he announced to the flock, consulting the departure board with the confidence of a seasoned traveler. "Boarding in two hours. Plenty of time."

That was fourteen hours ago.

The Waiting Game

The departure board had become Chester's nemesis. It flickered mockingly:

• Flight CP-777 to Palawan: DELAYED
• Flight CP-777 to Palawan: FURTHER DELAYED
• Flight CP-777 to Palawan: DELAYED (WE'RE SORRY)
• Flight CP-777 to Palawan: DELAYED (WE'RE VERY SORRY)

Mabel, the eldest hen, had already stress-molted twice. Young Pip had run through the entire duty-free shop and was now on a sugar high from airport chocolate. And Rodrigo—poor, anxious Rodrigo—had asked the gate attendant about "updated departure times" so many times that she now pretended to be on the phone whenever he approached.

The Airport Food Situation

"Four hundred pesos for a sandwich," Chester muttered, staring at the airport café menu. "Four hundred pesos. I could buy an entire bag of premium scratch grain for that."

Mabel had already surrendered to the highway robbery, nibbling sadly on what the café optimistically called a "garden salad." It was three pieces of lettuce and a cherry tomato. She'd paid two hundred fifty pesos for it.

"At least the WiFi is free," Pip chirped, before discovering the WiFi required a phone number, email verification, blood type, and firstborn chick to access.

The Announcement

At hour sixteen, the speaker crackled to life.

"Attention passengers of Flight CP-777. We regret to inform you that due to... technical difficulties... your flight has been moved to tomorrow. Please proceed to the rebooking counter. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Chester's left eye began to twitch.

"Technical difficulties," he repeated slowly. "Technical. Difficulties."

Rodrigo had already fainted. Mabel was fanning him with a boarding pass that was now worthless. Pip was taking a selfie with the chaos in the background, captioning it "Gate 7 life 😭✈️".

The Silver Lining

But then something unexpected happened.

As the flock trudged toward the rebooking counter—a line already fifty chickens deep—an old rooster named Tito Jun struck up a conversation. Then another hen joined in. Then a family of ducks on their way to Cebu. Before long, Gate 7 had transformed into an impromptu gathering.

Someone pulled out a guitar. Mabel shared her overpriced salad with a hungry chick. Pip's airport chaos selfie went viral, sparking a trending hashtag: #GroundedAtGate7.

And Chester? Chester finally stopped checking the departure board. He sat down next to Tito Jun and listened to stories about the old days when birds actually flew themselves south.

"Maybe," Chester thought, watching his flock laugh despite everything, "the journey is the destination. Or whatever those motivational posters say."

The Moral

They did eventually make it to Palawan—thirty-six hours later, with lost luggage and a newfound appreciation for direct flights. But what Chester remembers most isn't the beach or the crystal-clear waters.

It's Gate 7. The worst night that somehow became the best story.

Because in the end, chickens don't need perfect airports. They just need each other.

(And maybe better infrastructure. Definitely better infrastructure.)