It was a historical inevitability.
Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its pancreas.
In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.
The possibility of “crossing” was encoded into the objects “chicken” and “road”, and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.
Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.
To actualize its potential.
It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.
Because it could not stop for death.
T. S. Eliot:
To examine the wasteland for worms.
To die. In the rain.
We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.
This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.
Henry David Thoreau:
To live deliberately … and suck all the marrow out of life.
The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.
It was a long and winding road..
Read my lips: no more chicken crossing roads.
A plausible Russian explanation:
They ran out of vodka, and he wanted to get to the liquor store three miles down the road.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, chicken were crossing roads, chicken were staying behind…
All roads are crossable by all chicken, but some roads are more crossable than others.
For ’tis better to suffer in the mind the slings and arrows of outrageous road maintenance than to take arms against a sea of oncoming vehicles…
(Whshhhhhhhhsh) Because it could not resist the power of the Dark Side.
To face a kinder, gentler thousand points of headlights.
Because Pompey threw the die.
Know ye that it is unclean to eat the chicken that has crossed the road, and that the chicken that crosseth the road doth so for its own preservation.
How many roads must one chicken cross?
T. S. Eliot:
Weialala leia / Wallala leialala.