A small N.J. town banded together to find an escaped emu named Maleficent

Maleficent, the impulsive emu, disappeared into the Salem County night on Dec. 28 after ascertaining with presumed delight that someone had forgotten to latch her gate.

Flightless but fleet — an emu can sprint up to 30 mph — the 1½-year-old eluded capture for a week as she roamed farms, country roads, and dense thickets throughout Pilesgrove, a rural community of around 4,000 people nearly 40 miles southwest of Cherry Hill.

Residents knitted together by Facebook were alerted to the news that an animal was loose in their territory. They shared wisecracks and worries online. A few bravely volunteered to pursue the animal, even though it’s a 6-foot, 100-pound bird that kicks and hisses and is named after an evil queen.

“For the longest time, this was the big thing on Facebook in our small town,” said Heather Bobbitt, 44, who works in the inmate finance office at the Salem County Correctional Facility.

Many Pilesgrove families have been attached to the area for generations. Maleficent was a relative newcomer, having been purchased from a farm near Wilmington when she was eight weeks out of her green egg.

Her owners, Laurie Smith, originally from Pennsauken, and her boyfriend, a fellow from Italy who didn’t want to be named, have lived in the area for four years. Smith, 48, who works as a payroll associate in a school, named the animal after a movie character played by Angelina Jolie because her black-and-gray look reminded Smith of the villainess.

“My boyfriend wanted to eat emu eggs, so we thought we’d start with a female and eventually get a male,” Smith said.

The thick emu egg is equivalent to around 10 chicken eggs, has four times the protein, and tastes pretty much the same, aficionados say.

Bivouacked in a barn painted with Eagles colors, Maleficent has been a delight, Smith said, playing with the family dogs, hanging in harmony with her chicken friends (their coop is painted in Flyers colors), and allowing Smith to pet her.

When Maleficent vocalizes, “she sounds like a Jurassic Park dinosaur, with a guttural noise,” Smith said. “So entertaining.”

Three days after Christmas, Maleficent was gone.

“I was crazy, upset, crying,” Smith said. “We were convinced coyotes had gotten to her.”

Within a day, a neighbor had posted on Facebook that they’d spotted an emu near Auburn Road. “She’s alive!” Smith rejoiced.

She and her boyfriend began scouring the area. Others who didn’t know them joined in, following the country creed that folks care for their own.

A state trooper, who asked that his name not be used, was on the road one night when, he said, “I saw a kind of animal I’d never seen before. I said, ‘What is this thing?’” I chased it off the road to be safe.”

Quite a few people contacted Andrew White, a known emu owner in the area, to see whether he’d lost one of his animal friends.

”I told them no,” said White, 31, a mechanic, who then explained that, should anyone encounter an errant emu, they’d have to get close enough to cover its eyes to calm the animal — while avoiding being kicked to death.

This may have dissuaded some people from continuing their search, though White and his girlfriend (who once jumped on the back of a runaway emu to capture it) didn’t hesitate to sign on to the posse.

Online, people offered sardonic comments such as, “Is the emu out there selling policies?” referencing LiMu Emu, the feathered half of a bird-human duo that hawks Liberty Mutual Insurance in TV commercials.

Another wit shared, “Someone said they saw me riding an emu … How much wine did I have last night?”

Around New Year’s Day, Tiffany Miller, 46, of Pedricktown, who works for an electric company, was riding in a car with her husband when she exclaimed, “Is that a freakin’ ostrich I see?”

She contacted Heather Bobbitt, who happens to be her cousin. “We’re always up for an adventure,” Miller said, “and in 20 minutes, we were in the cornfields.”

People in the area often call on Bobbitt to hunt lost pets or livestock.

“Tiffany asked me if I had a plan to get the emu,” Bobbitt said. “I said, ‘Have you met me? Of course I don’t have a plan.’ But I lack fear, and finding lost animals is fun.”

The cousins were unsuccessful, but on Jan. 3, a neighbor phoned Smith to say the emu was standing in their yard.

Smith’s boyfriend and 10 construction worker buddies surrounded Maleficent while holding flexible plastic fencing. They moved in slowly. Following White’s advice, one of the more daring men slid a sock over the emu’s eyes while Smith threw a blanket over her. The guys grabbed her legs and slid her into a van.

“She was shaking, the poor thing,” Smith said. “But she was OK.” Smith guessed Maleficent had survived on insects, unharvested pieces of corn from stubbled fields, and creek water.

Word ricocheted around social media that the prodigal emu had returned.

Smith was grateful. Miller explained the cooperative dynamic that motivated small-town people to get involved.

“Out here, everybody helps each other,” Miller said. “When things get tough, we all come together.”

Staff writer Ryan Briggs contributed to this article.