“I caw-call this meeting of the F.F into order,” the large-chested rooster said from the front of the coop. “Updates of the Day: The family has added new plants to the yard, which will need to be properly dug-a-doodle-dooed and pecked at immediately; the family has made progress in finding a name for our two newest members; and the bugs are beginning to hibernate in lieu of facing winter.”
“U-r-r-rban!” A fat, black-speckled hen called from her straw-covered nest.
“You do-a-doodle-doo not caw-call me ‘Urban,’ during-a-doodle-doo these meetings, Hen, but ‘King of the Fowl,’” Urban said, puffing out his feather. The hen laughed in a chipmunk-y way, and Jay, the resident rebel, huffed from the roof beams.
“U-r-r-rban, you silly r-r-rooster,” the hen laughed. “Anyways, I was g-g-going to say that I am not pleased with the care-re-reless manner in which the family is choosing my (and my chick’s) name. Nor am I pleased with how the long-feather-er-ered one keeps calling me, ’fat,’ and suggesting they name me, ‘Swan.’”
Donnie laughed outright and flipped her long, red comb that flopped over her eyes, which was her greatest treasure.
Phoenix, being the kindest of the chickens, attempted to sympathize with the hen, while at the same time defending the family, of which she was quite fond. “There, there,” she said, lifting her beautiful red wing to pat the hen. (It was agreed among the family that she was the prettiest chicken on the lot, but Donnie often disagreed.) “I kn-oh-w it must be s-oh frustrating to be nameless, but you c-ah-n't blame them f-oh-r taking their time—ah name is a very imp-oh-rt-ah-nt thing to choose.”
“Yeah, lik-ke cut them some slack-ck, hun,” Donnie said, ruffling her white feathers. “You’ll get your name eventually, sister-sister.”
“I disag-gree,” Donnie’s sister, Skylar, interjected. The three white sisters were rather quarrelsome, and often stole each other’s food and dared each other to cross the road. “She should be outrag-ged. Right, Tully?”
“Th-thar she blows! A bone-white ship in th-the midnight moonlight tumbles unto ye waves of despair!” The chickens blinked at Tully, who stood hunched in the corner, with one eye twitching. She was in one of her moods, a result of a long day, an infringement of the bug grounds, more time than usual (which was normally quite a lot) alone, and an effort to imitate her owner.
“Moving on,” Urban said once the chickens all faced each other again.
“I don’t care squeak! what the family peep! names me as long as they eek! don’t come near me squeak! like they have been cheep!” The chick piped up, squished up against its mother. It let out a pitiful yet annoying “Oh!” And leaned farther into the hen’s ruffles, its everlasting fear increasing at the thought of the family trying to get near it.
“W-while w-we're complainin’,” PB said from her spot beside Jay, “the family keeps stealing my food! Once they dropped a piece of gum, and another time a w-wooden chess piece, both of w-which I snatched up right quick. Then they chased me ‘round until I spat them out! So, I pecked ‘em,” she finished with an indignant air. Phoenix ruffled her feathers in agitation. If she were the bragging type, she would tell all that she has never pecked the family as, again, she was quite fond of them.
“Just jump in their c-car, sis,” Donnie said nonchalantly. “I do it every day—there's a ton of c-crumbs in there, ma chere.”
“This is getting out of hand,” Urban grumbled to himself. “Attention! The King of the Fowl caw-calls this meeting of the F.F. ended,” he proclaimed. The chickens went back to laying, pecking, and doing general chicken-y things once the meeting was over.
All, except for Jay, who muttered about that, “dumb-a-doodle-doo rooster,” and, “kicking him out someday.”
Urban lifted himself to his full height and whispered, “I’ve got my eye on you.” Literally, he did, as chickens turn their heads and focus on their object of choice with just one eye.
Just then, Skyler rushed back into the coop, legs waddling adorably. “News!” She exclaimed. “The family has given the hen and chick names! You are to be “Pip,” and “Squeak!”
The hen turned to her chick, wondering which name was worse, when she exclaimed, “My g-g-goodness! I feel faint!”
Urban simply put his head down and sighed.
The End
Word Count: 733
For school one day we had to write about either chickens or penguins, so I chose my chickens. This was written to emulate Louisa May Alcott, who said in Little Women that having a secret club was very popular. Some stuff has changed since this-- for example, turns out P.B. is a boy and that having three roosters is way too many for us, so we got rid of P.B. and Jay. But, I still love this story, and I hope you do, too!
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