Feather and Rusty

Early in the morning, birds warbled and chirped, crows cawed, and the rooster crowed. “Cock-a-doodle-doo doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo doo!”

As the dewdrops on the grass glistened in the sun’s rays, the man with the straw hat flung corn kernels into the chickens’ pen. The chickens went to work gobbling up all the corn. After they had finished eating, they were in a much better mood, and the hens found a comfortable spot in the grass and went on to talk to one another, while the rooster walked around the field watching for potential danger.

“I heard there were wolves in the woods,” Feather, a young chick, said to her mother. “There aren’t really any wolves are there?”

“Probably,” her mother said. “But I’m not sure.”

“Oh, there’s definitely wolves out there,” Josephine said. “My sister’s daughter heard it herself just a few nights ago.”

“So you said several times already,” Sherley said.

“I don’t know why that silly servant hasn’t gone out to kill it already. He should kill those despicable beasts.”

“Servant?”

“The man with the silly nest on his head.”

“It’s called a hat.”

“Tomato, tomahto. Anyway, the servant should kill that wolf with his black stick he uses all the time.”

“It’s called a gun. Also, the man isn’t our servant.”

“Of course he is. He feeds us, gives us water, makes sure we’re safe in the pen—”

“He also takes our eggs, sends his dogs to coral us into and out of the pen whether we like it or not, and eats us for dinner if he feels like it.”

Josephine ruffled her feathers but didn’t say anything.

“The man eats us?” the chick asked.

“Only when he’s happy,” Sherley said. “And he’s not happy much, so you don’t have to worry about him.”

“But when he is happy,” Josephine said. “He’ll pick the fattest chicken in the group, lay them on a stump, raise his ax and—bah-gawk!”

Sherley had pecked her. “You don’t have to worry about wolves either,” she went on, ignoring Josephine’s sour look. “The dogs keep them away, and even if they got past the dogs, they can’t come past the fence.”

“I agree,” Josephine said. “It’s the hawks you need to worry about.”

“Hawks?” Feather asked, shuddering. She didn’t like the sound of that word.

“You could be eating in the field, minding your own business, and then all of a sudden they swoop down from the sky and snatch you up! Once you’re up, you can never come down. They’ll carry you off to their nest and peck at your flesh and—bah-gawk!”

The chick’s mother had pecked Josephine’s back.

“What?” Josephine asked.

“If you keep an eye out,” the mother said to Feather. “You won’t have to worry too much. Also, the rooster will sound the alarm if a bird comes. Now, why don’t you go along and join the other chicks.”

“Okay.” Feather walked towards the chicks.

“And remember,” Josephine called. “If there’s anything to worry about it’s—bah-gawk! Alright, alright!”

Feather walked over to the other group of chicks.

“That corn was good, wasn’t it?” one chick said.

The others clucked and chirped in agreement.

“I wonder where the man gets it from.”

“I think he grows it in a field nearby,” Feather said. “That’s what mother says.”

“No he doesn’t!” Rusty said, raising his head up high above the others. “It falls from the sky, like rain.”

All of the chicks looked at him quizzically.

“If that were true, then how come it doesn’t rain over here like regular rain?” Feather asked. “How come the man has to give it to us all the time?”

“Because it only rains on the humans! The corn is very particular.”

The chicks weren’t so sure about it, but he said it with such authority and confidence that they weren’t so sure they were right themselves. Maybe corn did fall from the sky. Feather didn’t believe rain fell from the sky. She also didn’t think Rusty knew as much as he thought he knew. But no one else questioned him, so she didn’t say anything either.

“Did you hear the howling last night?” a chick asked. “Some hens say there’re wolves outside the fence.”

“You bet I heard it,” Rusty said. “It was the loudest howling I’ve ever heard.”

The chicks started to chirp with freight.

Feather said. “Sherley said that the dogs would keep them away,” Feather said. “Also, the man built us the fence, remember. It should keep us safe.”

The chicks relaxed.

Rusty scoffed. “If the man cared about us so much, he’d let us stay in his house. It’s the safest place on the farm. You never hear about hawks attacking chickens when they’re inside the house.”

This made sense to most of the chicks. Feather, again, wasn’t so sure about that.

“The humans are greedy. They keep the best stuff for themselves. I bet if we took over the farm, we’d have all the corn we wanted.” Rusty kept on talking, and most of the chicks listened.

Feather, on the other hand, had had enough. “Does anyone want to go search for bugs?”

“Shh! Not now,” said the chicks.

Feather sighed and went away to search for bugs by herself. She didn’t know why they took Rusty so seriously. Sure he was confident, but nothing he said made much sense.

As the days went by, Rusty grew more and more popular amongst the chicks, while Feather began to feel lonelier and lonelier. Whenever she tried to play or talk with the other chicks, they’d say “Not right now,” or “No thanks, I wanna see what Rusty has to do today.” Anytime she tried to question Rusty’s statements, he’d say something like “Don’t be silly! It’s obviously this or that,” or “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that everyone else was starting to agree with him. “You’re being silly,” they’d say. “You’re just not listening,” or “He obviously knows what he’s talking about. He’s so eloquent.”

More and more it seemed the other chicks had formed a group and had excluded her from it. She told her mother about it.

Her mother shook her head. “Rusty’s always wants attention. He may get himself in trouble at this rate.”

One day, the man gave them some more food; grapes that were both sour and sweet.

“They’re muscadines,” Feather’s mother said. “Very rare treat. He must be in a good mood.” Upon seeing the horrified look on Feather’s face, she quickly added, “But not that good a mood.”

Feather joined the other chicks again. “I’ve never tasted anything like that before.”

“Us neither,” the other chicks said.

“Of course you haven’t,” Rusty scoffed, raising his head high. “You guys stay in the pen, while the man goes and eats the best muscadines for himself. He gets them from the woods. I’ve seen him. He goes to the woods where all the best things are, and he doesn’t even bring half of the good stuff back for us.”

Some of the chicks ruffled their feathers. “Why would he do that? Why not give us the best stuff?”

“My thoughts exactly. But I know what to do.”

Feather did not have a good feeling about this.

“What?” asked the chicks. “What’s your plan?”

“Follow me!” Rusty led the chicks and they followed.

Feather hesitated, but then followed as well. She was starting to get tired of being excluded. They walked along the side of the fence that was closet to the forest until they reached a bush.

Rusty stuck his head into the bush. “Here!”

The chicks peered into the bush. Behind the bush was a gap in the fence big enough for a chick to slip through.

“If we go through here, I can lead you to the muscadines,” Rusty said. “Who’s coming with me?”

“Me! Me!” said all the chicks, except Feather.

Feather stared at them. Were they insane!? “There are predators out there. Coyotes and maybe even wolves! We shouldn’t go out there.”

“Pfft! I ain’t scared of some stupid wolves.” Rusty said. “I’m a rooster. I can fend off any beast. Now are you coming or not?”

The other chicks chimed in. “Yeah, Feather, come with us! Don’t be a spoilsport! Come on, and we’ll find all the good stuff!”

Feather hesitated. If she went with them now, maybe the others would include her in more of their activities. Maybe she wouldn’t be alone most of the time. Maybe they’d stop saying negative things about her. But then she thought about the wolves, and then what her mother said.

“No,” she said. “And if you don’t stop this madness, I’ll call the other chickens.”

“You wouldn’t,” Rusty said.

Feather started to cluck as loud as she could.

“Come on!” Rusty said to the other chicks. They quickly went out of the fence.

“Tattletale!” some of the chicks said.

Soon, the hens and the rooster came running, but the chicks had already rushed into the forest.

“What’s wrong?” Feather’s mother asked. “What’s happened?”

“The chicks have gone through a gap in the fence, and now they’ve gone into the woods!”

The rooster raised his head. “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!”

The hens went “Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck!”

The noise caused the dogs to rush to where the chickens were and bark.

Soon, the man with the straw hat came. “What on earth is going on!” The man noticed the hole in the fence. He counted the chickens. He went to his shed and came back with bricks. After blocking the hole with the bricks, he called to his dogs. With gun in hand, he and his dogs went into the woods.

“What now?” Feather asked.

“We just have to wait,” her mother said. “They couldn’t have gone too far. He’ll find them.”

So they waited. And waited and waited and waited, until the sun was setting over the treetops, and the man came back. All of the chicks were with him.

Except one.

He put the chicks back into the pen. The mother hens rushed over to them, admonishing them for going outside the fence.

Only one hen didn’t have her chick. “Where’s Rusty?!” she asked. “Where is he?”

The chicks didn’t respond.

“Where’s Rusty?” Feather asked.

The chicks shuddered.

Feather was going to ask again when a long, eerie howl echoed through the land.