The Vocal Local

We are Family

Author's Note: From the prompt word 'justify' -
this reading first of three recorded by author on radio 5THE FM 107.7 on 7/11/2019

"Could we have a little order in the henhouse, thank you?" Annie bossed all the other hens mercilessly. Even Granny was a marshmallow by comparison. She wasn't really old - she just acted that way even when she first left chickenhood behind and began her ugly weeks as her feathers popped out, one by miserable one. But back to the top perch where Annie was delivering her message in her most raucous voice, grabbing the other girls' full attention when she said, "You're running around like a mob of chooks with their heads chopped off!"

"OOooo," said Tuppeny. "Speaking of heads chopped off, what about that OTHER time? You know... when The Farmer came here in the night. What was that, Penny? Or Henny? Do either of you remember?"

As usual, Henny and Penny told the story in a together sort of way; having pecked out of their shells side by side, and despite the fact they looked identical to all the other chicks hatching that day, they declared twinship, and defied the Great Chook in the Sky or anyone else of importance to say differently.

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the chook-house..." said Henny, eyes round and large as the full moon.

"Not a chickie was stirring, not even Mickey Mouse." If Henny would have had eyebrows she would have raised them near high as the sky. Trust Penny to embroider the facts... again!

With a shrug of her wing feathers, Henny continued, "Then in snuck the farmer, axe in his hand—"

"'I'm here for Christmas dinner,' was his whispered demand." Penny tried to grin ear to ear. Her spirit was strong, but her body shape was weak - lacking miserably in the smile department.

Henny rolled her beady, chooky eyes back until only whites could be seen, creating such a close resemblance to a Mad Cow Disease sufferer, all were rendered speechless. Whilst her audience, and particularly Penny were in shock, she proceeded with the rest of the story, barely taking time for a breath between sentences.

"Can't keep up this rhyming stuff," she said, hastily continuing, "so here's the 'true grit' girls. That old farmer had a torch in his other hand and shone it around over Fanny and Granny, and Manny and Nanny, too. He swung it to the highest perch and found Skinny and Tuppenny, and Halfpenny, too. Lucky he missed you Benny, hiding beneath the main perch. I remember they thought you were a boy-chick and named you - then finding they were wrong, decided Benny could be short for Benita, a kind of Mexican-ish type name... or is that Spanish? Uhrr..., of course it could be —"

"Order! Order!" said Annie loudly above the hubbub bursting out every which way. Annie stamped her foot on the top of the laying box. "The point Henny was trying to make before she took off on one of her other roads well-travelled was that each of us could justify our existence. With EGGS, my lovelies. With eggs." Her girlie pep-talk voice took on a triumphant note as she finished - "Because we are the Champions, my girls. WE are the LAYERS and our future is secure." And with the loudest BOK-BOK, led the hens' party into the yard. Even without a baton, she was a born leader.