Ended Contest #4 Short Story Fiction Contest - 6th Annual BYC Easter Hatchalong

[Medic]

This is the story of the easter chicken society, a group of dedicated hens devoted to taking down their mortal enemy the EASTER BUNNY!
Let's listen in one of their secret meetings.

Order order, "mealworms please" "I will have some grubs" "grapes please" NOT that type of order, although some corn sounds great, never mind about that. I call this meeting to order, as you know that time of year is upon us again, where we do all the work and the "easter bunny" gets all the credit. NO MORE, I say. This is the year we take easter buck I mean back. Who is with me.

"Quack quack quack" I mean buck buck buck. Who is that, you in the back who are you. Everyone turned around and there plain as day was a duck. The chickens quickly converged on the duck and yelled spy, we have a spy in our midst.

The duck quickly bolted for the exit. He was blocked by the only obstacle that can stop a duck, a trench full of water.
The duck cried I give up, I was hired by the cat to find out if you hens were plotting against him. The hens continued to scream spy, one suggested making him walk the plank. But the voice of reason came over and said "for clucks sake we are not turkey's show some restraint." They then put the plank across and told the duck he was free to go.

The End.

Hey what about the easter bunny? Ooooo I hope he brings me some mealworms, I I'm hoping for some grubs, some grapes would be great, and I could really go for some corn. Yeah he's great, gotta remember to drop some eggs off for him to pass around. Meeting adjourned.

 

[Adriennesmom]

To say that Licorice was a rebel would be an understatement. The little bantam hen wandered about the chicken yard like she owned the place. In fact, Bugsy the Cockerel was at a loss on how to handle his precocious pullet. He tried in vain to temp her with treats and entice her with his romantic rooster dance. She snubbed him at every turn. The other hens gave her a wide berth even though she was the smallest girl on the farm. What she lacked in size, she made up in attitude. When it was time for bed, all of the chickens and ducks dutifully made their way back to their coops. Licorice, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with domestication. At dusk, she could be found nestled on top of a graceful willow tree, the old red barn, or whatever secret hideout suited her fancy.
So, it did not come as a great shock that my girl went missing one day. One morning, after feeding time, I noticed that Licorice was absent from the flock. I checked some of her usual haunts to no avail. A feeling of dread filled my heart. A coyote must have finally crossed her trail. As the days followed, I would find myself reminiscing about my independent, little hen. Everything seemed somewhat duller without her sassy presence in the chicken pasture.
One day, as I poured a big bowl of turkey chow for Turkey Lurkey and Jive Turkey, I was struck by the overwhelming sense that I was being watched. I tentatively walked over and examined an old abandoned chicken coop directly behind me.
A small glimmer of hope welled up in my chest. I slowly lowered myself down and looked underneath. To my utter delight, I came face to face with my beloved Licorice! She had made an impressive nest underneath the old wreck of a building. She looked back at me with her inquisitive ebony eyes. I could swear that I saw a flicker of amusement on her face.
Surely she had watched me for the last couple of weeks from her hideout A smile spread across my face as the realization hit me. That evening, I reached inside her nest and candled one of her tiny, white eggs To my astonishment I could see the veins and body of a live chick in the light. My girl was full of surprises. Carefully I placed the egg back inside the nest. I counted twelve in the clutch.
Several days later, Licorice appeared plumped up and on high alert. Quiet peeping sounds could be heard inside her small nest.

On Easter morning, the proud momma emerged from underneath her shelter. Twelve, fuzzy black chicks followed in tow. Bugsy crowed loudly to announce their arrival. I’m not sure if chickens are capable of smiling, but my little rooster was one, proud daddy.

 

[ChickenTerry]

B.C. the Rooster was going to have to do something about the filthy aggressive animal that was harassing the spring chicks. Granted, their cheeping innate curiosity wasn’t helping, but order had to be maintained.

However, the animal that belonged to the female-twoleg was becoming a problem. B.C.’s genes told him it was a dog, and he knew they were dangerous…but this…thing appeared to be a dog in name only. It was too small and jittery. B.C. considered it, and judged it to actually be a shade smaller than SharpTooth the barncat. He had no love for the cat, but he respected its strength; the occasional fights were considered…entertaining. The…ratdog (that was the only way he could think to identify it) was new to the barnyard, and it insisted on charging, barking, and then running away from him or his hens at random times. Now though, it had noticed the spring chicks, and was becoming increasingly bold.

Today, the twolegs and their ratdog had gathered at the back of their own large coop; the male-twoleg had been tending some kind of cooking meat over his contained fire. The ratdog saw the small group of chicks moving as a cheeping group across the grass and it leapt from the porch at a full run, hopeful at last to catch one for itself despite cries from the twolegs.

B.C. felt his anger build and erupt. He broke into a run across the barnyard, issuing a challenging cackle as he gathered speed. He arrived seconds before the ratdog, interposing him between the chicks and it. B.C. stretched out his neck and crowed loud and long, ending in an evil sounding low screech. The small dog paid no heed; it wanted a chick, so with that, B.C. attacked.

B.C. leapt into the air, his neck feathers out, his legs and sharp club-like spurs extended. He struck the ratdog with his full weight, wings flogging, legs kicking, and the smaller animal was bowled over. Its challenging triumphant barking turned instantly to yelps of pain and fear.

Up the steps to the porch B.C. chased the small dog, cackling as the dog screamed in terror. It jumped onto a chair and then onto the table, eliciting further cries from the twolegs; over the plates, glasses, and food it bolted, then down the other side, off the porch, running full tilt for the ditch - yelping the entire way.

B.C. found himself standing alone on the table; twolegfood scattered everywhere, and then the large hunk of burned meat caught his eye. With a crow of triumph he strutted over to it, as the female-twoleg cried in despair, “Oh Jim! Not the Easter Roast!”

BC looked down at it, and after only a seconds deliberation, he took a sample jab. It was good; very good. With a final crow of triumph, he jumped down ran back to his hens. He had found a treat he needed to inform them about. That was his job, after all.

 

[chickolot]

You've captured the chickens antics well ~ all the curiousity and cockiness.

 

[chickolot]

I love the name Licorice! My children named a black chicken, Buttercup. Yep! I love your story, that you wrote about from the farmer's perspective.

 

[Adriennesmom]

Thank you so much, Chickolot! The story loosely based my on my pet chicken named Licorice. She really is a character! I love the name Buttercup! So adorable.

 

[Scruffyfeathers]

The windshield wipers were working at their maximum as I strained my eyes to negotiate the twists and curves of an old mountain road leading to a little known hatchery in the mountains of North Georgia. We were on our way to pick up our first layers for the coop I spent months designing and building.

Our instructions were simple: we were to turn left off the parkway onto Chickadee Lane and travel a short distance until the road ended. The odometer informed me that it had been 25 miles since our left turn and our GPS system had no clue as to where we were.

The instructions had to be wrong. I was about to turn around when we pierced the curtain of rain and immediately found ourselves on a gorgeous mountain top with the sun completely un-obstructed. A small hobble was less than 100 yards away. The brilliant colors surrounding us made everything look magical.

Greeting us was a crooked little man with a crooked little cat circling about his feet.

My wife, she who must be obeyed, was captivated. She explained to the little man that our children are grown, on their own and it was our desire to start a new but very special family.

With a twinkle in his eye: “Special, I can do”, was his reply. Magically appearing out of nowhere he offered us five incredible hens

stating that one special hen was an Easter Egger. We had no idea what that meant but figured we’d soon learn. We drove off with our fowl brood cackling along the way.

Our Easter Egger was the first to deliver an oblong piece of joy. The color was beautiful and special. Our first; therefore, this one would be allowed to hatch. While the rest of our brood supplied breakfast, ingredients for cakes, dough and other treats we kept a watchful eye over our special little egg.

It seemed like an eternity but alas we noticed some slight movement and a tiny pecking noise coming from the egg. The cracks in the shell began to widen. The two of us watched as the miracle of life unfolded before us. My mind raced back to the arrival of our first born more than thirty years ago. The feeling was identical only this time the beast that walks upright was not cursing me and wishing me dead.

We stared in awe at our first hatchling: it was indeed a miracle. It was Easter Sunday and we were looking at a Bunny, an Easter Bunny we joked!

Over the years each clutch has grown. We now have more than one hundred chickens but only the one bunny which mysteriously disappears on the Sunday immediately following the first full moon after the vernal equinox.

We have been unable to find Chickadee Lane again so every spring we just give thanks to the crooked little man from that magical mountain top for now we do have a very special family.

 

[ronott1]

The windshield wipers were working at their maximum as I strained my eyes to negotiate the twists and curves of an old mountain road leading to a little known hatchery in the mountains of North Georgia. We were on our way to pick up our first layers for the coop I spent months designing and building.

Our instructions were simple: we were to turn left off the parkway onto Chickadee Lane and travel a short distance until the road ended. The odometer informed me that it had been 25 miles since our left turn and our GPS system had no clue as to where we were.

The instructions had to be wrong. I was about to turn around when we pierced the curtain of rain and immediately found ourselves on a gorgeous mountain top with the sun completely un-obstructed. A small hobble was less than 100 yards away. The brilliant colors surrounding us made everything look magical.

Greeting us was a crooked little man with a crooked little cat circling about his feet. 
My wife, she who must be obeyed, was captivated. She explained to the little man that our children are grown, on their own and it was our desire to start a new but very special family.

With a twinkle in his eye: “Special, I can do”, was his reply. Magically appearing out of nowhere he offered us five incredible hens stating that one special hen was an Easter Egger. We had no idea what that meant but figured we’d soon learn. We drove off with our fowl brood cackling along the way.

Our Easter Egger was the first to deliver an oblong piece of joy. The color was beautiful and special. Our first; therefore, this one would be allowed to hatch. While the rest of our brood supplied breakfast, ingredients for cakes, dough and other treats we kept a watchful eye over our special little egg.

It seemed like an eternity but alas we noticed some slight movement and a tiny pecking noise coming from the egg. The cracks in the shell began to widen. The two of us watched as the miracle of life unfolded before us. My mind raced back to the arrival of our first born more than thirty years ago. The feeling was identical only this time the beast that walks upright was not cursing me and wishing me dead.

We stared in awe at our first hatchling: it was indeed a miracle. It was Easter Sunday and we were looking at a Bunny, an Easter Bunny no doubt!  I left for my shop to build a special hutch for our special little bunny.

Over the years each clutch has grown. We now have more than one hundred chickens but only the one bunny which mysteriously disappears on the Sunday immediately following the first full moon after the vernal equinox. We always give thanks to the crooked little man from the magical mountain top for now we do have a very special family.

@Scruffyfeathers I like the story!

Rules say to add a picture or drawing--to be eligible for a prize.

 

[Scruffyfeathers]

I have three pictures in the story but they are not formatting correctly (showing on the page) I am currently attempting to capture them, put them in my album and then try to place them in the story.

 

[ronott1]

I have three pictures in the story but they are not formatting correctly (showing on the page) I am currently attempting to capture them, put them in my album and then try to place them in the story.

I have seen that problem before.

Thanks for working on it!