Mrs. Doolittle lived in a hen house on Farmer Pete’s farm. It was a lovely farm. It had a pasture for cows to graze on luscious green grass in the spring and summer. In the winter they lived in a big, warm, comfortable barn. There were two horses that also lived on the farm, and they shared the barn with the cows. Farmer Pete had fields of corn and wheat that he sold at market, along with milk from his cows and eggs from his chickens. He saved some of the corn to feed his chickens and he grew alfalfa to make hay for the cows and horses to eat in the winter when it was cold and snowy.
And Goldie lived on the farm, too. Goldie was a beautiful Golden Retriever. She was Farmer Pete’s best friend, and a great watchdog. All of the animals loved and respected Goldie because she was an Obedience School graduate. They would come to her with any of their problems, and Goldie always seemed to know what to do. Every day she would patrol the farm to make sure that all of the animals were safe, or just to give a friendly “Howdy” bark. If there was a problem that she couldn’t solve, Goldie always ran to Farmer Pete to get help.
Mrs. Doolittle was the oldest chicken on the farm. She woke up each morning before the young girl chickens, or “hens,” because she felt it was her job to make sure they laid enough eggs.
When Mrs. Doolittle was young, she had been the best egg-layer. Now she was too old to lay eggs but she acted like she wanted to keep laying. Other farmers ate their old chickens for dinner when they couldn’t lay eggs anymore, but not Farmer Pete. He told Goldie that he remembered Mrs. Doolittle as a young hen, so he let her stay in the henhouse. To his surprise, the other hens started laying more eggs!
“It’s that chicken, Mrs. Doolittle,” Farmer Pete said to Goldie. “She acts like she is the boss.”
Goldie’s human would watch as Mrs. Doolittle went from hen to hen in the henhouse. He didn’t know what the old hen said or did, but the result was more eggs. This made him very happy.
Mrs. Doolittle was also happy. She had plenty of corn to eat, a cozy spot in the henhouse that she could call her own, and the other chickens treated her with dignity. What more could an old hen want?
One day Goldie saw Mrs. Doolittle in the vegetable garden. “How did she get here?” she wondered. The dog was surprised, but then remembered that chickens could flutter-fly. That was the only way the hen could have gotten over the fence from the chicken yard into the garden, Goldie decided.
“You’re supposed to be in the chicken yard,” Goldie reproachfully told Mrs. Doolittle. “How did you get out?” The hen ignored the dog, who repeated the question. Mrs. Doolittle cocked her head. “Do you know what these things are?” She asked. “They look like eggs, but they are bigger than my eggs used to be. Some are purple while my eggs were white or brown or even speckled.”
Goldie came over to Mrs. Doolittle and sniffed the egg-shaped things. “They are plants,” the dog woofed, firmly. “They grow from the ground on these long, stringy things called ‘vines.’”
Mrs. Doolittle was impressed. If Goldie said the things were plants, then it had to be so.
The dog came to sit down next to the old hen. “Why are you so interested?”
“They look like eggs,” Mrs. Doolittle repeated. “If farmer-humans have plants to make eggs, why do they need us?”
That was a good question. Goldie thought for a moment. “Maybe it is because how good your eggs taste.”
The hen was aghast. It was like the dog had tossed her into the watering trough! And there is NOTHING madder than a wet hen!
“Taste!” She squawked, flapping her wings and running in a circle. “Taste? Do you mean our eggs get eaten?”
“Sure, my human gives them to me too. They’re good!”
At this, Mrs. Doolittle fell over. She had fainted! Goldie sniffed her, and barked, but the hen didn’t move. “Oh, my! I’ve killed Mrs. Doolitte,” the gentle dog whimpered!
She rushed to the farmhouse. “Farmer Pete will know what to do,” Goldie told herself.
By the time Goldie and her human came out to the garden, Mrs. Doolittle had recovered. They saw her as she scurried back to the fence, then fluttered into the air. She sat on the top of the fence-rail for a moment, and then dropped back into the chicken yard. Mrs. Doolittle was silent. She went to her special roost and sat quietly for a long, long time. She said not a word to the young hens.
Mrs. Doolittle was very sad. She always thought that when the farmer-human took the eggs, he hatched them into chicks. Now she knew that was not so.
The next morning Goldie’s human went to the hen house to collect eggs: there were none. Even stranger, none of the young hens were running around. They all stayed in the hen house. There were no eggs the second or third day, either. Goldie’s human became worried. The chickens didn’t LOOK sick. And they were eating. Further, Mrs. Doolittle was acting odd. She would disappear for much of the day. What could be wrong?
At the end of the week, Farmer Pete got up very early. He startled Goldie, which woke her up. The two hid at the corner of the hen house and watched. They saw Mrs. Doolittle leading the young hens out of the hen house to the corner of the chicken yard where straw was stacked for their nests. He saw Mrs. Doolittle duck under the straw, pushing some aside. There, under the straw, was a big pile of eggs!
Goldie’s eyes grew large. “Yum!” she said to herself. And Farmer Pete couldn’t believe his eyes. Now he knew why there were no eggs in the hen house! One by one, the hens laid more eggs in the pile. Then they marched back to the hen house.
But not Mrs. Doolittle. After the young hens had gone, she scratched an opening under the chicken yard fence and wiggled out. She went to the vegetable garden, picked out a beautiful, growing, eggplant starting to turn purple, sat on it, and stayed there most of the day.
Meanwhile, with Mrs. Doolittle away and the young hens in the hen house, Goldie’s human took many of the eggs from their secret hiding place. He left some so the hens wouldn’t notice, and they would lay more.
Day after day, all summer, the hens would lay their eggs under the stack of straw and Mrs. Doolittle would tunnel under the fence to sit on the eggplant. It grew bigger and bigger. All the other eggplants on the vine also grew, but Mrs. Doolittle’s was the largest.
When it was time to harvest the eggplant, Mrs. Doolittle wouldn’t let Farmer Pete near it. She flapped her wings and tried to peck him.
Goldie saw her chance to help. She decided to convince Mrs. Doolittle that the eggplant wouldn’t hatch. It was a good idea.
“What will you do if the big, purple egg doesn’t hatch?”
“Do you mean if it’s a ‘dud,” the old hen questioned in reply?
“Yes, exactly,” woofed Goldie, gently.
“We eat duds,” Mrs. Doolittle clucked, quietly. “We peck at the shell and eat what’s inside.”
“Don’t you think this egg should have hatched by now, if it is not a dud,” asked Goldie.
Mrs. Doolittle had to agree. Then, the old hen looked excited. “Let’s open it! Will you help me?”
Goldie agreed. She held the ripe eggplant between her paws while the old hen pecked it open.
“It’s a dud!” She squawked.
“Then what about all the eggs you laid that your farmer-human took? They were not going to hatch, either,” the obedience school graduate explained.
Mrs. Doolittle thought about this. She didn’t say anything else, but pretty soon, the hen went back to the chicken yard fence, scuttled underneath, and scratched soil into the hole she had previously made. When she was done, no one could even tell that there had once been an opening.
The next morning the hens began to lay eggs in the hen house once again…. and they laid more than ever. Mrs. Doolittle didn’t go into the garden anymore, either.
Goldie’s human never did understand what happened. He put a pretty plastic egg in Mrs. Doolittle’s nest, which made the hen happy again. He was happy with all the eggs, too, but frowned when he saw that the big, beautiful eggplant had been pecked.
Guess who got to eat some of those eggs? Yep, it was Goldie, who got them as a special, nutritious treat.
And Goldie lived on the farm, too. Goldie was a beautiful Golden Retriever. She was Farmer Pete’s best friend, and a great watchdog. All of the animals loved and respected Goldie because she was an Obedience School graduate. They would come to her with any of their problems, and Goldie always seemed to know what to do. Every day she would patrol the farm to make sure that all of the animals were safe, or just to give a friendly “Howdy” bark. If there was a problem that she couldn’t solve, Goldie always ran to Farmer Pete to get help.
Mrs. Doolittle was the oldest chicken on the farm. She woke up each morning before the young girl chickens, or “hens,” because she felt it was her job to make sure they laid enough eggs.
When Mrs. Doolittle was young, she had been the best egg-layer. Now she was too old to lay eggs but she acted like she wanted to keep laying. Other farmers ate their old chickens for dinner when they couldn’t lay eggs anymore, but not Farmer Pete. He told Goldie that he remembered Mrs. Doolittle as a young hen, so he let her stay in the henhouse. To his surprise, the other hens started laying more eggs!
“It’s that chicken, Mrs. Doolittle,” Farmer Pete said to Goldie. “She acts like she is the boss.”
Goldie’s human would watch as Mrs. Doolittle went from hen to hen in the henhouse. He didn’t know what the old hen said or did, but the result was more eggs. This made him very happy.
Mrs. Doolittle was also happy. She had plenty of corn to eat, a cozy spot in the henhouse that she could call her own, and the other chickens treated her with dignity. What more could an old hen want?
One day Goldie saw Mrs. Doolittle in the vegetable garden. “How did she get here?” she wondered. The dog was surprised, but then remembered that chickens could flutter-fly. That was the only way the hen could have gotten over the fence from the chicken yard into the garden, Goldie decided.
Goldie came over to Mrs. Doolittle and sniffed the egg-shaped things. “They are plants,” the dog woofed, firmly. “They grow from the ground on these long, stringy things called ‘vines.’”
Mrs. Doolittle was impressed. If Goldie said the things were plants, then it had to be so.
The dog came to sit down next to the old hen. “Why are you so interested?”
“They look like eggs,” Mrs. Doolittle repeated. “If farmer-humans have plants to make eggs, why do they need us?”
That was a good question. Goldie thought for a moment. “Maybe it is because how good your eggs taste.”
The hen was aghast. It was like the dog had tossed her into the watering trough! And there is NOTHING madder than a wet hen!
“Taste!” She squawked, flapping her wings and running in a circle. “Taste? Do you mean our eggs get eaten?”
“Sure, my human gives them to me too. They’re good!”
At this, Mrs. Doolittle fell over. She had fainted! Goldie sniffed her, and barked, but the hen didn’t move. “Oh, my! I’ve killed Mrs. Doolitte,” the gentle dog whimpered!
She rushed to the farmhouse. “Farmer Pete will know what to do,” Goldie told herself.
By the time Goldie and her human came out to the garden, Mrs. Doolittle had recovered. They saw her as she scurried back to the fence, then fluttered into the air. She sat on the top of the fence-rail for a moment, and then dropped back into the chicken yard. Mrs. Doolittle was silent. She went to her special roost and sat quietly for a long, long time. She said not a word to the young hens.
Mrs. Doolittle was very sad. She always thought that when the farmer-human took the eggs, he hatched them into chicks. Now she knew that was not so.
The next morning Goldie’s human went to the hen house to collect eggs: there were none. Even stranger, none of the young hens were running around. They all stayed in the hen house. There were no eggs the second or third day, either. Goldie’s human became worried. The chickens didn’t LOOK sick. And they were eating. Further, Mrs. Doolittle was acting odd. She would disappear for much of the day. What could be wrong?
At the end of the week, Farmer Pete got up very early. He startled Goldie, which woke her up. The two hid at the corner of the hen house and watched. They saw Mrs. Doolittle leading the young hens out of the hen house to the corner of the chicken yard where straw was stacked for their nests. He saw Mrs. Doolittle duck under the straw, pushing some aside. There, under the straw, was a big pile of eggs!
But not Mrs. Doolittle. After the young hens had gone, she scratched an opening under the chicken yard fence and wiggled out. She went to the vegetable garden, picked out a beautiful, growing, eggplant starting to turn purple, sat on it, and stayed there most of the day.
Meanwhile, with Mrs. Doolittle away and the young hens in the hen house, Goldie’s human took many of the eggs from their secret hiding place. He left some so the hens wouldn’t notice, and they would lay more.
Day after day, all summer, the hens would lay their eggs under the stack of straw and Mrs. Doolittle would tunnel under the fence to sit on the eggplant. It grew bigger and bigger. All the other eggplants on the vine also grew, but Mrs. Doolittle’s was the largest.
When it was time to harvest the eggplant, Mrs. Doolittle wouldn’t let Farmer Pete near it. She flapped her wings and tried to peck him.
Goldie saw her chance to help. She decided to convince Mrs. Doolittle that the eggplant wouldn’t hatch. It was a good idea.
“What will you do if the big, purple egg doesn’t hatch?”
“Do you mean if it’s a ‘dud,” the old hen questioned in reply?
“Yes, exactly,” woofed Goldie, gently.
“We eat duds,” Mrs. Doolittle clucked, quietly. “We peck at the shell and eat what’s inside.”
“Don’t you think this egg should have hatched by now, if it is not a dud,” asked Goldie.
Mrs. Doolittle had to agree. Then, the old hen looked excited. “Let’s open it! Will you help me?”
Goldie agreed. She held the ripe eggplant between her paws while the old hen pecked it open.
“It’s a dud!” She squawked.
“Then what about all the eggs you laid that your farmer-human took? They were not going to hatch, either,” the obedience school graduate explained.
Mrs. Doolittle thought about this. She didn’t say anything else, but pretty soon, the hen went back to the chicken yard fence, scuttled underneath, and scratched soil into the hole she had previously made. When she was done, no one could even tell that there had once been an opening.
The next morning the hens began to lay eggs in the hen house once again…. and they laid more than ever. Mrs. Doolittle didn’t go into the garden anymore, either.
Goldie’s human never did understand what happened. He put a pretty plastic egg in Mrs. Doolittle’s nest, which made the hen happy again. He was happy with all the eggs, too, but frowned when he saw that the big, beautiful eggplant had been pecked.
Guess who got to eat some of those eggs? Yep, it was Goldie, who got them as a special, nutritious treat.
Oh, I know how that goes! So many projects, so little time - life does get in the way of our creative efforts sometimes. GS just turned 3 and his baby sister is now 5 months, so there's some wiggle room before college!
