As The Coup Turns
It was a rather dreary day, as dreary days go. Western Washington state is a mix of fog and overcast skies. Colors muting as the eye adjusts to the grayness. This day seemed no different than the many others Maynard had experienced in his short life.
A maturing Buff Orpington, he took pride in his curling tail feathers and growing strength.
He was not the only one in the coup noticing his growth and plumage.
Dorothy had known Maynard all her life. First as a scared chick thrown into a box with hundreds of other frightened young hatchlings. They shared the dark ride and strange sounds until arriving in bright light and divided into holding pens. It was there that she first sought comfort in his presence.
They grew together, happy. Both experiencing childhood games and exploration. In her mind they were inseparable.
She too was growing. Taking pride in her grooming. Often she found herself watching Maynard scratch the dirt with his powerful feet......and waited for him to call for her after finding food. Running quickly at his call….yet careful, to leave enough for Maynard. Even if she was still hungry.
It was on one such morning that their daily routine was broken by a schreek that startled her to her core.
Maynard was pacing madly and seemed twice as large as she had ever seen him. She ran to his side in fright and shook from head to toe.
There, before her was another hen. A strange hen. An ugly hen. Dorothy had not lived a long life and would admit, if asked, that she knew not much of this ever strange world she and her Maynard were part of. She knew little of much at all really. But there was one thing she was clear in mind about.
This hen would have to go!
I don't know why though... 
