It ain't easy bein' me. I'm serious now- one second, I got myself all these little chicks runnin' 'round, peepin' their fool heads off... all littler than my own good beak. Then pretty soon they're bigger'n I am, and I can't play mama any more.
Then that pesky Rita gits all uppity and goes 'round peckin' everyone on their heads, saying plain as daylight she's lead hen. I mean, honestly. I go broody for a few weeks, come back to this?! The indignity of it all! And to top it all off, I get kicked off my place on the roost and have to sit all by my lonesome. That Fatima hangs 'round a bit, cooin' and cluckin' and saying things like "there now" an' "what's wrong?" I'm just about ready to fly this coop!
But the treats sure are good. An' I've finished my molt, so my feathers are all shiny an' lovely. My belly's even all nice and fluffed out now.
I suppose I oughta be more optimistic, bein' second-in-command (an' to be frank, Rita ain't got much more left in her) and one of the eldest and all. But I just can't help it! The Human-people are mutterin' about rehomin' me if I don't stop yellin' day in an' day out. When I heard this, I stopped yellin' all the time, just ev'ry so often when I see 'em comin' with a hot dog in their hand.
It's a right fix fer sure. But you can bet yer tailfeathers I'll find some way to turn it 'round.