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The very next morning, he squinted at the coop, he couldnt believe his eyes, but a white Thai game hen was standing at the pens fence, because she wanted to be with the rooster. The rooster was also standing at the fence, cooing softly to her. He smiled the more he pondered the concept of breeding them; he could potentially lose the long-crowing by breeding him to her, but breeding an ornamental bird to a muscular game bird would sure produce a handsome bird. He opened the door to the coop, and allowed the hen to walk in. He closed the door behind her and watched the interaction from the window, pleased to see the connection that they seemed to make so quickly. Apparently, theyd been talking last night.
Good morning, Frost. The hen said, smiling at him. Hello, MorningSun. He greeted her, also smiling broadly. They embraced each other with their wings in a hug. Im famished, would you care to join me for a meal? She asked him. Gladly. He replied, and the hen walked to the door of the coop. She uttered a loud, shrill squawk to signal to Hoffman that she was hungry. Steven greeted the two lovebirds with, I see youve made a new friend? He then opened the door and let them out to forage together. He went back inside to watch them some more while he ate lunch. They pecked and prodded at the ground, which was becoming dry and barren because of the upcoming Winter. FrostFeather, the rooster, was a gentleman and would share with her only the best of what he scraped from the ground. They finished their meal and their fellowship by the end of the day, and went to Frosts coop to roost for the night.
As the days went by, their relationship grew closer and closer. Finally, on a cold afternoon, what Hoffman had been waiting for all this time was happening. MorningSun, or, Morning as he lovingly nicknamed her, was sitting in the nest box he built for them. He had the chance to see the eggs when Frost came to visit the nest and feed MorningSun. She stood up to take the food, and under her was a beautiful, smooth, and flawlessly oblong egg. She thanked Frost for her meal, and sat down once more. Frost sat with her to keep her company and to help incubate the egg. They sat together, thinking of names for their still unborn chick. For days, Frost loyally came by to drop off her meal, feed himself, and lastly, help hatch the chick.
I hear peeping! I hear peeping!! The hen shrieked excitedly one morning. Frost came running as quickly as his legs went. Peeping? Peeping? He asked, joining her in excitement. She nodded briskly and lifted herself up from the egg. Two little pink feet were peering out of a crack. They both watched impatiently, hopping with anticipation as the crack ever so slowly grew larger. She started to get worried as they peeping slowed, and she assisted the exhausted chick by lightly tapping the egg with her beak. The eggshell shattered, and a wet little chick tumbled out into the world. You nearly gave me a heart attack, young lady! She said, stroking the chicks down lightly with her wing before tucking the chick under a soft, warm blanket of feathers.
Many months later, the pullet matured. Steven was disappointed to find out that the chick had grown up to be a hen; he needed a rooster for the contest. His only choice was to keep breeding. He worried whether or not hed have a rooster in time for the contest, how on earth was he to pull this off so quickly if he had nobody to breed his hen to? He had to think, and think quickly. He called Sarah, hoping that shed have more Yokohamas by now. No, sorry, She told him gingerly, My hens have had the worst production lately. I havent gotten one cockerel since we last spoke. She said with a sigh. He replied, Thats fine, Mrs. Thank you. And he hung up with her. He bit his lip, this time he had nobody. He realized that he probably should breed the new pullet to a good crower, or else hed risk losing the attribute altogether. She had no Yokohamas, what was he to do now? He paced for a moment, and a strange but clever idea came to mind. Maybe it doesnt need to be a chicken at all? He asked himself aloud, But if not, what would it be? He tapped a pen to his teeth while he watched the chickens running about in their run, still pondering the concept. Pheasants have been bred to chickens before, he knew that; but, pheasants didnt have a pleasant voice. He had to think of the other rare fowl she kept, and a thought popped into his head. Thats it! A Lyrebird! He exclaimed. His wife came into the room, Steve, what are you doing this time? She joked, leaning against the wall to listen. Ive been thinking of things to breed that new little pullet to, and Ive finally got it! He said to her. Oh? She asked, smiling at him. A Lyrebird. Lyrebirds have the most beautiful voices Ive ever heard; the voice of an angel. He said, smiling broadly back at her. How on earth re you going to accomplish that? They arent very closely related to the chickens, you might be wasting your time on something that wont work. She replied, shaking her head. Ill try it. He said simply, then fumbled for the telephone again. Ms. Sarah, I had the craziest idea. He greeted the breeder. Tell me! She said, excited to hear. Im going to cross a Lyrebird with a chicken, its the first time its ever been done. He said proudly, to which she replied, Well, they arent in the same genus, so that likely wont work. Youve got nothing to lose, I have plenty of Lyrebirds, come and pick one up before someone else does. He nodded and briskly said, Ill be coming over immediately.
Once he came home, he opened the coop, and noticed that the pullets doting and overprotective mother had finally left her to explore the place on her own. Perfect. He thought, the Lyrebird would have the chance to meet her now. He opened the crate and released the bird into the coop with her. He cautiously stepped out, and got some odd looks from the birds in each of the coops. The optimistic, cheery young pullet boldly walked over to the newcomer. Hello, whats your name? She asked him, to which he replied shyly, WinterPelt. He smiled sheepishly at her. Thats a nice name. Im MorningFrost. Said the little white pullet. He felt more comfortable already.