on shadowy robins
and silly hens
Beaker grows more plump by the day.
She’s new to the flock. She and Mildred were brought in after Jellybean’s untimely demise.
Neither are laying yet.
They have however been welcomed by the rest of the flock.
Well…
More or less.
The old girls still push them around.
Today,
I opened the hen pen to let them explore the yard.
The new girls? They were chased out into the clover by the old peckers.
Mildred didn’t go very far. But Beaker? She was much more bold.
She scratched her way from the hen pen half way across the yard.
That’s when it happened.
The shadow.
The dreadful shadow.
Dear reader, are you steeling yourself for another tragic tale of pet death?
Well,
If you feel ready, read on.
For this is not a story of pet death.
This is a story of a ridiculous hen.
You see, a robin streaked overhead.
The shadow of the robin crossed the yard.
Beaker saw the shadow.
And that shadow?
Well, it made Beaker a freaker.
She squawked and flapped and flew around in circles.
A quick translation of what she said?
EVASIVE MANE…
