Once upon a time there was a chicken farm; and on this farm lived a
disgruntled chicken named Drumstick Kate. She was quite upset. “Why should
I lay eggs?” she asked. “Why can’t I have the rooster’s job? All he has to
do is puff himself out and cock-a-doodle-doo.”
Drumstick Kate was fed up.
It angered her even more that all the other hens didn’t realize their dismal
condition. “What’s the matter with these bird brains?” she complained.
“Don’t they realize how unfair the system is?”
Drumstick Kate was the angriest chicken in the universe. One might say that
she was so rich in anger that she wanted to share her wealth. One day, at
feeding time, as the hens gathered to peck their fill, Kate began to cackle
in her angry way.
She noted how horrible it was to lay eggs, how demeaning
and humiliating it felt to squeeze out a big white one.
The other hens were caught off-guard. These were new thoughts, strange and
amazing. It didn’t always feel so good, they admitted, when a big white one
was coming out. And even worse, as Drumstick Kate told it, there was the
slavery of sitting on those eggs until the farmer came to snatch them up. Or
worse yet, if the eggs should hatch there was further trouble (as little
chicks were such a nuisance).
The hens moaned and cackled in reply.
Then Drumstick Kate began to expound on the advantages of the rooster. “He
sits on top of the henhouse and draws attention to himself while we are
ignored,” she said. “This fowl arrangement is not fair.”
“This fowl is not fair,” echoed the hens, who rushed toward the rooster and
pecked him into a bloody mass of dead pulp.
Far off in the distance a weasel and a fox were watching through binoculars.
They realized that the hens were agitated. “It is time to go under the
wire,” said the weasel. “Let us wait until nightfall,” advised the fox.
The hens were quite content, having liberated themselves from the loud and
obnoxious rooster. Drumstick Kate had successfully taught the other chickens
to hate their previous activities. “No more eggs!” became the battle cry of
the hens. “We’re not going to lay anymore, are we girls?”
The hens all cackled their approving reply.
Nightfall came and the hens retired to their respective nests. Around 11 p.m.
the two wiley predators arrived near the chicken-wire fence. “You go first,”
said the fox to the weasel. “By no means, dear friend, I wouldn’t dream of
taking your place,” the weasel replied.
The fox noted how hungry they both were, and pointed out that the one who
went first would take the biggest chicken. This persuaded the weasel to slip
under the wire without delay. A few seconds later a muffled squawk was heard
as the weasel emerged with a plump chicken in his mouth. No alarm was
sounded, as the rooster was dead. Seeing there was no danger of being caught
by the farmer, the fox went under the wire and emerged with a plump hen of
his own. Soon the two happy predators were devouring their prey.
In the morning the chicken farmer came upon the scene of his mangled rooster.
He also found that two of his best birds were gone and no eggs had been
laid. Something was terribly wrong. Regrettably, this pattern persisted for
a second and a third night.
Meanwhile, the hens were enjoying their new liberated state. Drumstick Kate
would make angry speeches against the system and the other chickens would
cackle their applause. One day, however, Chicken Little came from the other
side of the yard, having overheard a conversation between the chicken farmer
and a local grocer. “They are going to lower the boom,” warned Chicken
Drumstick Kate mocked Chicken Little for saying that “the sky is falling.”
“Nothing could be more cockamamie,” the hens cackled. As it happened, a few
days later, a refrigerator truck pulled up to the yard. A stoop-shouldered
little man emerged with a chopping block and other implements of horror.
Soon enough, all the chickens were beheaded and plucked. Some were fried,
others were roasted and a few were boiled.
All was not lost for the chicken farmer, however, since he bought some new
birds from overseas. They laid many eggs and made the farm very successful.
There was even a new rooster whose beak was razor sharp, and whose voice was
loud and strong.
The weasel and the fox went hungry once again, their way no longer made easy
by the angriest chicken in the universe.