| Satire Fiction posted March 20, 2022 |
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Chickens walk the picket line.
Who Let the Chickens Out?
by HarryT
“Who let the chickens out?” An exasperated farmer by the name of Milo Jones yelled as he watched his hens parade about waving signs reading, “We Want To Roam, Like Our Foremothers Did.” Another, “Cluck Your Cages,” and a third, “No Freedom, No Eggs.”
A young farm lad who was a member of PETA had unlocked their cages. When Jones’s wife came to collect, she found no eggs. The chickens vowed to continue their boycott until free-range freedom was gained. A few even went on a hunger strike. Farmer Jones called his neighbor, Old Jed Macdonald, and found out he was experiencing the same deviant behavior. MacDonald said he called the US Poultry and Egg Association to seek guidance. To his dismay, he was told chickens were on strike in several locations and the organization had no solutions to offer.
In the meantime, Farmer Jones discovered that the leader of the free-range movement was a Rhode Island Red named Heather Hen. He knew her as a troublemaker, a boisterous clucker, who objected to the use of artificial light to manipulate the hens’ egg laying cycle. Farmer Jones said he suspects Ronnie Rooster to be involved in the conspiracy. Old Macdonald responded, “I think my own Randle R. is also supporting the ladies.”
The panicked farmers in the area email each other. They decided they would band together and send representatives to meet with the hens. The barn on Old MacDonald’s farm was the meeting location. Heather Hen, acting as spokesperson for the chickens, strutted into the barn with Ronnie and Randle following her.
She fluttered her seldom used wings and eyed the farmers up and down. Clucked sweetly, “You fellas look great in your best bibs.” Then raising her clucks, she said, “Look boys, it’s simple, get rid of the cages and allow we ladies to roam freely about because if you don’t cluck, cluck, CLUCKAAAAAWWWWK, NO EGGS FOR YOU!” The Rooster fellas crowed their approval each with a loud and piercing “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOO!”
Farmer Jones felt creeping resignation oozing into his bones. “C’mon boys, we need to caucus. Let’s go to the feed room and talk.” Voiced were raised. After an hour they came out, shoulders slumped and their eyes glazed. Each smelled of tobacco smoke. Fear ruffled Heather Hen's feathers. She glanced at the fellas feeling a sinking resignation as the farmers filed in.
“Okay,” Farmer Jones said through clinched teeth. “We’ll get rid of the cages. Every hen will be free to roam, to perch on roosts, and lay eggs in open nests instead of cages.”
Heather Hen blinked; thought she’d cry if she had tear ducts. Heather stretched her neck and clucked, “On behalf of hens everywhere, I accept your terms. We will begin laying again as soon as the cages disappear. Thank you, gentlemen, for coming to a fair and just conclusion in this matter.”
When the news was announced on the farms, the hens, pullets, roosters and cockerels celebrated doing, of course, the “Chicken Dance.”
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“Who let the chickens out?” An exasperated farmer by the name of Milo Jones yelled as he watched his hens parade about waving signs reading, “We Want To Roam, Like Our Foremothers Did.” Another, “Cluck Your Cages,” and a third, “No Freedom, No Eggs.”
A young farm lad who was a member of PETA had unlocked their cages. When Jones’s wife came to collect, she found no eggs. The chickens vowed to continue their boycott until free-range freedom was gained. A few even went on a hunger strike. Farmer Jones called his neighbor, Old Jed Macdonald, and found out he was experiencing the same deviant behavior. MacDonald said he called the US Poultry and Egg Association to seek guidance. To his dismay, he was told chickens were on strike in several locations and the organization had no solutions to offer.
In the meantime, Farmer Jones discovered that the leader of the free-range movement was a Rhode Island Red named Heather Hen. He knew her as a troublemaker, a boisterous clucker, who objected to the use of artificial light to manipulate the hens’ egg laying cycle. Farmer Jones said he suspects Ronnie Rooster to be involved in the conspiracy. Old Macdonald responded, “I think my own Randle R. is also supporting the ladies.”
The panicked farmers in the area email each other. They decided they would band together and send representatives to meet with the hens. The barn on Old MacDonald’s farm was the meeting location. Heather Hen, acting as spokesperson for the chickens, strutted into the barn with Ronnie and Randle following her.
She fluttered her seldom used wings and eyed the farmers up and down. Clucked sweetly, “You fellas look great in your best bibs.” Then raising her clucks, she said, “Look boys, it’s simple, get rid of the cages and allow we ladies to roam freely about because if you don’t cluck, cluck, CLUCKAAAAAWWWWK, NO EGGS FOR YOU!” The Rooster fellas crowed their approval each with a loud and piercing “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOO!”
Farmer Jones felt creeping resignation oozing into his bones. “C’mon boys, we need to caucus. Let’s go to the feed room and talk.” Voiced were raised. After an hour they came out, shoulders slumped and their eyes glazed. Each smelled of tobacco smoke. Fear ruffled Heather Hen's feathers. She glanced at the fellas feeling a sinking resignation as the farmers filed in.
“Okay,” Farmer Jones said through clinched teeth. “We’ll get rid of the cages. Every hen will be free to roam, to perch on roosts, and lay eggs in open nests instead of cages.”
Heather Hen blinked; thought she’d cry if she had tear ducts. Heather stretched her neck and clucked, “On behalf of hens everywhere, I accept your terms. We will begin laying again as soon as the cages disappear. Thank you, gentlemen, for coming to a fair and just conclusion in this matter.”
When the news was announced on the farms, the hens, pullets, roosters and cockerels celebrated doing, of course, the “Chicken Dance.”
A young farm lad who was a member of PETA had unlocked their cages. When Jones’s wife came to collect, she found no eggs. The chickens vowed to continue their boycott until free-range freedom was gained. A few even went on a hunger strike. Farmer Jones called his neighbor, Old Jed Macdonald, and found out he was experiencing the same deviant behavior. MacDonald said he called the US Poultry and Egg Association to seek guidance. To his dismay, he was told chickens were on strike in several locations and the organization had no solutions to offer.
In the meantime, Farmer Jones discovered that the leader of the free-range movement was a Rhode Island Red named Heather Hen. He knew her as a troublemaker, a boisterous clucker, who objected to the use of artificial light to manipulate the hens’ egg laying cycle. Farmer Jones said he suspects Ronnie Rooster to be involved in the conspiracy. Old Macdonald responded, “I think my own Randle R. is also supporting the ladies.”
The panicked farmers in the area email each other. They decided they would band together and send representatives to meet with the hens. The barn on Old MacDonald’s farm was the meeting location. Heather Hen, acting as spokesperson for the chickens, strutted into the barn with Ronnie and Randle following her.
She fluttered her seldom used wings and eyed the farmers up and down. Clucked sweetly, “You fellas look great in your best bibs.” Then raising her clucks, she said, “Look boys, it’s simple, get rid of the cages and allow we ladies to roam freely about because if you don’t cluck, cluck, CLUCKAAAAAWWWWK, NO EGGS FOR YOU!” The Rooster fellas crowed their approval each with a loud and piercing “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOO!”
Farmer Jones felt creeping resignation oozing into his bones. “C’mon boys, we need to caucus. Let’s go to the feed room and talk.” Voiced were raised. After an hour they came out, shoulders slumped and their eyes glazed. Each smelled of tobacco smoke. Fear ruffled Heather Hen's feathers. She glanced at the fellas feeling a sinking resignation as the farmers filed in.
“Okay,” Farmer Jones said through clinched teeth. “We’ll get rid of the cages. Every hen will be free to roam, to perch on roosts, and lay eggs in open nests instead of cages.”
Heather Hen blinked; thought she’d cry if she had tear ducts. Heather stretched her neck and clucked, “On behalf of hens everywhere, I accept your terms. We will begin laying again as soon as the cages disappear. Thank you, gentlemen, for coming to a fair and just conclusion in this matter.”
When the news was announced on the farms, the hens, pullets, roosters and cockerels celebrated doing, of course, the “Chicken Dance.”
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