O’er mountains and meadows
May we chickens keep soaring!
As we vanquish our foes
‘All hail the coop,’ we’ll keep crowing!
CHAPTER 3: IN WHICH THERE'S A HUNTING HOUND
Meanwhile, back at the chicken coop: “Hail to the coop! Hail to the roosters! Hail to the eggs and the hens!” clucked the chickens as they saw the head guard dog, Muxtar, passing by.
“Hurrah!” barked Muxtar.
“We demand that enemies of the coop be punished!” fretted the chickens. “Peck, peck, peck all foes of the coop!”
“The enemies will be punished and pecked,” promised Muxtar. “Polkan and I are headed to the Far Woods right now to apprehend the enemies and bring them back here!”
“All hail Polkan!” squawked the chickens. “Veteran Polkan!”
“Hello, friends!” Polkan, an elderly hunting hound, made his way out of his doghouse at the far end of the yard and jogged, limping, towards the coop. His right ear was torn and his fur was graying. Three gold medals jangled on his chest: for courageous hunting, committed hunting, and callous hunting.
“Hail to the coop! Hail to the hens! And the eggs! And Muxtar! And Polkan! All hail the coop!” the chickens sang shrilly.
“Let’s pick up the pace,” whispered Muxtar, and they sped up in the direction of the Far Woods.
“My ears are still ringing from their squalling,” complained Polkan. “How do you stand it all day long? At least my doghouse is far away, but yours is right next to the coop…”
“Oh, I’ve gotten used to it. I just do my job and try not to pay their clucking any attention. I bark a ‘hurrah’ at them now and then. They like that word.”
“Hurrrrah,” Polkan drew out dreamily. “It is a great word. I remember my first Hunt—I was scared. There I was, gearing up to attack for the first time in my life and I needed some encouragement, so I barked out a deafening ‘hurrrrah’ into the woods. And all the birds and squirrels in the trees screeched in fear. And I wasn’t scared anymore. Let everyone fear me, I’m their worst nightmare…, I’d thought to myself.”
“It’s hard to believe that you were ever scared of anything,” said Muxtar. “You’re fearless!”
“Well, back then I was still young, just a spring chicken,” said Polkan, breathing heavily.
“What? You were a chicken?”
“No—a spring chicken means someone who’s young and inexperienced. We use this phrase—”
“Hurrah,” interrupted Muxtar.
“What was that for?” asked Polkan, taken aback.
“You’re very smart. You know lots of expressions. You’re brave. Hurrah!”
“Could you slow down? I can’t quite keep up,” asked Polkan.
“Of course, friend.”
“No, I don’t deserve any hurrahs anymore,” sulked Polkan. “I’m completely out of shape. An old hunting hound is a bad hunting hound.”
“Who says?” asked Muxtar, indignant.
“Nina Palna.”
“Oh. Then it’s a fact,” said Muxtar.
“Nina Palna plans on getting a new hunting hound. To replace me.”
Muxtar didn’t respond.
“Once upon a time I was awarded medals for courage, commitment, and callousness,” said Polkan. “And Nina Palna praised my Jaws of Death.”
“Don’t worry, friend. We’ll bring the fox and kittyraccoon back to Huntington Farm and you can committedly tail them, courageously chase them, and callously maul them in our yard—just like you would in a Hunt.”
“In the yard…,” said Polkan, more dejected than ever. “Why are you so sure we’ll bring the fox and kittyraccoon back? What if they won’t turn over their own?”
“Don’t worry. The police badger will hand them over, alright. I looked into his eyes and saw right through him—he’s a coward. He really doesn’t want a Hunt. So don’t worry. The fox and kittyraccoon are as good as ours. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” nodded Polkan uncertainly. “But, you know, it’s a bit unfair. To hunt them in the yard. There’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to run—not like in the woods. It’s not a fair fight.”
“Why do you care? The point is to maul them…”
“Shh,” whispered Polkan, standing at attention. “I sense them. The badger and the cat. And our chicken.”
“But we aren’t in the woods yet,” said Muxtar surprised. “The woods don’t start until way over there, on the other bank of the brook…”
“I sense them,” said Polkan stubbornly. “My sense of smell hasn’t left me yet.”
“Can you smell their fear?”
“The kittyraccoon is a bit scared, yes. The chicken is terrified. But the badger isn’t.”
“Wait—the chicken is alive?”
“She smells alive and well.”
“What about the fox? Is she very scared?”
“There isn’t a fox with them. Instead there’s…”
“What do you mean, there isn’t a fox?!”
CHAPTER 4: IN WHICH SCARS DECORATE AN ANIMAL
“Wherrrre’s the felonious fox?” barked Muxtar in place of a greeting. “I orrrrdered you to hand overrrr the ferretcat and fox for mauling! I see the ferretcat, but not the fox. How dare you disobey my orrrrders!”
“First off, you don’t see a ferretcat,” said Chief Badger calmly. “This is Badgercat—Assistant Badger of the Far Woods Police. There aren’t any ferretcats in the Far Woods. Second off, I’d advise you to calm down and get a hold of yourself—you’re foaming at the mouth. Third off—”
“For the record!” shrieked Chicken Four.
“Wait,” Badgercat cut her off.
“Third off, the police of the Far Woods aren’t subject to your orders,” continued Badger. “The chicken, Badgercat, and I have come here for peace talks. The chicken has something to say too.”
“Peace talks?” Muxtar hurriedly wiped the foam from his snout, but his anger caused a new batch to start forming immediately. “She has something to say too? Either return the chicken or—”
“For the record!” the chicken piped up.
“Zip it, fool!” snarled Muxtar. “Either return the fool—I mean fowl—along with the others for mauling or there’ll be a Hunt, lead by the great hunting hound Polkan,” he nodded in Polkan’s direction. “I expect the animals of the Far Woods still remember his Jaws of Death.”
“Yes, we do,” said Badger respectfully. “That’s exactly why we brought along a veteran of the last Woodland Hunt.”
“I thought I smelled an old acquaintance,” sniffed Polkan, baring his teeth. “Yes, an old, fur-bearing animal…”
An elderly ferret came out of the bushes into the clearing. Though he limped, he walked with dignity. His chest was adorned with medals for beastly valor.
“Hello to you, ruthless Polkan,” said Ferret.
“And hello to you, fearless Ferret,” answered Polkan.
“I remember your famous Jaws of Death well,” said Ferret. “I remember how you clamped down on my back left paw—it still aches when the weather changes.”
“And I remember how you bit into my ear in return,” Polkan smirked. “It never did heal.”
“We don’t need a repeat of that horrible Hunt, don’t you agree?” Ferret narrowed his red eyes.
“I agree,” said Polkan. “Even more reason for the Far Woods to comply with our wishes—return the chicken and those guilty of her theft and there won’t be a Hunt.”
“You see,” said Badger, “it’s impossible for us to comply with your wishes—because there was no theft. And, so, no guilty animals.”
“What do you mean, ‘there was no theft’?” gaped Muxtar. “What about the chicken?”
“The chicken,” said Badgercat, elbowing the chicken discreetly, “has something to say on this matter.”
“For the record,” Chicken Four perked up. “I left the coop and went to the Far Woods with my friend Fox voluntarily. No one forced me to do so.”
“Since when are our chickens friends with foxes?” Polkan raised his furry eyebrows. “And leave the comfort of the coop for the wilderness of the woods?”
“Well, um…,” stammered Chicken Four. “The thing is…”
“Tell them why,” Badgercat whispered in her ear. “Tell them why you don’t want to go back to Huntington Farm.”
“I don’t want to go back to Hunting Farm!” squawked Chicken Four. “I’ll be eaten! Nina Palna will make soup out of me! And give my b-b-b-bones to the dogs! I left the coop and went to the Far Woods with my friend Fox voluntarily. No one forced me to do so! No one forced me to do so!”
“You can see for yourselves, dear dogs: there was no theft,” Chief Badger spread his paws. “And since there was no theft—there aren’t any perpetrators.”
“Alrrrright,” growled Muxtar. “But we’re taking the chicken.”
“Okay,” shrugged Badger. “If she’s willing to go with you.”
“She doesn’t have a choice. She belongs to Huntington Farm.”
“Currently, you are on the territory of the Far Woods,” said Badgercat proudly. “Which means our laws are in effect. According to the laws of the Far Woods, all animals and birds are free beings and have the right to decide where and how to live.”
“I’ll show you a free being, kittyhamster!” Muxtar came right up to Badgercat, baring his teeth—they were as sharp and crooked as the spikes on a rickety farm fence. “You reek of a stray cat. I hate strays…”
Muxtar’s breath smelled of death and indigestion. Badgercat shut his eyes and flattened his ears against his head.
“…I have an instinct,” Muxtar licked his lips. “As soon as I see a stray cat—I attack.” Muxtar opened wide and chomped the air an inch away from Badgercat’s neck with his spiky teeth. Badgercat barely had time to leap out of the way.
“Are you boys fighting over me?” asked Chicken Four dreamily.
Muxtar emitted a deep growl.
“Down!” yelled Chief Badger. “Everyone calm down! Stand down!”
Muxtar began growling again. Badgercat hissed threateningly in reply.
“What a brave boy!” Ferret’s red eyes filled with giant tears.
Badgercat arched his back, puffing up his fur in order to look as big as possible.
But I’ll never be as big as this nasty mutt, thought Badgercat, letting out his claws to their maximum length. Thing’s aren’t looking good. It’s not an even fight. These two—a guard dog and hunting hound will easily maul all three of us. Ferret’s an invalid, Badger’s out of shape, and I can’t take on two rabid dogs on my own, even though I’m superagile and quick—
But Badgercat didn’t have time to finish his thought: Muxtar’s teeth chomped down again and again and then, everything went black because Badgercat’s head ended up in Muxtar’s jaws.
Darkness, a horrible stench, and increasing pain overtook Badgercat—he felt the dog’s jaws slowly but relentlessly closing around his throat. He swatted blindly at the dog’s snout with his claws. Muxtar wailed but didn’t let go. From the outside world Badgercat could hear muted, barely recognizable sounds, as if coming from some faraway world. The chicken’s clucking, Ferret’s indistinct yelps, Badger’s helpless, desperate voice:
“Drop it!”
“Let him go!”
“You’re attacking a police officer!”
Muxtar didn’t let go. Instead his jaws squeezed ever tighter.
Any minute now I’ll hear a crunch—he’ll snap my neck in two, thought Badgercat. What a disgraceful way for a young and agile police officer to die—in the jaws of a farm guard dog…
Any minute now, I’ll snap his neck in two, thought Muxtar. This obnoxious kittyhamster deserves a disgraceful death…
“Let him go,” Polkan suddenly spoke up. “Let the police officer go, friend.”
“Bot my inshtincsh,” mumbled Muxtar, his jaw clamped tight.
“It’s good to have passionate instincts,” said Polkan. “But you’ve got to be stronger than your passions. Let the gophercat go.”
Muxtar thought for a second, then spit Badgercat out.
“I’m not a gophercat,” mumbled Badgercat, plopping onto the ground. “I’m Assistant Chief Badger of the Far Woods Police. Do you know the punishment for attacking a police officer?”
“Count your blessings that you’re alive, Assistant Chief Gopher,” smirked Polkan. “Let’s go, Muxtar. We’re done here. Let the chicken stay with them.”
“Let the chicken stay?” Muxtar cocked his head, trying to detect some additional secret meaning to Polkan’s words.
“Yes,” Polkan nodded calmly. “Because she’s a traitor. This chicken betrayed her coop. She ran away, leaving her sisters in harm’s way. We don’t need traitors at Huntington Farm. Let’s go.” And the dogs jogged silently in the direction of the brook.
“I’m not a traitor,” whispered Chicken Four.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” smiled Ferret.
“Son, are you hurt?” Chief Badger leaned over Badgercat. “Let me have a look.”
“I’m not a traitor,” repeated Chicken Four. “I love my coop and my sister hens.”
“It’s okay. The bite isn’t too deep.” Badgercat stood up, shaking himself off. “But I think it’ll leave a scar.”
“Scars decorate an animal,” said Ferret.
“I’m not a traitor. I’ve got to go back to my coop.”
“What are you clucking about?” frowned Badger. “You know what’ll happen if you go back. They’ll eat you.”
“I have to do everything I can,” insisted the chicken. “I have to warn my friends about the danger. Tell them what really happens in Nina Palna’s kitchen on Fridays.”
“But...that’s suicide!”
“Not suicide—a heroic deed!” declared Chicken Four. “We chickens are the proudest breed and spread our wings in awe, to celebrate heroic deeds we proudly cluck hurrah! Thank you for your help, woodland friends. I’ll lay you an egg to remember me by.” And she immediately laid an egg. “Now I’ve got to go.”
The chicken began running after the two giant dogs, wildly flapping her wings and singing loudly: “O’er mountains and meadows may we chickens keep soaring! And as we vanquish our foes, ‘all hail the coop’ we’ll keep crowing!”
“Does she think she’s flying?” asked Badgercat looking after her.
Ferret nodded. “But at least there’s room for heroic deeds in her life,” he said.
“I feel sorry for that foolish bird,” said Badger sadly. “She’ll be slaughtered. But look at this beautiful egg she laid for us.”
The three of them mournfully gazed at the egg—snow-white and still warm.
“I guess we probably ought to save her,” said Badgercat tentatively. “What should we do?”
“Personally, I’m going into hibernation,” Badger rubbed the bridge of his nose sleepily. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved, Son. We offered the chicken a safe place here in the Far Woods, but she left. It was her choice. We did everything we could.”
“But I’m sure we could do more,” insisted Badgercat.
“We absolutely must do something,” Ferret straightened out his hunched back with effort. “It’s our duty to help our chickens.”
“They aren’t our chickens—they’re farm chickens,” corrected Badger.
“Whatever,” Ferret waved him off. “We’ve got to help our feathered sisters.”
“I don’t have any feathered sisters,” protested Badgercat.
“He’s talking about the chickens,” explained Badger.
“I don’t have any chicken sisters either.”
“I mean that all animals are brothers and sisters. And we’ve got to help one another.”
“Agreed! We’ve got to help,” Badgercat finally understood.
Sleep, thought Badger. How I’d love to go to sleep. It’s getting colder and colder, and it smells of winter. The frost on the fallen leaves looks just
like white feathers. Winter is almost here. Why do we have to help those farm birds? Why should I care about the chickens when it’s almost winter and I have a heated floor waiting for me? It’s not my responsibility… And I’m so very tired. I have the right to sleep. Let the chickens sing heroic anthems, let Nina Palna make soup out of them… I’ll be asleep…
But out loud he said, “What, exactly, are you suggesting?”
“Well, we could take Wolf, Fox, the coyote, and a dozen other guys to Huntington Farm and just free all the chickens,” suggested Ferret.
“And then do what with them?” asked Badger.
“I don’t know. Bring them here to the Far Woods. They could lay eggs for us.”
“And what are we going to do with the eggs?”
“What do you mean? We’ll eat them!”
“Well, eggs are future chickens. That’s to say they’re young chickens. And, according to the laws of the Far Woods, eating animals—of any age—is illegal. We don’t eat nightingale or partridge eggs.”
“Hmm. So then they’re useless,” Ferret thought for a minute. “Then just let them live here, proliferate.”
“And you think Nina Palna will like that her chickens are proliferating in our woods? Or do you think she’ll want them back and send hunting hounds along with hunters and rifles to deal with us?”
“The latter,” sulked Ferret.
“I have a different idea,” perked up Badgercat. “We could ask Wolf to help with Nina Palna… you know… take her out of the equation.”
“Take her out of the equation?” asked Badger, looking for clarification.
“Well, you know, Nina Palna isn’t an animal—and our laws say it’s illegal to eat animals, which means when it comes to nonanimals…”
“Badgercat. You are a police officer. Are you seriously suggesting that Wolf eat Nina Palna?” Badger’s whiskers stood on end. “Or am I just hearing things?”
“You’re just hearing things,” grumbled Badgercat.
“That’s what I thought,” said Badger, nodding.
“If you don’t like any of our ideas, then let’s hear yours,” griped Ferret.
A Predator's Rights Page 2
