Animal Factory

by Philip Caveney

  Ralph crept away thinking how ridiculous it was that mere dogs could have such a high opinion of themselves. But he also knew that having such high opinions made creatures feel they could do whatever they wanted, no matter what the cost.

  And then, a couple of days later, a terrible thing happened. He was crossing the yard towards the house when he saw that one of the new chickens had somehow managed to get out of its enclosure. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine how this had happened because the new fences were so high. Unless, of course, somebody had let the chicken out deliberately. The chicken was wandering aimlessly around the yard, pecking at the bits of moss and grass that grew up between the cobbles.

  As Ralph watched, the Dobermans came out of the old barn, each of them bringing a pup along with them. They all stood there gazing towards the door of the farmhouse. Finally, the door swung open and Kurt came slowly out and took up a position where he could observe what was going on. The other Dobermans barked orders and the seven pups stepped forward and formed themselves into a semi-circle, a short distance away from the stray chicken who, as yet, had not even noticed their arrival.

  Kurt looked imperiously at the puppies and said, ‘Young Dobermans, this is your moment. Do your duty!’

  At this the puppies bared their teeth, sunk low to the floor and began to prowl towards the hapless chicken.

  Ralph was horrified and before he could stop himself he ran forward and placed himself between the chicken and the pups.

  ‘Stop this at once!’ he cried. ‘This is shameful. What are you thinking of?’

  Kurt regarded him coldly. ‘Get out of the way, Ralph,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I will not! Wait till I tell Farmer Morton what’s going on here.’

  ‘What makes you think he doesn’t know?’ said Kurt. ‘Now, I shall not say this again. Stand aside or you will suffer the same fate as our enemy.’

  ‘Enemy? It’s a chicken for goodness sake. A helpless little bird. You cannot make those pups do this. It’s wrong!’

  Ralph looked at Kurt and at the other Dobermans and he could see that there was no compassion in any of them. He knew in that instant that they would attack him without mercy if he didn’t get out of the way. But there might still be a chance to save the chicken.

  Desperate now, he turned aside and made a run for the open door of the farmhouse, knowing full well that Farmer Morton was in there, having his lunch. He pushed past Kurt and hurried inside.

  ‘Farmer Morton!’ he howled. ‘Come quickly. The Dobermans are about to kill one of the chickens!’ He burst in through the door and saw that Farmer Morton was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bacon sandwich. He looked up in annoyance as Ralph raced frantically in the room.

  ‘What’s all the noise about?’ he snapped.

  ‘You must come quickly. The Dobermans are about to attack one of your chickens!’

  But Farmer Morton just shrugged his big shoulders. ‘He probably asked for it,’ he said.

  Ralph stared at him in dismay. ‘You don’t understand. They are making the puppies do it.’

  Farmer Morton nodded and took a big bite of his sandwich. ‘I know all about it,’ he said, through a mouthful of food. ‘Kurt asked me if they could have a chicken to practice on.’

  Ralph could scarcely believe in his own ears. ‘To . . . practice on?’ he gasped.

  ‘Yes. It’s one thing working with sacks, but Kurt thought they needed to try their skills on a real bird. A proper test for them. It’s of no importance. It only cost me a few pennies and we can cook what’s left for dinner.’

  At that moment there was a hideous screech from outside and a brief flapping of wings. Ralph ran to peer through the open door and saw that the puppies had closed on the chicken. He had to look away then, because what followed was not a pretty sight. He turned back to Farmer Morton, hardly believing that this was the same man he had worked alongside for most of his life.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What has happened to make you like this? How can you be so indifferent to the suffering of an animal?’

  Farmer Morton laughed and took a big slurp from his mug of tea. ‘Ralph, you’re too sensitive,’ he said. ‘We’ve been killing chickens on this farm since I was a boy. And you’ve never turned your nose up at scraps of chicken in your bowl, have you?’ He pushed aside his plate. ‘There are big changes taking place here. Things you wouldn’t understand. I have plans for the chickens, plans that will make me rich. I’m not going to get sentimental about one bird.’

  Ralph thought for a moment. ‘Promise me one thing,’ he said. ‘Promise me that whatever happens, you will not harm Henrietta.’

  ‘Henrietta? What’s so special about her?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ cried Ralph. ‘She is the finest of all of them. Do you not eat two of her eggs every morning for your breakfast?’

  Farmer Morton shook his head. ‘Not any more,’ he said. ‘Eggs are bad for you. They’re full of cholesterol.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘A poison,’ said Farmer Morton. ‘It puts fat into your veins and clogs up your arteries. Before you know it, you’re dead with a heart attack. No, I have nice healthy porridge for breakfast these days. I haven’t touched an egg in weeks.’

  ‘And who told you about this poison?’ asked Ralph. ‘Oh, let me guess. Kurt.’

  Farmer Morton laughed softly and Ralph could see scraps of bacon lodged in the gaps in his teeth.

  ‘Do yourself a favour, Ralph,’ he said. ‘Stop resisting change. It must come, and in this case it’s going to be a change for the better. Now go away and let me eat my lunch in peace.’

  Ralph stood for a moment looking up at Farmer Morton, but he had gone back to his sandwich so Ralph turned and went back into the yard. Kurt had moved from the step and gone across to congratulate his brothers and sisters. The puppies were gathered around something on the ground and he saw that their little faces were stained with blood and feathers. The Dobermans were standing with them, looking very proud. Ralph didn’t waste any more time. Once again, he took refuge in the darkest corner of the barn. He lay there in the silence and tried not to think about the pitiful screams he had heard in the yard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Night Rally

  A few nights later Ralph had a dream. Even as he was dreaming, he knew that this dream must be very like the one that Fred had told all the farm animals about. In this version Ralph was running through a field of wheat. It was a beautiful sunny day and he was running as fast as he could, smashing down the ears of corn in front of him and enjoying being young and alive and full of energy.

  Then he heard a squawk in the air above him and looking back over his shoulder, he saw that many black birds were wheeling and soaring in the blue sky. He kept running and glancing back and every time he did, he noticed that the birds were lower in the sky and that they were changing their shape, becoming bigger, longer, their clawed feet elongating into paws, their heads sprouting ears. One by one they dropped down into the wheat until the sky was completely clear of them. Ralph slowed to a halt, puzzled. He could not for the life of him understand what was happening.

  Until he heard the rustling sounds. He turned around startled and saw that there was a commotion in the wheat behind him. The black things were running after him through the corn and then he heard a series of deep growls that seemed to turn his blood to ice in his veins. He turned and began to run again, but this time he was not running for the pleasure of running, but because he knew the black shapes, propelled along on their long, spindly legs were faster than he would ever be and that they were coming to kill him.

  He put his head down and ran until he thought his heart would burst within him and now he was aware of the black shapes drawing closer, closer, their fangs bared and their lolling tongues dripping saliva . . .

  Suddenly the first of them was on him, teeth tearing at his throat and he felt a jolt of agony as a second set of jaws clamped around one of hi
s back legs and he fell, howling into the wheat, which seemed to have no end, it was dissolving into a golden blur beneath him and he was falling through the wheat, falling as the black shapes closed around him . . .

  Ralph woke with a whimper and lay, in the straw of the old barn, hoping that his noise hadn’t woken any of the pups. He had deliberately chosen a bed as far away from them as possible, aware of the mischief that poor old Fred had had to endure when Kurt and his sibling were still pups. But as he lay there, letting his heart ease back to its natural rhythm, he realised that it was unnaturally quiet in the barn. Normally there would be the sounds of the puppies breathing, whimpering in their sleep, even giving little barks when they dreamed they were chasing chickens . . . but no, it was eerily silent and when he crept out of his bed and looked into the various stalls, he realised that the pups were gone.

  A wave of anxiety crashed over him. If the pups had sneaked out without permission, Ralph would surely be the one to get the blame for it. He trotted quickly to the open door of the barn and looked out. There was a full moon and a wash of silvery light picked out everything in the farmyard in perfect detail. But there was no sign of the puppies here. Ralph looked towards the upstairs windows of the farmhouse and saw that the lights were out. Farmer Morton and Agnes must be long asleep. As he stood there wondering what he should do he became aware of a noise, a distant sound, coming from the direction of the sheepfold. The sheep were bleating loudly, not the occasional bleat that you might expect at night, but a concerted moaning sound that suggested something going on up there. Ralph thought about barking under Farmer Morton’s window to try and wake him up, but decided that he might simply get himself into trouble if he did that, so instead he ran across the farmyard, as fleet and silent as a four-legged ghost and set off for the sheepfold.

  He moved quickly uphill, hugging cover whenever it was available. As he drew closer, so the sound of the sheep grew louder and more urgent. After a short while he came to the thick bramble hedge that kept the sheep imprisoned and he went down low on his belly and crept forward until he was able to peer through a gap in the hedge.

  Now he could see that the sheep were all gathered in a semi-circle in front of a large, flat-topped stone that stood at one end of the field. The sheep looked scared, wild-eyed and jittery. They were packed tightly together and Ralph could easily see why. Spread out in a wide semi-circle behind them were the Dobermans, both adults and pups, and they were ensuring that the sheep stayed exactly where they were in front of the big rock. Whenever a sheep attempted to break away from its companions, the nearest Doberman would leap forward, growling and snapping at the creature’s heels, forcing it to move back into position. Ralph was horrified to see that the puppies were every bit as ferocious as their adult companions.

  There was a movement on the big rock and Ralph saw that it was Kurt. He had climbed up into position on top of the stone and he stood there, gazing imperiously down at the sheep below him. Instantly, the sheep quietened and stood staring up at him as if mesmerised.

  There was a long silence. Kurt seemed to be deliberately waiting, as though trying to heighten the tension in an already tense situation. Finally, he began to speak in a clear, slow voice.

  ‘Brothers and Sisters of Morton Farm. You are probably wondering why I have called this meeting so late at night. I am very sad to inform you that I come to you with grave news.’

  One sheep let out an anxious bleat and the rest of the flock turned to look at her.

  ‘Silence!’ roared Fritz. ‘Your leader is speaking!’

  ‘Beg pardon,’ mumbled the sheep and kept her mouth firmly shut after that.

  ‘I’m sure I do not have to tell you,’ continued Kurt, ‘of the greatest danger that plagues this farm. I speak, of course, of the chickens!’

  At this, there was a general bleating sound, mostly sounds of relief as the sheep realised it wasn’t them that were in trouble.

  Kurt waited for silence to fall again before he continued. ‘For years, those wicked and deceitful creatures have lived among us, hatching their evil schemes, trying to poison us all with their filthy produce. And I have spoken to you, have I not, of the ways in which they have sought to make a profit for themselves out of the eggs that rightfully belong to those that run the farm?’

  There were general nods of agreement at this. Yes, Kurt’s sly talk with Sally had worked perfectly. That gossipy creature had evidently passed this information on to the entire flock and, dim as they were, it was now believed to be the absolute truth. It would have been a pointless exercise to try and convince them that such a thing was quite impossible.

  ‘As you may have heard,’ continued Kurt, ‘steps have been taken to contain this evil. The chickens are now prisoners in their enclosure. They are no longer allowed to walk among us, spreading their lies and infecting every creature with their filthy diseases. But this is simply the beginning. I come here tonight to tell you that soon we shall be embarking on the ultimate solution.’

  There were some puzzled looks at this and even Ralph, crouched in the shadow of the hedge, had to wonder what that could possibly mean.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Sally, from somewhere in the middle of the flock. ‘When you say the ultimate solution, what do you actually . . .?’

  ‘Silence!’ roared Fritz again and Sally left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘It is my intention,’ said Kurt, ‘to eradicate every chicken from the face of the planet. This will not be accomplished in weeks, months or even years. It may even take longer than my lifetime but I know that there are others . . . my brothers and sisters of the Doberman race, who will take up my standard when I have fallen.’

  At this, the Dobermans shouted with one voice.

  ‘Hail, glorious leader!’

  Kurt bowed his head, accepting their praise. Then he continued. ‘When the new dawn begins, be aware that I am the one who has brought this about. Why? Not for personal glory. Not because I expect thanks from my fellow creatures. No, I do it for the good of the farm! No longer shall we suffer the conniving of these despicable creatures! No longer will we have to live in the shadow of their deceit. Instead, we shall go forward together into a shining new future, where we are the masters of all we survey!’ He looked down at the sheep like some biblical preacher talking to his flock.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘I want your assurance that you are with us Dobermans on this matter. I want to hear you express your feelings about Chicken-kind. Repeat after me. DOWN WITH THE CHICKENS, DOWN WITH THE CHICKENS, DOWN WITH THE CHICKENS!’

  After a few moments, the dim-witted sheep got the general idea and began to join in, their mournful voices echoing in the night.

  ‘DOOOOOOWN WITH THE CHICKENS!’ they cried. ‘DOOOOOWN WITH THE CHICKENS!’

  With each repetition, more and more of them joined in until their voices rose like a terrible chorus, ringing around the hillside, until it seemed to Ralph that surely even Farmer Morton, who was known to be a deep sleeper, would be shaken out of his bed by the racket.

  As he looked from sheep to Kurt and back again, Ralph felt a terrible chill growing inside him. Kurt was gazing down now, his eyes glittering malevolently in the moonlight, his tongue lolling as he grinned at the mindless devotion he had inspired.

  Ralph could stand no more of it. He backed silently out of his hiding place in the hedge and crept down the hillside to the farm, the sounds of that hellish chorus ringing in his ears. Back in his bed, he could still hear the shouts raging in the distance and it seemed to go on for hours and hours until at last he was forced to lift his paws and place them against his ears in the vain hope that he could shut the sound out.

  But the chanting continued unabated until the sun was beginning to rise in the eastern sky.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Conversations

  Ralph couldn’t bring himself to tell Henrietta about what he had seen the previous night. He still met up with her for a few minutes every day and was beginning to feel very worrie
d by how ill she looked. Once the plumpest and sleekest of the chickens, she was now a scrawny, bedraggled ghost of her former self. Her once bright eyes were dull and he noticed a couple of bald patches on her neck where her fine glossy feathers had fallen out. When Ralph came to speak to her just a few days after the night rally, she had a terrible confession to make.

  ‘I can’t seem to lay more than one egg a day,’ she whispered through the wire fence. ‘I expect it’s on account of the stress. There are so many of us in here, packed together night and day. I really don’t know what’s going to happen to us.’

  ‘You mustn’t worry,’ Ralph told her and hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’m going to talk to the other animals around the farm. I’m sure they don’t want this situation to continue. Perhaps if I can get them all to say something to Farmer Morton, he might change his mind.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ asked Henrietta. ‘Oh, I do hope you’re right. Perhaps if you could make him appreciate how horrible it is in here, he might decide to do something about it. I’m sure if he realised how awful it is, he wouldn’t allow us to go on suffering unnecessarily.’

  ‘You leave it to me,’ he told her. ‘We’ll see if we can get something sorted.’

  Ralph was determined to try his best, and his first opportunity came the following morning, when he was up on the high pasture and found Sally grazing on her own.

  ‘Can I have a word with you?’ he asked.

  Sally chewed a mouthful of grass and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘By all means,’ she said.

  ‘It’s about this business with the chickens . . .’

  ‘Doooown with the chickens!’ bleated Sally. ‘Doooown with the chickens!’

  ‘Yes, hold on a minute,’ pleaded Ralph. ‘I know that’s what the Dobermans want you to say about them, but . . .’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with the Dobermans,’ said Sally. ‘Everyone knows that chickens are bad.’