‘Who says they’re bad?’
‘I do. In fact, all us sheep do.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Ralph, trying to be patient. ‘But you’re only saying that because Kurt has told you that they’re bad. Let me assure you that the chickens . . .’
‘Doooown with the chickens! Doooown with the chickens!’
‘Will you stop that? Where is the evidence that says they are bad?’
‘Evidence?’ grunted Sally. ‘What do you mean, evidence?’
‘I mean, what have they ever done to you?’
Sally thought for a few moments. ‘I got a nasty infection this winter,’ she said at last. ‘I almost certainly caught it from a chicken.’
‘But how could that be possible? You never go anywhere near them.’
‘Ah, but the diseases they spread can be carried on the wind. Everyone knows that.’ Sally looked at Ralph scornfully. ‘You’d be advised to stay well away from ‘em. Don’t think it hasn’t been noticed, the way you sit talking to Henrietta every day. What if she passes something nasty on to you and you go spreading it all over the farm? Eh? What then?’
Ralph stared at Sally, wondering how she could be so monumentally stupid.
‘Look, Sally, this is just ridiculous. The chickens–’
‘Dooooown with the chickens! Dooooown with the chickens!’
At this point, Ralph gave up and went about his business, telling himself that at least the other animal leaders would approach the situation with a little more intelligence. But unfortunately, when he called in on Marmaduke the following day he didn’t make much progress with him, either.
As usual, Marmaduke was lying in the mud, surrounded by a tumble of lazy sows and energetic piglets. He had just enjoyed an enormous meal and Ralph couldn’t help noticing that he was fatter than ever before, his swollen pink body looking as though it was about to burst. And unfortunately, his conversation was interrupted by regular blasts of wind from his rear end, which Ralph did his best to ignore.
‘Marmaduke,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to talk to you about Henrietta and the rest of the chickens.’ Ralph hesitated, almost expecting Marmaduke to start the same infernal chant he had heard from Sally, but happily that didn’t happen.
‘Oh, yes?’ Marmaduke’s nostrils quivered damply. ‘I heard all about it. It seems they’ve locked the old girl away with the rest of her flock. Damned bad luck, but I suppose that’s what you get when you go causing trouble.’ And he broke wind, as if to emphasise the point.
Ralph stared down at Marmaduke in dismay. It looked as though somebody had already got to the old boar and he could easily imagine who that must have been.
‘She hasn’t been causing any trouble,’ said Ralph irritably. ‘Quite the opposite. Kurt and the other Dobermans have been spreading malicious rumours about her and the problem is, certain animals on this farm are taking them seriously.’ He gave Marmaduke a sidelong look. ‘I’m sure you haven’t been fooled by them.’
‘Umm . . . well . . .’ said Marmaduke. ‘What’s all this about her selling her eggs on the black market, eh? That sounds very sneaky if you ask me. No wonder they’ve locked her away if that’s what she’s been up to.’ And he broke wind again.
Ralph nearly howled in despair. ‘Marmaduke, think about it for a moment,’ he said. ‘How could a chicken possibly do that?’
‘Oh, well, they’d have to have human accomplices, obviously. The lads from Bickerdike Farm, that’s what I heard.’
‘The lads from . . .’ For a moment, Ralph was speechless. ‘Marmaduke, I can’t believe you’re falling for this. Henrietta was a good friend to you. She used to come and visit you every day, did she or did she not?’
Marmaduke snuffled and nodded his huge head. ‘Oh yes, she did that all right. And well she might, since she had her eyes on my piglets. Planning to sell them, she was, as suckling pigs, to one of those fancy restaurants in the city. Oh yes, I heard all about it.’
‘From Kurt, I suppose?’
‘Well, er . . . I don’t exactly remember who put me in the picture . . . but that’s not the point, is it? To think I was friendly with that chicken and all the time she was planning to grab my kids and sell them out from under me. Well, let her rot in there, I say. She deserves everything she gets!’
Once again Ralph was obliged to leave with a heavy heart and his tail between his legs. He next tried talking to Sheba, thinking that as a complete independent, she might have a more balanced point of view. But, as ever, Sheba was only concerned for her own interests. When Ralph found her she was lying on a low wall, enjoying the warmth of the sun and when he spoke to her she opened one eye and peered at him warily.
‘Do you mind?’ she purred. ‘I’m catching a few rays here.’
‘Never mind about that,’ said Ralph. ‘I want to have a quick word with you about Henrietta and the other chickens.’
Sheba yawned, stretched and began to lick her front paws. ‘What about them, darling?’ she purred.
‘Don’t you think it’s awful what’s happened to them?’ continued Ralph.
‘I suppose it is,’ agreed Sheba, lazily. ‘But what’s it got to do with me?’
‘Well, you’re one of Henrietta’s friends, aren’t you?’
‘Not what you’d call a close friend,’ said Sheba. ‘More of an acquaintance, really. I mean, we might say the odd word to each other, in passing, but we aren’t what you would call bosom buddies.’ She eyed Ralph suspiciously. ‘Why are you so interested?’
‘Well, because Henrietta is my friend.’
‘Hmm. If I were you, I wouldn’t let Kurt and his crowd hear you say that. They’d take a very dim view of such a thing.’
‘Who cares what Kurt thinks?’ snapped Ralph.
‘Anybody with half a brain would care,’ Sheba warned him. ‘He’s the power in this place now. Oh, Farmer Morton might think it’s still him, but anybody can see that he’s just a puppet dancing to Kurt’s tune.’
‘So you can see that it’s wrong?’ insisted Ralph.
‘Of course, darling. The whole business stinks to high heaven. But you see, one has to think about one’s own situation.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s put it this way. When the Dobermans were pups, they spent many a happy hour chasing me around the farm. And if they’d caught me . . . well, I dread to think what might have happened. I’m just glad they switched their attention to somebody else.’
‘Well, that’s a bit selfish, isn’t it?’ cried Ralph. ‘Horrible things are being done to the chickens and you just stand by and do nothing about it?’
‘What would you have me do?’ asked Sheba.
‘You could complain to Farmer Morton,’ suggested Ralph.
‘Oh yes, good idea! I could complain to a brick wall too and I’d get just about as much reaction. In case you haven’t noticed, Farmer Morton thinks the sun shines out of Kurt’s bottom. Complaining about him doesn’t seem to me to be a very bright thing to do.’
‘Well . . . no, I suppose there’s some truth in that. But if we just think about ourselves and try to keep out of it, what’s going to happen to the chickens in the end?’
‘My dear, you are far too reckless in your friendships,’ Sheba told him. ‘Yes, it’s tough on the chickens, poor loves, but we cats have a code and it’s basically this: look after number one. Why do you suppose I’d want to risk being tarred with the same brush as the chickens? Look at the mess they’re in. It wouldn’t suit me to be in their position. Now do go away, there’s a dear boy, and let me catch up on some beauty sleep. Not that I need it.’
‘We have to do something!’ cried Ralph. ‘We can’t just turn our backs and pretend that nothing is happening.’
‘Want to bet?’ sighed Sheba. ‘Watch me.’ And in moments she had slipped back into her catnap. Ralph walked away dejected, thinking that nobody else on the farm gave two hoots for what was happening to the chickens. He decided that he had been wasting his time.
But sy
mpathy did come and from an unexpected source. One day, as Ralph was lying in the yard feeling utterly dejected and wondering how he was going to break the news to Henrietta that nobody was prepared to help her, he heard the sound of hooves clomping on the cobbles and looking up, he saw that it was Jonah, paying one of his rare visits to the yard. The scrawny old goat came to a stop beside Ralph and stood there for a moment, looking dejectedly down at him.
‘It’s not right,’ he said at last.
‘What’s not right?’ Ralph asked him.
‘What’s happening on this ruddy farm,’ said Jonah. ‘In particular, what’s happening to the chickens.’
Ralph stared up at Jonah, hardly believing he had heard correctly. ‘You . . . you care about what’s happening?’ cried Ralph in disbelief.
‘Yes, of course I do! Poor Henrietta, you couldn’t hope to meet a nicer, more good-natured creature on the whole of this farm and yet there she is, a prisoner, branded by the lies of those ruddy Dobermans.’
‘But . . . Jonah, that’s amazing! I mean, that’s exactly what I think!’ Ralph jumped to his feet in his excitement and started dancing around the old goat. ‘But . . . I’ve tried talking to the other animals about it and none of them seem in the least bit interested.’
‘You didn’t talk to me,’ said Jonah, haughtily.
‘Er . . . no, I . . . I never thought of it,’ admitted Ralph. ‘No offence, Jonah, but . . . you aren’t always all that forthright about things.’
‘Well, this one gets my goat,’ said Jonah. ‘If you’ll pardon the expression! I’ve been watching those Dobermans. What a mean and vicious lot they are. Particularly that Kurt. Ooh, he’s got a major chip on his shoulder, that one. Do you know he came to me the other day, trying to tell me all this nonsense about how evil the chickens were? Well, I told him to sling his hook.’
Ralph felt a momentary pang of dismay. ‘Er . . . was that wise?’ he asked. ‘He has got quite a bit of influence with Farmer Morton, you know.’
‘Huh! He doesn’t scare me. He’s barely more than a puppy. I told him to stop coming round spreading lies. I said, if I heard him say anything like that again, he’d feel my horns against his backside and he wouldn’t like it very much. He soon stopped talking after that, I can tell you.’
‘Umm. . . right,’ said Ralph, but now he was feeling decidedly nervous for Jonah, who clearly couldn’t see that it might not be the wisest move in the world to speak to Kurt like that. ‘So, the thing is . . . what are we going to do about it?’
‘We’re going to mobilise all the other animals on the farm,’ said Jonah. ‘We’re going to go and see Farmer Morton together and we’re going to tell him that we aren’t going to stand for it. We’re going to say that he’s to open up that ruddy chicken run and let Henrietta and her friends go free. He can’t stand against the will of all of us.’
‘Ah.’ Ralph looked at Jonah sadly. ‘And . . . how many other animals have you spoken to so far?’
‘Oh, only you,’ said Jonah, proudly. ‘You’re the first.’
‘Uh huh.’ Ralph nodded. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Jonah. I don’t think any of the other animals are interested. Like I was telling you, I’ve already spoken to Sally, Marmaduke and Sheba, and they pretty much told me they didn’t care what was happening to the chickens.’
Jonah stared at him. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I see . . .’
‘That’s not to say that you might not find the odd animal who will go along with you, but . . .’
‘They were the three I was planning to speak to next,’ said Jonah, flatly. ‘Oh well, scratch that one. It looks like it’s down to you and me.’
They stood there looking at each other.
‘So . . . any ideas?’ asked Ralph.
‘Not yet,’ admitted Jonah. ‘But when I do get one, you’ll be the first to know.’ And with that he turned and ambled back towards his field. Ralph watched him go with mixed feelings. He was delighted that somebody else felt the same as he did, but he was rather less happy with the fact that Jonah had spoken so bluntly to Kurt. He was not a creature to make an enemy of.
But, he thought, perhaps Jonah would come up with a good idea. If and when he did, Ralph would be ready to help.
Chapter Sixteen
The Future Beckons
Over the following weeks, there was much noise from inside the new building; the roaring of what sounded like a huge engine, various clatterings and thumpings and loud blasts of air. One day, Ralph looked up to see that a column of black smoke was rising up from the tall steel chimney. Farmer Morton who was passing by pushing a wheelbarrow, saw his puzzled expression and laughed at him.
‘It’s nearly ready,’ he said puzzlingly. ‘That’s just the final tests they’re doing now. We’ll be firing it up for real the day after tomorrow.’
‘But . . . what is it?’ asked Ralph.
Farmer Morton smiled and set down the wheelbarrow. He took off his flat cap for a moment and wiped his brow on his sleeve.
‘It’s the future, Ralph. It’s the thing that’s going to transform the fortunes of this farm. You know, I don’t mind admitting, it was Kurt who showed me the possibilities. He was the architect of this scheme, but I’ll be the one reaping the rewards. It’s going to make me a rich man.’
‘What does it do?’ asked Ralph. ‘What happens in there?’
Farmer Morton turned and pointed towards the crowded chicken run. ‘For years, I’ve been hopelessly old fashioned,’ he said. ‘Selling eggs to make pennies when I could have been making millions. Kurt has shown me a way to make so much more. We won’t be harvesting the chicken’s eggs any more. We’ll be harvesting the chickens themselves.’
‘Harvesting them?’ Ralph still wasn’t quite getting it. ‘How can you . . . harvest chickens?’ he asked.
‘For their meat,’ said Farmer Morton. ‘That yonder is a meat processing plant. That beauty will be able to process hundreds of chickens a day.’
Ralph felt as though he’d just been kicked in the chest. He sat there staring up at Farmer Morton as the awful truth sank in.
‘When you say ‘process’ them, does that mean . . . that you kill them?’
Farmer Morton laughed. ‘Of course it does,’ he said.
‘But. . . not all of them,’ protested Ralph.
‘Of course, all of them! That lot in the enclosure are just the start. Once we empty out the run, a new lot will be delivered. It’s all arranged.’
Ralph was shaking his head. ‘But what about Henrietta?’ he cried.
‘Henrietta?’ For a moment, Farmer Morton looked like he couldn’t quite remember who Henrietta was. Then he smiled. ‘Of course. You two are good friends, aren’t you?’ He shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Well, we’ll spare her, then. We’ll keep her as a mascot of the old days. How does that sound, young Ralph?’
‘That sounds good,’ said Ralph, but deep inside, he didn’t feel like it was much of a victory. All of Henrietta’s closest friends were going to be sent to certain death the day after tomorrow, but he realised it was pointless to waste time pleading for them. He turned to look back at the plume of smoke rising from the chimney and a powerful odour reached his nostrils.
‘It smells bad,’ he said.
Farmer Morton nodded in agreement. ‘The chickens will smell a lot better than that scrawny old devil,’ he said, mystifyingly. ‘But he was all we had to test it with.’ And he lifted his wheelbarrow and went on his way. Ralph gazed after him, feeling a sudden sinking sensation within him.
‘Scrawny old devil . . .’ he murmured.
And then he was up and running towards Jonah’s field, as fast as his legs could carry him, telling himself no, he must have got it wrong, he must have misunderstood, because why would anyone harm a poor old creature like Jonah?
But he got to the field and there was no sign of him. The gate was open and he ran inside a short distance just to be sure that Jonah wasn’t there.
‘Jonah?’ he shouted anxiously. ‘J
onah, where are you?’
‘I wouldn’t waste your breath calling for him,’ said a voice and he spun around the see that Kurt was sitting to the side of the gate, almost as though he had been waiting for Ralph to turn up. Unusually, he was on his own today. ‘Farmer Morton came for him first thing this morning. They wanted something to test the incinerator on, you see.’
‘No,’ whispered Ralph, appalled. ‘But why? Why would you do something like that to Jonah?’
‘Me?’ Kurt looked faintly insulted. ‘Not me, Ralph. I told you, Farmer Morton took him up there. Unfortunate for him, but as I’ve been saying for ages, that old goat was of no real use to anyone. He didn’t do anything much except stand around and moan about his miserable life. And just lately, of course, he had taken to opening his mouth on subjects that didn’t really concern him. Why, the other day, he spoke to me in very unfriendly terms. Threatened to use his horns on me.’
‘I wish he had,’ said Ralph, fighting back tears.
‘Oh, come now, you don’t mean that! It’s as I keep saying, we animals all need to work together as a team.’ He moved closer and lowered his voice as if to confide a secret. ‘Ralph, I’m prepared to make certain allowances for you, because we have a history. You were there for me when I was a pup and I haven’t forgotten that. But my patience will only extend so far. It has reached my ears that you have been going around the farm lately, asking questions.’
‘What of it?’ snarled Ralph. ‘It’s not against the law, is it?’
Kurt studied him coldly for a moment. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘One of these days you are going to overstep the mark, my friend, and if that happens, you will no longer be welcome here. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?’
Ralph stared defiantly back at Kurt for a moment, then lowered his head and nodded. He realised it was useless to stand up now and try and make a fight of it. One shout from Kurt would bring the whole pack of Dobermans down upon him and then who would be there to look out for Henrietta? He looked once more at the empty field and told himself that his only ally was gone. He was on his own.
Animal Factory Page 9
