by Patrick Rees
Chapter 2
Ralph was the only rooster on the farm. Bennie thought he had a real easy job, crow in the morning and keep the hens, well, in the egg business. Ralph saw his job quite differently. He was stressed out and had found the old farmer’s wife’s stash of liquor in the root cellar. He might have been the world’s first alcoholic rooster, but true to form, he had been hard at the lady’s stash again the night before. There might not be any call to the rest of the farm about morning today.
Bennie was up anyway. Bennie was in the field, eating his early breakfast again. He had missed his grain yesterday and knew the flock would see nothing but grass today, unless—Bennie was thinking again. He knew where the grain barrel was, and all the spare grain bags were in the barn behind the locked door. He was full of ideas he wanted to try to get into that locked room. He would need help though, and he was waiting to see what his father would have to say about his “experiment” to get more breakfast today than grass.
Frank was the noble old draft horse the farmer’s wife would ride around the farm in years past. Frank’s best friend was his constant shadow, an ancient donkey named Henry. Bennie knew these two and had talked to them often. Bennie asked Frank if he felt he could kick down the door to the feed room. Frank nearly rolled with laughter. Of course, he could. He knew where the door was in the barn, and his own feed was in there. He too missed breakfast and dinner yesterday. He would be glad to help. Henry warned them both that they should be careful to ration out the grain just as the farmer had fed it to them to make what was in the room last. Bennie’s father saw no reason they should not help themselves, and there was no objection from the rest of the flock. Frank broke down the door with one strong kick, and breakfast was served.
Henry waited until the commotion at the barn calmed down before he wandered in to look around. Henry was one of the few animals who remembered the farm in its earliest years. He was not born on the farm but had been there most of his life. Bennie watched him poke his head into the barn, and he himself went in to talk to Henry. Henry knew Bennie well and liked the curious little sheep (well, little as far as donkeys go). Bennie really had never known anything, except he was hungry, and knew Frank could kick the door in to the feed room. Henry asked Bennie if he felt better.
“Of course,” Bennie said. After the usual greetings, Henry admitted it was a good idea. Bennie asked Henry what the animals of the farm should do now.
Henry’s answer surprised Bennie. Henry said if they get used to eating only grass and rationing the grain out only when the grass was low, the animals could last there on the farm by themselves for a long time. The idea made Bennie’s head spin. Was that possible? Could they remain independent? What would happen if someone came to check on the old man and the farm? He remembered something his mother told him once, “We will cross that bridge when we get to it.” He decided right then and there he would endeavor to remain free and independent as long as he could. How on earth would he convince his father it was a good idea?
The wolves made up Bennie’s father’s mind for him. They found the old man’s grave and were scared. The wolves thought who or what had killed the old man and steered clear of the farm for a while. This news traveled through the woods to the farm animals. They were free, and their mortal enemies, the wolves, were far away. The farm animals could live in peace and on their own—for now.
Bennie did not know what to make of their new situation. He had never minded his life on the farm, but he had never really been truly free before. Bennie loved the woods and especially the view of the ocean. He slipped away to go think. No farmer’s routine to cramp his time schedule this time, he let the farm know he was leaving and left to ponder the future.
