by BobA. Troutt
*****
Socks Without Matches
Rooster, Pullet, Hen
Everything was quiet in the little community of Chicken Branch located off Poorhouse Road. It had started off as just another typical day when, all of a sudden, it happened. Rooster and Hen were at it again. They were fussing and fighting, in the henhouse, over who was the best at everything they do. Rooster said he was the best and Hen said she was. The fight went on and on until Pullet walked in.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the trouble here?” Pullet asked.
Hen said, “Rooster claims to be the best at everything.”
Rooster said, “Hen says she’s the best.”
“Oh no, no, no,” replied Pullet as he shook his head from side to side. “I am the best. I am top-notch; the number one, uno.”
Then Rooster and Hen turned on him, squawking and cackling.
“I am. No, I am. No, I am,” they all cried.
“Cock-a-doodle-do,” crowed Rooster. “Now, see here. This nonsense has to stop,” he said.
“Who do you think you are?” asked Hen.
“I am Rooster,” he said. “That’s exactly who I am, Hen.”
“Oh, just because you can crow, you think you’re something. Well, for your information, Big Red, I can lay an egg,” bragged Hen. “Can you do that?”
Rooster backed up and started to say something when Pullet spoke up.
“You two are nothing but a bunch of chickens.”
They immediately turned to him and yelled, “What do you think you are?”
The fight went on. There was a cluck-cluck, a squawk, a cluck-cluck and a cock-a-doodle-do every once in a while.
“Shut up!” screamed Weasel as he popped up through the trapdoor of the henhouse. “How in Heaven’s name do you think a Weasel can snatch a little breakfast with all this fussing and fighting? Shut up,” he cried before they were able to respond. All this fussing is beginning to get on my last nerve.”
Weasel slowly looked them over from top to bottom.
“Well, well, well, Rooster, you say you are the best,” said Weasel. “And you say you’re the best, Pullet. However, you’re nothing but a young chicken,” Weasel said as he stroked his chin. “And last of all, Hen, you say you’re the best.”
Slowly, Weasel’s mouth began to water.
“Now, let me see,” he said as he looked out across the barnyard with one eye and his other eye on the eggs in the nest.
“But…but…but,” said Pullet.
“Shhh,” hushed Weasel. “I’ve got an idea how this can be settled. There needs to be a contest to determine who the best is.”
“A contest,” they said. “What kind of contest?”
“Uh…uh, a go-cart race!” exclaimed Weasel. “Yeah, that’s it; a go-cart race around the barnyard.”
They all went over to the window as Weasel pointed out the course for them.
“You will start here at the henhouse and head across the barnyard,” he explained. “Go through the cornfield, by the tobacco patch, across the creek, down through the meadow by the pond, back up through the woods and down the home stretch for the finish line.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” said Rooster.
“Yeah, you might be on to something,” agreed Pullet.
“It sounds good to me!” shouted Hen.
“You’re a genius, Weasel” said Rooster.
“I know,” replied Weasel as he smiled really big and snickered to himself. “Suckers; I’ll get them out of my hair for a while,” he mumbled. “Then I’ll fix me an egg omelet.”
“What did you say, Weasel?” asked Hen.
“Oh, nothing,” Weasel replied.
Hurriedly, Rooster, Pullet and Hen ran to the go-carts sitting under a big oak. They climbed aboard, fired them up and lined up at the henhouse. Weasel stood to the side with the flag as all the other farm animals gathered around the starting line to watch the race. Vroom, vroom, went the go-carts as the crazy threesome revved their engines. Weasel counted down and dropped the flag.
“Three, two, one, go” he yelled.
They took off leaving behind a cloud of dust. The race was on.
“So long, suckers. Now, how do I want my eggs,” laughed Weasel. “Do I want them sunny-side up, scrambled or hard boiled?”
Hound-dog announced the race from the hayloft.
“And they’re off. Rooster is in the lead. Pullet is coming up fast with Hen on the outside holding her own.”
Zoom, zoom, zoom went the go-carts as they passed by the garden fence and headed toward the cow pasture. While everyone was watching the race, Weasel was back at the henhouse. He had gathered up the eggs and put them in a grass sack, slipped out the trapdoor and headed home. I fooled those crazy chickens, he said to himself as he laughed. Ha, ha, ha, they’re nothing but a bunch of dumb clucks.
Hound-dog kept a close eye on the race. He watched as they came out of a sharp curve and in to the cow pasture.
“Rooster is leading but he is being trailed closely by Pullet. Hen is bringing up the rear,” he announced.
That was until Rooster hit a cow patty and went in to a skid.
“Ooh-wee,” cried the crowd as Rooster whipped out of the cow pasture slinging cow manure everywhere.”
“Yuck!” cried Rooster as he tried his best to catch up with Pullet and Hen.
Pullet is now in the lead with Hen a close second. Rooster is trying his best to catch up. Unnoticed by everyone, Weasel was lying flat on the ground in the cow pasture; he was covered from head to toe with manure and still holding on to his sack of eggs.
“Yuck!” he cried, “shew-wee.”
The race went on as the threesome headed toward the cornfield.
“I seem to have lost them,” shouted Hound-dog. “But wait. What’s happening?”
The crowd watched on. The threesome had gotten lost in the cornfield. They were running every which way; they couldn’t find their way out. Zoom, one went one way. Zoom, went one another way. It was like a mad house, a crazy maze. Then suddenly, Pullet shot out, followed by Hen and then Rooster. The crowd went wild.
“And they’re off again!” screamed Hound-dog. “Now they’re down by the tobacco patch. This is the craziest race I have ever seen. Who’s going to win? It’s so close; it’s anyone’s race.”
Splash, splash, splash went the creek water as they shot through it and headed toward the meadow.
“What’s this? What’s this?” shouted Hound-dog. “Pullet is stuck in the mud, Hen has taken over the lead and Rooster is closing in fast.”
As Pullet tried to get his go-cart out of the mud, he frantically rocked it back and forth slinging mud everywhere. Eventually, he rocked the go-cart hard enough and he spun out slinging mud high in the air. Splat, splat, splat went the mud all over Weasel when he poked his head out from behind a tree to see what all the commotion was. He was now covered in cow manure and mud. He was a stinky, muddy mess.
He slipped back behind the tree and he quietly cried, “Yuck, ooh-wee. I’m a nasty mess but at least I have my eggs.”
“Pullet is back on course,” screamed Hound-dog. “He’s playing catch up. I’m not sure he’ll have enough time to catch up.”
As the crowd cheered on, Hen and Rooster battled for first place as they entered the meadow. Zoom, zoom, zoom they shot through the meadow. Out of the blue, up shot Pullet. The threesome was neck and neck again.
“What on earth are they doing? I believe there is some fowl play out in the meadow,” cried Hound-dog. “Yes, it is. Those crazy clucks are having an egg fight. I can’t believe it. What a crazy race this has turned out to be.”
Splat, splat, splat went the eggs as they tossed them about. At the same time, Weasel was trying to sneak by the pond with his bag of eggs, trying to get home. All of a sudden an egg hit him and knocked him into the pond. He swam over to a cattail and watched the threesome race out of the meadow.
Hey, this is not bad, he thought. Now, I can take me a quick bath to get rid of this stinky manure and mud.”
“Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, croak,” went the frogs.
“Uh oh,” he yelled. “Aiyee,” he screamed as he shot out of the water and up on the bank, “a snapping turtle.”
He quickly grabbed his sack of eggs and raced up the hill toward the woods.
“Folks, they’re getting close to the home stretch. Hen is in the lead!” shouted Hound-dog. “Rooster is a close second and Pullet is closing in fast. The crowd has mixed emotions here today. Some are shouting Rooster, Rooster, Rooster, while others are cheering Pullet, Pullet, Pullet and yes, Hen has plenty of fans yelling go Hen, go, go Hen go.’”
“Oh no,” cried the crowd.
“What has happened now? My, oh my, it appears Hen has run in to a tree. Rooster and Pullet are fighting for first place. Can anyone tell if Hen is all right? Yes, I believe she is,” replied Hound-dog. “She seems to be a little banged up and may have lost a few feathers. But, I believe she is okay even though she looks like a chicken that’s been pulled through a knothole backwards. Yep, there she goes. She’s back in the race.”
Zoom, she shot across the woods and headed for finish line.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh,” came a moaning sound from behind a bush.
Weasel was lying flat on his back and holding his head.
“What happened?” he mumbled.
Weasel had climbed up the tree Hen hit to get away from those crazy chickens. The force of the impact knocked him out of the tree and he landed flat on his back. When he came to his senses, he jumped up and frantically searched for his eggs; they were gone. As he started to walk away, he noticed his sack of eggs bouncing around on the back of Hen’s go-cart. His eggs were headed back to the henhouse. Phooey, thought Weasel. Who needs those old eggs anyway? What I need is a life. I can’t believe those crazy chickens did this to me,” he thought as he disappeared into the woods.
“They’re nearing the finish line. They’re neck and neck, toe to toe, and back to back. Here comes Rooster holding off Pullet and Hen for first. Pullet is closing in on the outside and Hen is crowding the middle. Who will be the winner? It’s going down to the wire. It’s…it’s…it’s…I can’t believe it. It’s…it’s…it’s a tie.”
“Oh, no,” sighed the crowd. “This didn’t solve a thing.”
As the crazy threesome crossed the finish line, they put on their brakes and slid to a stop. Exhausted, worn out, beaten and tired, they all collapsed from exhaustion. Slowly, the barnyard cleared as the disappointed spectators left one by one. Finally, Rooster was able to raise his head and ask who won. But, there was no one there to answer him.
“Who won!” yelled Pullet.
Still, there was no answer.
Hen cackled out, “I did.”
Pullet replied, “No, you didn’t. I did.”
“No,” said Rooster. “I did. I am the best of all.”
The threesome continued to cackle back and forth about who had won and who was the best. The barnyard animals had a hay day of the time Rooster, Pullet and Hen argued over who was the best. The truth of the matter was they were all too chicken to face the truth. Each one was special in their own way.
