I’m a Chicken, Get Me Out of Here!

by Anna Wilson

  Titch could not help a little chuckle at seeing Brian’s predicament. ‘You know, there is something very endearing about you all wrapped up like that with your cute little face peering up at me,’ she chirped.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, get me out of here!’ cried Brian.

  ‘I seem to remember saying the exact same thing to you only a few hours ago,’ teased Titch. ‘I don’t know if I do want to help you. Now that I’m free, that’s exactly how I wish to stay. If I get too close to you, I might end up being pounced on again by the Terror . . .’

  ‘B-b-but even if you don’t help me, you can’t stay in the garden on your own!’ cried Brian, struggling to free himself. ‘You’ve seen how dangerous it is out in the big wide world – you’d have that awful girl to contend with, day in, day out. And what about the cat?’

  ‘I don’t see those are reasons not to try to escape,’ said Titch. ‘After all, look at you – the Terror reached into your hutch and captured you all too easily. No, I think that being out in the garden is a much safer place to be. I cannot be cornered out here. I can flap and fly to my heart’s content.’

  ‘That’s what you think . . . !’

  But whatever Brian was going to say next, he was prevented from doing so by a very upset Wilf, who had just come home to find his dog sporting an unattractive haircut, his cat still wearing wellies, his guinea pig swaddled up like a small furry baby Jesus . . .

  ‘And look, Grandma!’ he was shouting, tears pouring down his hot, angry face. ‘Titch has been let out too!’

  Wilf had been in such a good mood before he had witnessed the results of Meena’s latest episode of mischief.

  Grandma had met him from school with an announcement.

  ‘I have discovered that there is going to be a poultry show in a couple of weeks’ time!’ she said.

  ‘So?’ Wilf had been a bit grumpy at first. He did not know what a pole tree show was, but it sounded rubbish. Who wanted to go to a show of poles and trees?

  ‘You do know what a poultry show is, don’t you, Wilf?’ Grandma said kindly. ‘It is a show for chickens and cockerels. And ducks and turkeys too, as a matter of fact – that’s what “poultry” means.’

  ‘Oh, THAT kind of pole tree show,’ Wilf said, nodding wisely. ‘Yeah. Course.’

  He waited to see what Grandma would say next.

  Grandma coughed and hid her mouth behind her hand. ‘Well, I was thinking that you could take Titch. They have special classes for Pekins, and because she is a Lavender Pekin, and a very beautiful one, she might win a prize! Then even your mum will have to admit how special she is.’

  Wilf’s face lit up like a beacon. ‘Grandma!’ he cried. ‘You are a genius. A GEE-NEE-USS!’

  ‘I’m certainly no birdbrain,’ Grandma said with a giggle.

  ‘I can’t wait to get home and tell Titch myself!’ Wilf said, bouncing in his seat. He was happier and more excited than he had been in a long while.

  But now Wilf was feeling anything but happy and excited. He had been appalled to see the state of his poor guinea pig, trussed up in all those scarves, and he had endured more than a few scratches while unwinding them from the wriggling creature. And, as if that was not bad enough, Wilf could not even see Titch now. She had disappeared into the foliage. He felt panic rising in his chest. It rose and rose until it came out of his mouth in a loud sob.

  ‘N-n-now that Titch has escaped, how am I ever going to get a chance to take her to a show, Grandma?’ he wailed.

  Meena had come into the garden to watch the scene unfold. She wrapped her arms around Grandma’s legs. ‘Why is Wilfie cryin’?’ she lisped.

  ‘Not now, Meena dear,’ said Grandma.

  ‘But why is he cryin’ like that? Doesn’t he like his chickie to be free an’ flyin’ and happy?’ Meena said, her blue eyes sparkling innocently.

  Wilf glared at his sister through his tears.

  ‘This is all your fault,’ he snarled. ‘It’s always your fault. You ruin everything. I will make you pay for this.’

  Meena raised her eyebrows at her brother to show that she doubted very much that he would make her pay. Then she stuck out her bottom lip and made her face go pink. ‘Gran’maaaaaa! Wilfie’s bein’ HORRID!’

  Grandma immediately swooped down and picked her up to give her a cuddle.

  Wilf growled.

  ‘Titch can’t have gone far,’ said Grandma in a soothing tone. ‘Why don’t you have a look around the garden for her, Wilf? I’ll take Meena indoors with me – to keep her out of harm’s way.’ She said that last bit very pointedly, fixing her granddaughter with a look that clearly said ‘I have got my eye on you, young missy’.

  Wilf waited until his sister was safely inside and then rushed around the garden, looking under bushes, parting the leaves of shrubs, even hunting in plant pots. All to no avail.

  He traipsed sadly back to Brian’s hutch and plonked himself down on the grass, his head in his hands.

  ‘Oh, Brian,’ he said. ‘How will I ever find Titch? And what if something nasty happens to her? Ned might get her . . .’

  Brian shuffled up to the side of his hutch and pressed his face against the wire.

  ‘Eeeeeeek!’ he said. ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeek!’

  The guinea pig seemed to be trying to say something. He was jumping up and down on his stumpy little legs and waving his front paws above his head.

  Wilf glanced up and saw that Titch had re-emerged from her hiding place and was on a branch in the tree directly above Brian’s hutch.

  ‘Beuuurck!’ said the little hen.

  ‘Oh, Titch!’ cried Wilf. ‘It’s all right, I’ll save you.’

  ‘Bueeeeuuuurrrrck!’ said Titch. She did not sound as though she wanted to be saved. She had puffed her chest out and was looking down in a haughty manner on both the boy and the guinea pig.

  ‘Eeeeeeeek!’ Brian said, looking up at the hen. He seemed rather cross, Wilf thought.

  Wilf had an idea. He left his guinea pig and the hen hurling insults at each other and ran to the garden shed to get his butterfly net. He loved collecting butterflies in it so that he could make lists of all the different kinds he found. He always set them free again, though, because that’s the kind of thoughtful boy he was.

  He grabbed the net, which was very large and very soft, so as not to damage butterflies’ wings. Then he launched himself at Titch, throwing the net high while she was busy arguing with Brian.

  Brian was telling the hen what a fool she was to stay out in the wilds of the garden on her own. Titch retorted that she was not a lily-livered ball of fluff like him and she could look after herself.

  All in all, it was probably a good thing that Wilf could not understand his pets. He might not have liked them so much if he knew what they were really saying.

  Wilf was having trouble with the net. Try as he might to reach Titch, even by jumping and leaping, he was not tall enough.

  ‘Help me!’ he wailed uselessly, for there was no one there to come to his aid.

  Then he plonked himself down on the grass and buried his head in his hands for the second time that afternoon. His brain was a boiling pot of anxious thoughts. What if Titch never came down? What if she flew further and further from tree to tree, and found her way out of the garden?

  He could not lose her, not so soon after getting her.

  Meena was sitting on the floor by the radiator. She had been busy poking cheese down the back of it while Grandma helped Mum with the tea, but she looked up when she heard her brother’s distress.

  ‘Please, Grandma!’ Wilf was saying. ‘You’ve got to help.’

  Grandma shook her head sorrowfully. ‘I’m sorry, Wilfie. I am too old to jump up and down with a butterfly net. I think we should wait a little while longer. We know Titch can fly, so I’m sure she’ll come down of her own accord.’

  ‘But what if she doesn’t!’ Wilf groaned. He let his arms fall to his sides and flopped his head back to demonstrate how hopeless the whole situ
ation was.

  Mum came into the room to see what the fuss was about.

  Ringo came in with her and immediately sniffed out the melting cheese and went to slurp it up.

  ‘Have you found the hen?’ Mum asked.

  Wilf nodded sorrowfully. ‘She’s stuck up a tree.’

  ‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Grandma. ‘Hens really do not like to stay out at night, you know. They like to come home to roost. So I think we should leave her be. I’m sure all the fuss has made her feel . . . flighty.’ She paused to let her comment sink in ‘She will find her own way back to the hutch, I’m sure.’

  ‘But I can’t leave the hutch door open cos then Brian will escape too!’ Wilf exclaimed.

  Meena came over to Grandma and climbed on to her lap. ‘Can Brian come in the house, Gran’ma?’ she asked sweetly.

  Mum frowned. ‘I don’t know about that . . .’

  Grandma shot Mum a look. ‘It’s not a bad idea, you know.’

  Meena clapped her hands. ‘Yay! Bagsy Meena give Brian a snuggle.’

  Wilf narrowed his eyes. ‘You are not going anywhere near him,’ he growled.

  Grandma laid a hand on her grandson’s shoulder. ‘Now, now,’ she said. ‘I think Meena’s right. Brian looked as though he could do with a cuddle. We’ll bring him in, keep him in a cardboard box in the kitchen while we are having tea and then we’ll go and check on Titch before bedtime.’

  Mum sighed noisily. ‘I really don’t think—’ But she was interrupted by Ringo, who had eaten rather a lot of radiator fluff with the melted cheese and was now being noisily sick on the floor at Mum’s feet. ‘DOH!’ she shouted. ‘This is precisely why I do not like ANIMALS IN MY HOUSE!’

  ‘I’ll clear that up,’ said Grandma. Then she turned to Wilf. ‘Go and get Brian,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll deal with your mother.’

  Wilf went back out into the garden. ‘Poor Brian,’ he said, eyeing the quivering guinea pig. ‘You don’t look very happy.’

  ‘Eeeeeeek!’ said Brian.

  ‘I know,’ said Wilf. ‘I would not be happy either if I’d had the day you’ve had. You were probably frightened about Titch flying away, weren’t you?’

  ‘Eeeeek!’ said Brian.

  Wilf cradled him close and mumbled softly to him as he carried him in. Brian seemed to like that and had soon calmed down and snuggled into the crook of Wilf’s arm.

  When Wilf came up to the house, Grandma was by the back door, washing out the bucket of cheesy dog sick. Wilf wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Ah, he looks happier already,’ said Grandma, seeing Brian snuggled in Wilf’s arms. ‘Let’s go and find him a nice box, shall we?’

  ‘What if Titch doesn’t realize the hutch is her home yet?’ Wilf asked as he followed Grandma inside. He could not bear the thought of the little hen being alone in the garden all night.

  Grandma turned round to give Wilf a quick hug and was careful not to squash Brian. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Chickens are a lot more intelligent than we give them credit for. A lot goes on inside that tiny brain of theirs.’

  ‘Miaaaaoow,’ said Ned, who was following.

  Wilf glanced over his shoulder at the cat. ‘Ned doesn’t sound as though he agrees with you, Grandma.’

  Grandma smiled. ‘What does he know?’ she said.

  Ned hissed.

  Wilf gave a shuddery sigh. ‘S’pose,’ he said.

  Grandma was right about most things, in his experience. He only hoped she was right this time too.

  Later, Grandma was chopping carrots and Mum was reading a magazine while she stirred a sauce absent-mindedly. Meena was hovering around Mum and sticking her tongue out at Wilf whenever she was sure no one was looking.

  ‘You are the most horrible sister in the whole, entire universe,’ Wilf whispered. ‘How could you do those things to my pets? That was Cruelty to Animals, you realize,’ he added.

  ‘OooOO,’ Meena whispered back. ‘I’m so scared,’ she added, with an extravagant eye roll, to show that she was anything but. Then she came right up to Wilf and hissed, ‘In any case, they are not your pets. They are everyone’s pets. And it wasn’t Cruelty to Animals, it was only Cruelty to Ned. Brian and Ringo did not mind what I did –’ Brian shuffled nervously in Wilf’s arms – ‘only Ned made a fuss. And Ned deserves it. He scratches. And he is nasty to mice and voles and things.’

  Wilf went red. ‘That’s his job, stupid.’

  ‘His job?’ scoffed Meena. ‘Cats don’t have jobs. You are mental, Wilfie.’

  ‘Better to be mental than evil,’ snapped Wilf.

  ‘Mummeeeeee!’ Meena complained, her most annoying baby voice rising in volume. ‘Wilfie’s bein’ horrid to Meena, again.’ She crossed her arms dramatically.

  ‘And Meena’s been taking poor Brian out of his hutch and dressing him up,’ Wilf said.

  ‘Eek! Eeek!’ said Brian.

  Meena pouted and looked very hurt indeed. ‘Have not. Wilfie’s lyin’,’ she said in her most babyish voice. ‘I was playing wiv my dollies.’

  Mum tutted. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy, Wilf dear?’ she said, without looking up. ‘I don’t think you would do such a nasty thing as that to Brian, would you, Meena?’

  ‘No, Mummy,’ Meena assured her. ‘I love Brian.’

  ‘Eeeeeek!’ said Brian.

  Wilf looked down and saw the guinea pig’s eyes were wide with fear.

  ‘Actually,’ Grandma began, ‘when we got home from school, Brian was wearing an interesting array of—’

  ‘See, Wilfie?’ said Mum, gesturing to Meena and ignoring Grandma. ‘Meena loves Brian. So there’s no need to make up stories.’ She continued stirring the sauce on the hob and reading her magazine. She had been engrossed in an article about a new anti-wrinkle gel. She was thinking about how all the stress in her life had given her so many wrinkles. She remembered that she had placed a bulk order for some anti-wrinkle gel online a while ago, but it had been a disaster as she had gone on to the wrong site and had ended up with boxes and boxes of fruit jelly instead.

  I really must return that jelly, she thought to herself as she set about putting Ned’s food into his bowl, which was ready and waiting on the work surface. I don’t want Meena to find it. Ever since a nasty child put some down the back of her neck at a birthday party she hasn’t been able to stand the stuff. I wonder where I put the returns label?

  ‘MUM!’ Wilf shouted. ‘Look at what you are doing!’

  Mrs Peasbody looked up at her son distractedly. ‘Look at what, dear?’ she said.

  ‘Cat food!’ Wilf cried, pointing at the pan of sauce. ‘You’ve just put Ned’s food in our tea!’

  ‘Oh, honestly,’ Mum tutted. She picked up the pan and began scraping the cat food from it into Ned’s bowl, sauce and all. ‘Did you move the cat’s bowl, Wilfred? I was sure I had put it right here. I have to have eyes in the back of my head with you, don’t I, young man? I shall have to start all over again now! Oh, I can’t be bothered. We’ll have to have boiled eggs instead.’

  Meena sniggered, but when Wilf glanced back at her she looked up and made her eyes wide in a picture of innocence.

  ‘Talking of eggs, is there any danger of that hen of yours actually laying any?’ Mum asked.

  Wilf frowned. ‘Not now she is up a tree . . .’

  ‘Because,’ Mum went on, ignoring him, ‘I would be a lot keener on having her as a pet if she did, you know.’

  ‘And if she doesn’t lay any, Mummy,’ Meena said, ‘you are getting rid of her, aren’t you? That’s what you said.’ She shot a sly look at her distressed brother, who was shaking his head vehemently.

  ‘What’s that, dear?’ Mum asked.

  Wilf noted with relief that his mother had gone back to reading the magazine, so had not heard what Meena had said. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at his sister while mouthing the words, ‘I’m watching you.’

  ‘And I’m watching you,’ Meena mouthed back.

  Grandma had suggested they place Brian
in an open-topped cardboard box in the sitting room near the radiator. (The radiator in the kitchen still smelt cheesy.) She told Wilf that the warmth would help Brian to stop shivering. He was still shaking after his ordeal with Meena and his argument with Titch, but Grandma of course thought it was because he was cold.

  Brian very much appreciated the kindness that Wilf and Grandma showed him. He also appreciated Grandma staying in the room with him while she drank her cup of tea, as he was not convinced that Meena would not try more of her nasty tricks on him, given half a chance. He was feeling comfortable again for the first time in a couple of days: Grandma and Wilf had filled the box with fresh, sweet-smelling bedding and had put down a water pot and food pot in the far corner, just as he liked it. Also, it was nice and cosy here next to the radiator. His tummy was full and his bed was looking very inviting indeed. He gave a happy squeak and burrowed into the bedding until it was exactly how he always had it. He was just nodding off when a smooth, familiar voice made him jump.

  ‘Brian . . . Brian! Don’t go to sleep! We have important things to discuss.’

  Brian felt his throat tighten. He had never trusted that cat.

  ‘Eeeeeeek!’ he squealed. ‘What do you want? I’m in more danger here than I was outside, aren’t I? That’s what you’re going to tell me. Oh no! What if I never see my beautiful hutch ever again? What if this is part of some sinister plot on behalf of that flappy chicken to get me rehoused . . . ?’

  ‘Will you please stop that wretched squeaking and listen to me for one second?’ Ned hissed. ‘I am not going to hurt you, for heaven’s sake. In fact, I was rather hoping I could persuade you – and the hen, if she ever comes back – to help me out.’

  Brian quivered, but he did as he was told. Something in Ned’s tone told him the cat was in earnest. He peeped timidly out of his sawdust duvet.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ he asked.

  Ned checked that Grandma was not watching. Then he leaned in closer and said quietly, ‘I want you to help me get my own back on that insufferable girl.’ He flicked his head towards the kitchen. ‘She has been making my life a misery for years and I have been looking for an opportunity to teach her a lesson. Today has been a nightmare from start to finish. And that dressing-up stint was the last straw. The humiliation! Her time has come, let me tell you.’