This post is part of StoryADay May (https://storyaday.org/) #StoryADay #StoryADayMay @storyadaymay #freeshortstory #FoodTuesday #chickens

Besties

Bk’k was a black and white speckled hen, the pride of the flock. She was the strongest, the prettiest, the best layer, and the prime forager. Unlike lesser hens, she didn’t hog all the good bugs for herself, but called like a rooster to alert the whole flock that food was here.

Still, she felt unfulfilled. In the spring of her third year, she decided she wouldn’t let the human take her eggs. She squawked and pecked, and only left the laying box long enough to let other hens lay, then she would sit on those, as well, and try to keep the human from taking them.

The human was bigger and stronger, and had thick gloves, and always won the battle. After a few days, the human put Bk’k into a separate little hen house and just let her sit her own eggs. Bk’k’s mother had told her about roosters; Bk’k’s own father had been the last rooster in the flock, a prideful bully who never let anybody else’s feelings get in the way of what he wanted. Everybody was glad when a raccoon had dragged him away and the humans elected to reinforce the fencing and leave roosters out of it.

Bk’k knew that her eggs wouldn’t hatch without a rooster, but she still wanted to sit on them. But they wouldn’t hatch. But she wanted to brood. But….

She pecked at her enclosure, and, just by luck, opened the latch. The human was in her own coop. Maybe outside would be better than inside, raccoons and all.

Running, fluttering, scuttering, Bk’k made for the treeline. She hopped up a fallen tree leaning on another’s stump and found a natural nest of leaves and twigs on the top. She snuggled down and waited for eggs.

The human raised a fuss when she found Bk’k gone. The other humans who lived in the big coop searched all around, but they didn’t think of looking up, and Bk’k snuggled deeper into her nest. The humans finally gave up, some of them crying and some of them indifferent.

Bk’k didn’t care either way. She was free.

Days passed, and Bk’k still sat on the eggs she laid day by day. There was plenty of food that just came to her as she sat still. Some of it was juicy enough to keep her thirst at bay.

Then, one morning, she heard a bird crying.

Curious, she stretched her neck and peered around. She couldn’t see very far, but she saw a cluster of black feathers not far from her nest.

“Who is it?” she clucked in bird language. “What’s wrong?”

“My name is Awwwk,” said the other bird. “And I don’t know what’s wrong. I keep laying eggs, but the shells keep breaking and I’ll never have babies!”

“I know just how you feel,” said Bk’k. “Mind you, I don’t know that I actually WANT babies, but I FEEL like I do.”

She thought for a moment. “You know, I believe our human used to give us little pieces of shells, and the chickens who wouldn’t eat any had weak shells like that. Doesn’t your human throw little pieces of shells into your pen?”

“I don’t have a human or a pen,” said the black bird. “I’m a crow. We live in the wild. I guess some of us find food that makes our shells strong and some of us don’t.” She sighed. “I guess I’m one of the ones who don’t.”

“What about the other crows you know?”

“They have weak shells this year, too. Do you think your human would give us some little pieces of shells?”

“Probably not.” It had been nearly three weeks since Bk’k had begun brooding, and the urge was fading. “I’ll tell you what, though: I have eggs here. Why don’t you and your friends eat the shells of those?”

“But … your babies!”

“There aren’t any babies in there,” Bk’k admitted. “I was just pretending, I suppose. In fact, if I can remember the way, I’d like to go back home.”

“Say no more!” said Awwwk. She raised her beak and made loud, raucous sounds into the sky.

Seven other crows landed near her and they had an animated conversation in crow. Then four flew off and Awwwk and three others shuffled shyly nearer to Bk’k. Bk’k, with some residual reluctance, moved from the nest. She looked away as the crows devoured her eggs, shells and all.

By the time they were done, the male crows had returned with directions to the nearest hen house, which was, indeed, Bk’k’s. They led her there, and her human was beyond delighted to find her waiting outside the big coop’s door when she came out to feed the hens.

Bk’k rejoined her flock and told them of her grand adventure and her new friends. At her suggestion, the hens took turns laying eggs in a patch of weeds out of sight of the big coop, and the crows took turns eating the eggs left for them.

What the humans didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

It’s a big grim, but my sort-of recipe this week is for a chicken dish. We’ll pretend it’s a rooster, shall we?

Come to think of it, this might be pork. Oh, well, doesn’t matter. It’s shredded meat, chopped bok choi, red bell peppers, onions, soy sauce, and cooking sherry. Salt and pepper, of course.

The blue thing on the floor is a little dish for feeding treats to cats. They won’t eat treats if they aren’t (the treats, not the cats) in a dish.

MY PROMPT THIS WEEK: Chicken

MA