The Promised Pen

This is what my new flock of hens saw when I opened the door to their pen for the first time: a barren desert, bleak, dry and grazed to the ground by the previous generation of chickens to the point that there are no roots left to flourish there.

This is their view to the west: a goodly, fertile pen flowing with grass and bugs.    The old generation of hens has passed on.  The lush, green pen is promised to the new generation, and shall be theirs as soon as we’ve mended a few holes in the fence.  Meanwhile, feathered spies have gained access through those holes to scope out the country and report back to the flock.  It is an expedition fraught with danger because fierce giants from the tribes of Nola, Sniper and Magnum inhabit the land:

The Nolanites (far left) are especially dangerous. Many’s the time they’ve almost licked me to death.


I met one of the spies in a secret place and was able to get a short interview.  She was self-possessed and confident when I asked her about the giants, which is quite remarkable.  I would have thought that next to a giant, she would feel about as big as a grasshopper.



The only other preparation we need to make before we set them free to conquer the land is to mow the grass down a bit.  Finding all of their eggs in the tall grass would be next to impossible.  We may as well try to get water from a rock.



2 responses to this post.

  1. Beware over confidence it has gotten many a spy killed! Good luck on the exploration of the new lands


  2. Thanks! Lucky for them, the “giants” are pretty mild mannered.


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