CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories J. Posthumus (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

“Oh. Does Daddy show off in springtime, too? So us girls like him more?”

Diane smiled. “Yep, he sure does. Now, go give your chickens their treats.”

Sally trotted to the coop and began dumping the bucket’s contents as the hens ran excitedly toward her. Colonel Sanders brought up the rear, but soon inserted himself right in the middle of the pecking gaggle of birds.

“No, no, no, Henrietta! Peck, peck, dodge!” The Colonel ruffled his black neck frill at the portly hen. “You don’t have time for a third peck! That’s when the rat gets you by the leg and you’re done for!” The Colonel pecked the ground at the hen’s feet, causing her to jump back. He pecked again, then bounce back himself. “Like that! Peck, peck, dodge! Try it again!”

The Colonel shifted his focus. “Pig! Get over here!” A pearl-blue and white speckled guinea rushed to the Colonel’s side. “You’re the ugliest danged chicken I’ve ever seen, but you’ve got skills! I’m putting you on guard duty! I want you to make the rounds of all the holes that rat comes out of and scream your comb off if you see it poke its ugly head out! Got it!?”

“Patrack!?” The guinea twisted its head to look at Colonel Sanders questioningly.

“Darn it, Pig, you know I can’t understand you when you speak that foreign chirp at me! Get out of here and get busy!” He pecked the ground at the bird’s feet.

The guinea fluttered her wings and took off to the far side of the chicken yard with a loud, “Nyet Nah!”

The Colonel stood up straight and yelled at the top of his voice, “Speak Chicken, you foreign hussy!”

“Momma! Colonel Sanders is being mean to Guinea Pig again!”

“It’s OK, Sally. Pig can get away. She’s a lot faster than him.” Diane waved at her husband as he walked toward the chicken yard wheeling a large acetylene tank on a dolly behind him. “Hey there, Mr. Handy!”

“Daddy, did you see how mean the Colonel was being?” Sally ran up and gave him a hug on his leg.

Sam smoothed her hair. “Oh, they’re just trying to figure out a new pecking order since the General’s gone. They’ll settle down in a few days.”

“Is that what you’re gonna use to get the rat?”

Sam scrunched his eyes at her conspiratorially. “You bet it is! I’m gonna fill his tunnels up with stinky stuff and make him come out so I can shoot him!”

“But what if he doesn’t come out?”

“Oh, he’ll come out, trust me!”

Diane gave Sam a kiss on the cheek. “Well, please be careful. We’re going to excuse ourselves and go start some lunch. Come on, Sally, let’s let Daddy do his thing. To the house!”

Sam looked at his wife with a raised eyebrow as Sally took off running. “Is lunch what I think it is?”

“Yes, fried chicken, but don’t you dare tell her which one! She won’t eat a bite if you do. Tell her it’s store-bought.”

Sam zipped his lip with a nod. He started unrolling the propane torch hoses from his cart. “This shouldn’t take too long.” He patted his gun holster. “As soon as he pops a head out for fresh air, I’ll pop him.”

“Okay. Be careful.” He was nodding, but Diane got the distinct impression that it was perfunctory.

“Nyet Nah! Nyet Nah!” Guinea Pig half flew and half ran up the slope of the chicken yard with the warning. “The rat! It’s here!”

The Colonel squawked loudly, signaling the rest of the hens. “All right, ladies. It’s show time. Form up on me!” With that, he took off running toward the far end of the pen where the roost house sat. Behind him, all the hens followed in a confused gabble of clucks and squawks.

They all rushed into the enclosure and were confronted by not one, but a pair of rats. Huge hulking brutes—relatively speaking, of course—with sharp teeth protruding from pointy faces backed up by dim red eyes that shimmered in the low light of the interior.

“There you are, you murderous, egg-stealing scum! Now you’ll get what’s coming to you!” Colonel Sanders screeched at the top of his lungs. “All right, Hen Brigade! Attack!”

He rushed forward and jumped, spurs out, straight for the eyes of one of the rats. Several of the hens ran toward the other rat which backed into a corner. They pecked at it, then scrambled back, cackling loudly all the while. Feathers flew as wings collided. Water dishes and feed cups became casualties of the milieu. It was fowl carnage of the worst sort as the battle ensued!

Outside, seeing the commotion, Sam shut off the gas he was pumping into the rat tunnel. He unholstered his pistol and made his way to the roost shed. Loud squawks and cackles were coming from inside now, and he even heard a faint hiss. “That must be a danged big rat!” Feathers blew through the open doorway as a fight raged within. He walked faster.

The windows rattled as a loud *boom* echoed from outside. Diane’s heart skipped a beat as fear spiked through her. She forced herself to calm down. Panic doesn’t solve problems, she thought. She wiped her hands, turned the burner off on the skillet of frying chicken on the stove, and then pulled the fire extinguisher from beneath the kitchen sink.

She turned to look at Sally who was frozen in place at the kitchen table. Her eyes were wide as she stared open-mouthed at her mother over the flour coated biscuit in her hand. “Mommy, what was that?”

Diane calmly and firmly told her, “Stay right here! Keep making those biscuits for mommy. I’ll be right back.”

Diane fast walked to the side door of the house which was the quickest way to the chicken yard. She made one quick detour to grab the first aid kit from the hall bathroom before heading outside. When the door was closed, she finally