Snorri Sturluson
Keeper of Hugin and Munin
~BBW, Imagery, ~WG - an isolated farm girl lives on dreams, until a wish starts turning true
Farming is one of humanities oldest professions. There are not many jobs in the world that can boast 15,000+ years of history. Farming techniques are highly refined, having been developed to such a state that crop yields can exceed the thousands with little difficulty. Indeed, farming has become so successful in some places in the world – America for example – that governments are required to subsidize farmers, since production exceeds demand to such an extent that the profession would be unlivable otherwise. In short, farming was one of the great achievements of human history, which is exactly why Annie May Granger found it utterly and completely boring.
In her twenty two years of experience, the only thing more boring than farming is living in a farming community. For her part, Annie lived in Podunk, Ohio, the Boring Capital of the World (well, Corn Capital, according to the city council). Or, more exactly, she lived near Podunk, on a farm of course. What’s worse is that it was her father’s farm and exactly like every other farm in the county.
Most everyone lived on a farm, so no one was terribly sure where the town’s or country’s borders rightly were. The livestock looked the same (though no one kept much, the animals were more for family use than to sell), everyone grew the same crops, and most everyone looked the same (something Annie was sure was the result of no one in their right mind having moved to the town in the last bajillion years).
While most everyone might have looked the same (Annie honestly could have sworn her mother looked like Cindy Sue’s sister, as well as the sister of most every other matron, daughter, or grandmother in town), Annie saw it as good luck that she was different.
Her friends (none of whom were very close) all ranged between 5’4” and 5’5”, each with a husky frame, a strong jaw, a premature scowl, dark skin and hair, and enough muscle mass to mean that there were only a few boys who would dare tease them lightly. Annie, on the other hand stood at a perfect 5’8”, with slender limbs, sleek curves, a heart shaped face, almond-shaped green eyes, flaming red hair (always tied neatly back into pigtails), cream-light skin (dotted elegantly with just the right amount of freckles), long fingers, and proper “womanly” proportions (the other girls were about as womanly looking as a sneezed-on grain silo).
Annie's legs tapered nicely, her breasts were shapely, and her waist small. When she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, Annie couldn’t help but be reminded of those famous actresses that the town’s one-screen theater would display on the silver screen.
As a little girl she spent her days dreaming of marrying some handsome boy and they’d leave for the world beyond the cornfields, like she saw in the movies. It wasn’t until she actually came of marriageable age that she became aware of how plain all the boys in town were. Indeed, she couldn’t look at a one of them without thinking they looked like her father or brothers.
So it was that Annie, in the prime of her life, was stuck on her father’s farm, helping out as she could, and generally depressed with no prospect of leaving. Her one remaining dream was that a big-shot city fellow, a producer perhaps, might come through town some day, see her, and whisk her away to the fabled land of Hollywood or Paris, where she could see… well, basically everything that Podunk wasn’t (which really was everything).
When she fancied that a movie director might come through town, she’d spend time figuring out her stage name (though she changed it weekly), practicing how stars walk, and developing a rich, sultry, and mysterious voice fit for theaters (even ones with only one screen).
Other times she’d daydream that a business man from the east might find her and taken a manly liking to her. She’d, of course, attend social events by the dozen with him, and so she imagined traveling to the county seat and the large Carnegie Library they had there (which, Annie imagined, must be filled more books than there were in all the other towns combined) to study up on such topics as might be discussed at these fancy to-do gatherings. But alas, visitors to the town were rarer than an easy day on the farm.
On occasion, a traveling salesman might come through, declaring the wonders of some new vacuum cleaner, washer, tractor, or so such frivolousness. Few of the lady folk cared to hear about these “time-saving” devices, as stout shoulders were a cheap enough substitute for flashy machines, and only handful more men listened to the salesman going on about farm equipment that might be used to bring more land under cultivation.
Of course, all the land was already owned, if not by a farmer then by the state, and a trip to the capital to buy some of that unused land was a little much in combination with fancy machinery. With such low sales, it seems like the same “gentleman” never came around twice, so Annie knew her dreams of being whisked away were all the more improbable. Yet still, she dreamed.
Of course, on a farm there isn’t much time for such idleness, as her mother reminded her. Her first job in the mornings was to gather the eggs from the four hens on the farm (Bertha, the oldest hen, was a right mean one that’d rather bite your finger off than look at you, and would try to follow through as often as she could), so Annie would try to appear dejected yet noble while doing so.
After that she had to milk their five cows (breeding them was far more profitable then selling their milk or meat), while she would practice perfect and subtle hand movements (which, she was convinced, was not lost on the cows, who obviously preferred her hand to anyone else’s).
Many days she’d be bent over a washboard, scrubbing laundry clean (a washer being yet another frivolity that her parents decided they could do without), along with her sister in laws (who lived with them in the hopes that their husbands, her brothers, would one day have enough money to buy their own farm).
Dream as she might, every day her mother reminded her that she wasn’t getting younger and that it was unseemly for one such as her not to settle down with a nice husband to help work the farm. Her father, who had been so tender to her in her youth, thought it right peculiar as well. When she had turned seventeen he started inviting young men home for dinner whenever he went into town. Considering the attention that was paid her on those occasions, Annie knew why they had been invited.
Simple as that, her father had invited all the young men in town over to dinner by the time she was nineteen and without an outcome. That didn’t stop him, as all folk in those parts said they could teach stones “stick-to-it-vness.” With no young men catching her eye, he started asking a few nice but a-tad-too-young ones over, as well as a few too old. Still, Annie was determined to reject each and every one of them, horrified at the thought of staying in that little town. As that went on, her father became a bit gruffer, discouraged by his daughter’s picky ways and eager for her to be married off, as any respectable woman ought to be.
Indeed, Annie’s father was so desperate to get the matter resolved that, the next time one of those traveling salesmen was in town he feigned enough interest to get him to agree to come to dinner. He thought that after all, it was better for his daughter to be married to anyone, even someone as flighty as a salesman, than to grow to be an old maid. Besides, if she caught his eye, the boy might come to his senses and find a respectable line of work… like farming, or being a farm hand. Maybe an agricultural specialist, if he was inclined to fancy learning.
Though she didn’t like to admit it, at least this new boy her father brought home with him one Saturday afternoon was cute. Of course, Annie knew that in part that was a matter of comparison; a boy might look cute even if he had a cooking-rabbit sticking out of his head, as long as he didn’t look like every other boy in town.
She first saw him as she was carrying a load of laundry inside, after having beat off the dirt that had blown into it as it was drying on the line. He measured a good six feet, length-wise, yet seemed terribly scrawny when next to her hulking father (who was the sort of man that would think nothing of wrestling a breeding-bull, if need be, and he’d probably win too). His skin fit in well enough in those parts, probably since driving and beating the pavement (well, few roads were actually paved, but it was the same concept) isn’t much protection against getting a man’s tan.
When they sat down to dinner, her mother made sure they sat across from each other (right next would have been unseemly, and next but one useless), and her father ensured the conversation, which started with some new crops the boy was selling, would end up about how he was single (just like Annie), or how his daughter was a mighty fine woman (though lacking a proper man to be wed to).
Still, between her parent’s meddling, he had a few words with her directly. Again to her surprise, Annie found herself responding in the model of civility. Indeed, she wasn’t the only one being civil, as the boy was naught but “yes sir” or “yes m’am” or “yes, please” or “thank you kindly” to her family and herself. Though her father disliked the traveling sort, as a matter of religion, he seemed to grow to like this one well enough.
After the good country meal (though she found herself too nervous to eat half of her plate), Annie was in for another surprise as she asked the boy to accompany her on a bit of a stroll, to help digestion of course. Well, like or not, her father scowled fierce at the impropriety of it, though he said no word against the idea. The boy noticed (her father being the sort of man large around enough that people took notice when he was upset), but agreed on the condition of her parent’s permission.
Delighted by her daughter showing a fish’s breath of interest in something real (and a male at that!), her mother quickly gave her consent, and the father’s too (without asking), and ushered them outside, though not before giving her daughter a shawl to keep warm (in the August air).
Annie thought him endlessly fascinating as he recounted the towns he had seen in his travels (no mind that he knew, though didn’t say, that there was seldom anything to distinguish one town from the next). Why, he had been to the capitol and even so far as to cross over into Indiana.
She ate up every word he had that wasn’t about Podunk, from the differences between the bcs 205 strain of corn he was trying to sell and the standard stock (it would give a yield 5% larger than other strains, was 7% less likely to be effected by blight, and required 12% less water) to the car troubles he had a month ago.
Nothing, unfortunately, was really of interest to him. Annie was pleasing enough to look at; more so than most, but all she had to offer in way of conversation was child-like fascination at his experiences and daydreams. The boy knew well enough that any girl who dreamed that much about Paris or Hollywood wouldn’t be happy with him. He knew that, while he might get a roll if he played her right, that sort of reputation got around quicker than dust in a storm and no farmer in the county would trust him again (not that many trusted him now, being a salesman and all).
It was getting late and the stars were coming out. Leaning against a fence, pondering how he might extract himself from the situation, he was quite lost in thought when Annie jumped and pointed to the sky. “Look, a shooting star!”
“Are you going to make a wish?” the boy asked idly.
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of wishing on a shooting star.”
Annie shook her head.
“Well they say that if you see a shooting star and make a wish out loud that the wish will come true,” he explained, rather boredly.
Excited, Annie started “I wish that…” but at that moment, seeing his bored look, Annie realized that he had lost interest in her.
Reluctant to share anything more with him, she ended pitifully, “… that I… um… get what …um… I wish for.”
The salesman cocked an eyebrow at the odd wish, but didn’t say anything and after standing there awkwardly for a while, walked back to the house.
As he was getting ready to leave, Annie wished that he would be at least a little interested in her, having realized that her life must have been just as boring for him to hear about as it had been for her to live it. Why, she’d never left Podunk, but he, he had been to Indiana.
As a courtesy, she walked him to his car as her father watched from the porch. As he climbed into the windowless vehicle, Annie looked up and found herself reminded of a little something her father used to sing to her as a babe.
“When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears…”
The boy hadn’t thought to hear William Blake out there, but afraid of getting pulled back inside if he asked her where she heard it, he pretended she said nothing and drove off.
Later that night, after listening to the glowing predictions made by her mother, Annie tried to fall asleep in her own room (a rather small one, but her brother’s and their wives needed room too). If she listened too hard she could heard the floors settling in ways that had more to do with marriage than the house cooling, which proved to be more distracting than usual.
Looking around, Annie saw nothing but blank wood walls, a curtain-less window with the shutters thrown open, nondescript clothing, and in short she saw nothing that would spark anyone’s interest. Despairing all the more that she would never get out of that town, it was several hours, well past midnight, before she started to doze off.
In fact, it was so late that her body thought that it was high time for another meal. Her last remembered thought before sleep overcame her was that she wished she had eaten more at dinner.
In the morning Annie felt better, having slept off most of her depression, but she did not relish the though of listening to either of her parents speculate from what would become of the previous night. Feigning eagerness to start her chores, Annie told her parents (both of whom were in the kitchen) that she’d just eat a few of the leftovers from the night before.
Her father frowned a bit but went back to his coffee without a second thought, though her mother hrumphed rather loudly. “Well there might have been leftovers enough for a few meals, but someone had to make a right pig of herself and finish everything off, and with an interested boy in the house no less. I dare say it was nothing short of providence that he didn’t up and leave right then.”
Not quite sure what her mother was talking about, Annie looked and true enough, there wasn’t a scrap of leftovers. Her wonder at who had eaten everything was only passing as she decided to skip breakfast. Ducking out the back door, she headed towards the hen coop, wishing that mean ol’ Bertha would just up and die so she wouldn’t suffer yet another bite from the foul chicken.
Not having breakfast had also turned her thoughts towards other meals, and roasted chicken was a favorite in the family. Ah, if such a thing were to happen it would be nicer than a cooling breeze in summer. Of course the hen was still alive when she got to the coop, much to her regret. Going about checking under each, Annie gathered a respectable number of eggs, but when she got to Bertha the darn critter flapped to the floor and ran out of the coop.
Glad at the reprieve, Annie looked into the now empty nest and saw nothing but beat-up eggs. It looked like Bertha had attacked them herself. Being a might unusual for chicken behavior, Annie told her father and he found the mean ol thing raging around the side of the house, right next to the door behind which Annie had set the remaining eggs. As soon as the door was opened the hen tried to break them too, but her father caught it quick as you’d like. Bertha tried to claw and peck at him and she put up such a struggle that soon Annie’s father had no choice. A grip and a flick and the hen stopped near dead (though it still thrashed a little).
“I dare say I never saw a meaner hen than this one. Never was quite right in the head. What do you say ma?”
Annie’s mother responded to her husband’s question after a bit of thought, “Well, she was an odd one. A bit of chicken might be nice for dinner. Annie, dear, when you get done with your choirs would you help me with her?”
The thought of a chicken dinner made her mouth water a bit as she agreed to help when she had a chance. Going back to her choices, she couldn’t get her mind off the tasty prospect. Chicken dinners were fine things, being rarer than anyone preferred. To bad she’d have to share such a meal with everyone else, she wished she could have it all to herself.
(Continued in post three of this thread)
When the Stars Watered Heaven
By Snorri Sturluson
(A tale inspired by "The Big Star")
Part One
By Snorri Sturluson
(A tale inspired by "The Big Star")
Part One
Farming is one of humanities oldest professions. There are not many jobs in the world that can boast 15,000+ years of history. Farming techniques are highly refined, having been developed to such a state that crop yields can exceed the thousands with little difficulty. Indeed, farming has become so successful in some places in the world – America for example – that governments are required to subsidize farmers, since production exceeds demand to such an extent that the profession would be unlivable otherwise. In short, farming was one of the great achievements of human history, which is exactly why Annie May Granger found it utterly and completely boring.
In her twenty two years of experience, the only thing more boring than farming is living in a farming community. For her part, Annie lived in Podunk, Ohio, the Boring Capital of the World (well, Corn Capital, according to the city council). Or, more exactly, she lived near Podunk, on a farm of course. What’s worse is that it was her father’s farm and exactly like every other farm in the county.
Most everyone lived on a farm, so no one was terribly sure where the town’s or country’s borders rightly were. The livestock looked the same (though no one kept much, the animals were more for family use than to sell), everyone grew the same crops, and most everyone looked the same (something Annie was sure was the result of no one in their right mind having moved to the town in the last bajillion years).
While most everyone might have looked the same (Annie honestly could have sworn her mother looked like Cindy Sue’s sister, as well as the sister of most every other matron, daughter, or grandmother in town), Annie saw it as good luck that she was different.
Her friends (none of whom were very close) all ranged between 5’4” and 5’5”, each with a husky frame, a strong jaw, a premature scowl, dark skin and hair, and enough muscle mass to mean that there were only a few boys who would dare tease them lightly. Annie, on the other hand stood at a perfect 5’8”, with slender limbs, sleek curves, a heart shaped face, almond-shaped green eyes, flaming red hair (always tied neatly back into pigtails), cream-light skin (dotted elegantly with just the right amount of freckles), long fingers, and proper “womanly” proportions (the other girls were about as womanly looking as a sneezed-on grain silo).
Annie's legs tapered nicely, her breasts were shapely, and her waist small. When she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, Annie couldn’t help but be reminded of those famous actresses that the town’s one-screen theater would display on the silver screen.
As a little girl she spent her days dreaming of marrying some handsome boy and they’d leave for the world beyond the cornfields, like she saw in the movies. It wasn’t until she actually came of marriageable age that she became aware of how plain all the boys in town were. Indeed, she couldn’t look at a one of them without thinking they looked like her father or brothers.
So it was that Annie, in the prime of her life, was stuck on her father’s farm, helping out as she could, and generally depressed with no prospect of leaving. Her one remaining dream was that a big-shot city fellow, a producer perhaps, might come through town some day, see her, and whisk her away to the fabled land of Hollywood or Paris, where she could see… well, basically everything that Podunk wasn’t (which really was everything).
When she fancied that a movie director might come through town, she’d spend time figuring out her stage name (though she changed it weekly), practicing how stars walk, and developing a rich, sultry, and mysterious voice fit for theaters (even ones with only one screen).
Other times she’d daydream that a business man from the east might find her and taken a manly liking to her. She’d, of course, attend social events by the dozen with him, and so she imagined traveling to the county seat and the large Carnegie Library they had there (which, Annie imagined, must be filled more books than there were in all the other towns combined) to study up on such topics as might be discussed at these fancy to-do gatherings. But alas, visitors to the town were rarer than an easy day on the farm.
On occasion, a traveling salesman might come through, declaring the wonders of some new vacuum cleaner, washer, tractor, or so such frivolousness. Few of the lady folk cared to hear about these “time-saving” devices, as stout shoulders were a cheap enough substitute for flashy machines, and only handful more men listened to the salesman going on about farm equipment that might be used to bring more land under cultivation.
Of course, all the land was already owned, if not by a farmer then by the state, and a trip to the capital to buy some of that unused land was a little much in combination with fancy machinery. With such low sales, it seems like the same “gentleman” never came around twice, so Annie knew her dreams of being whisked away were all the more improbable. Yet still, she dreamed.
Of course, on a farm there isn’t much time for such idleness, as her mother reminded her. Her first job in the mornings was to gather the eggs from the four hens on the farm (Bertha, the oldest hen, was a right mean one that’d rather bite your finger off than look at you, and would try to follow through as often as she could), so Annie would try to appear dejected yet noble while doing so.
After that she had to milk their five cows (breeding them was far more profitable then selling their milk or meat), while she would practice perfect and subtle hand movements (which, she was convinced, was not lost on the cows, who obviously preferred her hand to anyone else’s).
Many days she’d be bent over a washboard, scrubbing laundry clean (a washer being yet another frivolity that her parents decided they could do without), along with her sister in laws (who lived with them in the hopes that their husbands, her brothers, would one day have enough money to buy their own farm).
Dream as she might, every day her mother reminded her that she wasn’t getting younger and that it was unseemly for one such as her not to settle down with a nice husband to help work the farm. Her father, who had been so tender to her in her youth, thought it right peculiar as well. When she had turned seventeen he started inviting young men home for dinner whenever he went into town. Considering the attention that was paid her on those occasions, Annie knew why they had been invited.
Simple as that, her father had invited all the young men in town over to dinner by the time she was nineteen and without an outcome. That didn’t stop him, as all folk in those parts said they could teach stones “stick-to-it-vness.” With no young men catching her eye, he started asking a few nice but a-tad-too-young ones over, as well as a few too old. Still, Annie was determined to reject each and every one of them, horrified at the thought of staying in that little town. As that went on, her father became a bit gruffer, discouraged by his daughter’s picky ways and eager for her to be married off, as any respectable woman ought to be.
Indeed, Annie’s father was so desperate to get the matter resolved that, the next time one of those traveling salesmen was in town he feigned enough interest to get him to agree to come to dinner. He thought that after all, it was better for his daughter to be married to anyone, even someone as flighty as a salesman, than to grow to be an old maid. Besides, if she caught his eye, the boy might come to his senses and find a respectable line of work… like farming, or being a farm hand. Maybe an agricultural specialist, if he was inclined to fancy learning.
Though she didn’t like to admit it, at least this new boy her father brought home with him one Saturday afternoon was cute. Of course, Annie knew that in part that was a matter of comparison; a boy might look cute even if he had a cooking-rabbit sticking out of his head, as long as he didn’t look like every other boy in town.
She first saw him as she was carrying a load of laundry inside, after having beat off the dirt that had blown into it as it was drying on the line. He measured a good six feet, length-wise, yet seemed terribly scrawny when next to her hulking father (who was the sort of man that would think nothing of wrestling a breeding-bull, if need be, and he’d probably win too). His skin fit in well enough in those parts, probably since driving and beating the pavement (well, few roads were actually paved, but it was the same concept) isn’t much protection against getting a man’s tan.
When they sat down to dinner, her mother made sure they sat across from each other (right next would have been unseemly, and next but one useless), and her father ensured the conversation, which started with some new crops the boy was selling, would end up about how he was single (just like Annie), or how his daughter was a mighty fine woman (though lacking a proper man to be wed to).
Still, between her parent’s meddling, he had a few words with her directly. Again to her surprise, Annie found herself responding in the model of civility. Indeed, she wasn’t the only one being civil, as the boy was naught but “yes sir” or “yes m’am” or “yes, please” or “thank you kindly” to her family and herself. Though her father disliked the traveling sort, as a matter of religion, he seemed to grow to like this one well enough.
After the good country meal (though she found herself too nervous to eat half of her plate), Annie was in for another surprise as she asked the boy to accompany her on a bit of a stroll, to help digestion of course. Well, like or not, her father scowled fierce at the impropriety of it, though he said no word against the idea. The boy noticed (her father being the sort of man large around enough that people took notice when he was upset), but agreed on the condition of her parent’s permission.
Delighted by her daughter showing a fish’s breath of interest in something real (and a male at that!), her mother quickly gave her consent, and the father’s too (without asking), and ushered them outside, though not before giving her daughter a shawl to keep warm (in the August air).
Annie thought him endlessly fascinating as he recounted the towns he had seen in his travels (no mind that he knew, though didn’t say, that there was seldom anything to distinguish one town from the next). Why, he had been to the capitol and even so far as to cross over into Indiana.
She ate up every word he had that wasn’t about Podunk, from the differences between the bcs 205 strain of corn he was trying to sell and the standard stock (it would give a yield 5% larger than other strains, was 7% less likely to be effected by blight, and required 12% less water) to the car troubles he had a month ago.
Nothing, unfortunately, was really of interest to him. Annie was pleasing enough to look at; more so than most, but all she had to offer in way of conversation was child-like fascination at his experiences and daydreams. The boy knew well enough that any girl who dreamed that much about Paris or Hollywood wouldn’t be happy with him. He knew that, while he might get a roll if he played her right, that sort of reputation got around quicker than dust in a storm and no farmer in the county would trust him again (not that many trusted him now, being a salesman and all).
It was getting late and the stars were coming out. Leaning against a fence, pondering how he might extract himself from the situation, he was quite lost in thought when Annie jumped and pointed to the sky. “Look, a shooting star!”
“Are you going to make a wish?” the boy asked idly.
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of wishing on a shooting star.”
Annie shook her head.
“Well they say that if you see a shooting star and make a wish out loud that the wish will come true,” he explained, rather boredly.
Excited, Annie started “I wish that…” but at that moment, seeing his bored look, Annie realized that he had lost interest in her.
Reluctant to share anything more with him, she ended pitifully, “… that I… um… get what …um… I wish for.”
The salesman cocked an eyebrow at the odd wish, but didn’t say anything and after standing there awkwardly for a while, walked back to the house.
As he was getting ready to leave, Annie wished that he would be at least a little interested in her, having realized that her life must have been just as boring for him to hear about as it had been for her to live it. Why, she’d never left Podunk, but he, he had been to Indiana.
As a courtesy, she walked him to his car as her father watched from the porch. As he climbed into the windowless vehicle, Annie looked up and found herself reminded of a little something her father used to sing to her as a babe.
“When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears…”
The boy hadn’t thought to hear William Blake out there, but afraid of getting pulled back inside if he asked her where she heard it, he pretended she said nothing and drove off.
Later that night, after listening to the glowing predictions made by her mother, Annie tried to fall asleep in her own room (a rather small one, but her brother’s and their wives needed room too). If she listened too hard she could heard the floors settling in ways that had more to do with marriage than the house cooling, which proved to be more distracting than usual.
Looking around, Annie saw nothing but blank wood walls, a curtain-less window with the shutters thrown open, nondescript clothing, and in short she saw nothing that would spark anyone’s interest. Despairing all the more that she would never get out of that town, it was several hours, well past midnight, before she started to doze off.
In fact, it was so late that her body thought that it was high time for another meal. Her last remembered thought before sleep overcame her was that she wished she had eaten more at dinner.
In the morning Annie felt better, having slept off most of her depression, but she did not relish the though of listening to either of her parents speculate from what would become of the previous night. Feigning eagerness to start her chores, Annie told her parents (both of whom were in the kitchen) that she’d just eat a few of the leftovers from the night before.
Her father frowned a bit but went back to his coffee without a second thought, though her mother hrumphed rather loudly. “Well there might have been leftovers enough for a few meals, but someone had to make a right pig of herself and finish everything off, and with an interested boy in the house no less. I dare say it was nothing short of providence that he didn’t up and leave right then.”
Not quite sure what her mother was talking about, Annie looked and true enough, there wasn’t a scrap of leftovers. Her wonder at who had eaten everything was only passing as she decided to skip breakfast. Ducking out the back door, she headed towards the hen coop, wishing that mean ol’ Bertha would just up and die so she wouldn’t suffer yet another bite from the foul chicken.
Not having breakfast had also turned her thoughts towards other meals, and roasted chicken was a favorite in the family. Ah, if such a thing were to happen it would be nicer than a cooling breeze in summer. Of course the hen was still alive when she got to the coop, much to her regret. Going about checking under each, Annie gathered a respectable number of eggs, but when she got to Bertha the darn critter flapped to the floor and ran out of the coop.
Glad at the reprieve, Annie looked into the now empty nest and saw nothing but beat-up eggs. It looked like Bertha had attacked them herself. Being a might unusual for chicken behavior, Annie told her father and he found the mean ol thing raging around the side of the house, right next to the door behind which Annie had set the remaining eggs. As soon as the door was opened the hen tried to break them too, but her father caught it quick as you’d like. Bertha tried to claw and peck at him and she put up such a struggle that soon Annie’s father had no choice. A grip and a flick and the hen stopped near dead (though it still thrashed a little).
“I dare say I never saw a meaner hen than this one. Never was quite right in the head. What do you say ma?”
Annie’s mother responded to her husband’s question after a bit of thought, “Well, she was an odd one. A bit of chicken might be nice for dinner. Annie, dear, when you get done with your choirs would you help me with her?”
The thought of a chicken dinner made her mouth water a bit as she agreed to help when she had a chance. Going back to her choices, she couldn’t get her mind off the tasty prospect. Chicken dinners were fine things, being rarer than anyone preferred. To bad she’d have to share such a meal with everyone else, she wished she could have it all to herself.
(Continued in post three of this thread)
