Crooked Little Hen! Crooked Little Hen! Fly away home! Your house is on fire and your babies are alone!
Sigh. I’ll never get her off the porch.
She pays no heed to me. She’s busy. Grooming her feathers for him.
And she knows she doesn’t have any babies. Why, I can’t remember the last time she bothered to lay an egg. She’s too busy eating dog food and cat food and strutting her stuff. The Crooked Little Hen has always been a popular girl. Loose with her favors–and her feathers. She has the barest back of any hen in town when spring comes around. She’s not even ashamed. And as if t’weren’t enough that she’s set up housekeeping on the porch, she’s moved a boyfriend in with her.
They eat together. They pace up and down on the porch together. They roost together at night on the arm of an old chair. And he’s a PIG.
No, not a real pig, but a pig nonetheless.
He’s making messes everywhere and he won’t clean them up. The Crooked Little Hen won’t clean them up, either. She’s not that kind of girl. She’s the kind of girl who’s always fixing her hair, retouching her lipstick, going to the mall, too busy for that housework stuff. But we just can’t have these messes. And besides, we can’t have this tawdry nonsense going on right here on our porch. What will people think? We’re running a clean, family-friendly operation here at Stringtown Rising Farm. Do you hear me, CROOKED LITTLE HEN?
We can’t— What?
What did you say?
Crooked Little Hen! STOP READING MY BLOG!