April 15 - Counting Chickens

Has the spring sprung in your neck of the woods?
Has the grass riz?
Are you a-wondering where dem boirdies is?
Have you heard the boird is on the wing?
Which is absoird!
I'm sure the wing is on the boird!

And so the cycle of the seasons turns.

[What's that Heyes? Get on with it? Sheesh - just 'cos you have to ride out for a half dozen hot foamy baths.]

Without further ado, let the eager itching of your fingers, and the ceaseless swirling of your creative brains, both be assuaged by turning their spare capacity to this month's topic.

Which is both tangentially Easter-orientated and open the usual non-singular interpretation.

[All right, Kid! Flaming Nora - talk about impatient!]


Counting Chickens....






(We have no Easter chick icons??? The turkey is standing in.]

....before they're hatched.

COUNTING CHICKENS
“Got you!”

The farmer levelled the shotgun at the two boys, aged about sixteen and fourteen, lying sleeping in the hayloft of his great barn.  Two pairs of eyes opened and regarded him, at first sleepily, and then with growing alarm.

“They hang horse-thieves around here,” said the farmer grimly.  “If I had my way, they'd hang all thieves.  Including chicken-thieves.”

“We haven't stolen any chickens,” said the dark-eyed, older boy.

“Don't bother to lie!  I've counted my hens.  They're one short.  You've stolen it and eaten it.”

“No, we haven't!  And what if we had?  We've had nothing to eat for forty-eight hours.  We're both starving.  We've got a dollar and 16 cents between us.  I was going to leave that behind to pay for it when we went.”

The farmer, George McFarlane, smiled grimly.  “I knew you'd taken it!  And don't pretend you were going to pay!  I'm not stupid.”

The younger boy, sleepy-eyed, stood up.   George grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Oh no, you don't!  You're going nowhere til I say so.  If I say so.”

He pointed the shotgun directly at him alone.  The blond-haired boy blanched.  Instantly the dark boy was on his feet.  Before the farmer could stop him, he pushed the gun-barrel away from his friend, and stood between him and George.

“Leave him alone!  You touch him and I'll kill you!  He never pinched your damn chicken anyway!  It was me.”  He glared at the farmer.

In spite of himself, George was impressed.  He liked someone with courage.  And the boy's concern for his brother or friend was quite touching, in a way.  Involuntarily, he lowered the gun and released the younger one.  At this point, almost ironically, a sort of long-drawn out clucking squawk was heard, and a black hen stepped into view, pecking spasmodically at the floor of the hay-loft in search of stray grains or seeds.

“What's that?”  said George.

“It's a chicken,” said the dark boy expressionlessly.

“What's it doing here?”

“Same as me, I should think,” said Heyes, (for that's who it was).“Looking for something to eat.”

“I thought you ate it last night.”

“No.  We didn't get here until about one in the morning.  We were going to eat it, but we were both   too tired to pluck it and make a fire and cook it.  Catching it was bad enough.  We were dead on our feet.  We just went to sleep.”

He looked at George.  Jed suddenly swayed.  Heyes put out an arm to steady him.

“Hey!  You OK?”

“Yeah.  Just giddy for a moment.”

“What's wrong with him?” said George.

“He hasn't eaten for two days,” snapped the older boy.  “Haven't you been listening?”

George thought for a moment.  He'd taken a reluctant liking for these two stowaways in his barn.  And he was not an inhuman man.  It didn't seem right to him that young boys should be alone and hungry.

“Come with me,” he said.  “My wife may be able to find you something to eat before you go.”

* * *

The boys cleaned themselves up under the pump in the farm-yard while George went into the kitchen to explain to his wife.  Before they were quite finished, she had come into the yard with George, and with a little girl of about six years of age trotting behind them.  George introduced his wife to them as Elspeth.  Although she was draped discreetly in a voluminous shawl, it was clear that Elspeth was expecting a baby, and soon.  

George's plan had been to ask his wife to pack them a few things to eat to take with them, but, once she met the boys, Elspeth was having none of that.

“Come into the kitchen,” she said warmly.  “I'll cook you something.  You'll need something hot inside you.  I hear you were going to eat our Martha!  You'd have found her a tough old bird.  Not much picking on her!”

Heyes and Curry looked at each other and smiled.  They had not expected such a kind welcome.

The boys did full justice to the enormous breakfast Elspeth provided for them. As they ate, Janey, the little girl, watched them, round-eyed.  The farm was in an isolated spot, and Janey was unused to visitors. She was very curious about them.  

She felt slightly less shy of Jed, because he seemed a little less of a grown-up than the other boy.

“Were you really going to eat Martha?” she asked him eventually.

Jed smiled at her.  “Well, maybe,” he said.  “Haven't you ever eaten roast chicken?”

Janey nodded, looking at him without speaking.  “This is Millie,” she said suddenly, bringing a small red felt toy-cat out of the pocket of her pinafore.

“What a lovely cat!” said Jed, feeling slightly at a loss as to what he should say.  He was just as unused to talking to children as Janey was to talking to strangers, but Janey seemed satisfied with his reply.


Meanwhile, George was asking Heyes about the boys' plans.  Heyes didn't have much to tell him.

“I'm going to have a baby brother,”  Janey told Jed, confidentially.

“Well, that would be very nice,” he said, “but how do you know it won't be a baby sister?”

“Papa thinks it will be a baby brother.”

“Oh, does he?” said Elspeth looking over at her husband.  “What makes Papa think that?”

“I don't know,” he said.  “It's just that there are so many men in this family.  Don't forget I've got five brothers.  I think we're quite likely to have a boy.”

“Don't count your chickens before they're hatched!” said his wife, sharply.  “You've made it fairly clear a few times that you'd prefer a boy.”

“I wouldn't 'prefer' a boy!  It's just that he'd be a big help on the farm later, that's all.  Any farmer would say the same.  It doesn't mean I wouldn't like another girl!”

Elspeth sniffed, and stood up to clear the table.  She looked slightly mollified, but not pleased.

“We'll be glad to get whatever we're given!”

* * *

Later that morning, the boys, fed and rested, were getting ready to leave.  Janey had followed them around all morning, taking a great interest in whatever they did.  She particularly attached herself to Jed, to whom she seemed to have taken a real fancy.  It was nearly time for them to go when George came over to them.

“Can I have a word?” he asked diffidently.

The boys exchanged glances.  They weren't used to a quiet, mild tone from George.  He seemed very anxious about something.

“Go ahead.”

“I have a favour to ask,” he said.  “Several favours.  It's the baby.  Elspeth thinks it may be starting to come.  It's not supposed to come for another three weeks or so, and my sister wasn't going to come to stay until next week.  It would be a great help if someone could go and get her from the town today, and the doctor.   So that I can stop here with Elspeth.”

He looked at them, nervously. “And we'd be very grateful if one of you could keep an eye on Janey all day while I'm upstairs with her mother.”

“I'll go and get the doctor and your sister now,” said Heyes.  “And you can look after Janey, Jed.  She likes you.”

Jed had a sinking feeling.  “OK.” he said immediately.

“ Thank you!” said George, agitatedly, “It's very good of you to help us out.”  

He went immediately to tell Elspeth what the boys had agreed to do.   The boys could see that he needed to be doing something.

Janey slipped her hand into Jed's.  “Jed,” she said.  “Where do babies come from?”

Heyes grinned at him.

“Erm,” said Jed turning scarlet. “Well . . . well . . .   It's a bit difficult to explain.  Er . . . Let's start with how little chickens come out of eggs . . .”

Heyes gave a snort of laughter.

“Janey!” called her father from the farmhouse door.  “Come here a minute.  I think Mama will want to speak to you.”  Janey skipped off.

“What a pity she had to go!” said Heyes.  “I was looking forward to hearing what you were going to say next!”

“Why?  Don't you know where babies come from?  Want me to explain it to you too?”

“I think I've got it sussed,” said Heyes, moving towards the stables.  “She certainly put you on the spot, though!  'Little chickens and eggs!'  Which were you going to say came first, by the way?”  

“Oh, shut up!” said the scarlet-cheeked Jed, turning away.  He had a feeling that the day with Janey was going to be a very long day.  It was.

* * *

“Once upon a time there was a hen called Chicken Licken,” he began, as Heyes mounted up and rode away on his errand to the town.  George was upstairs with Elspeth.  Janey was sitting beside Jed on the settle, but after a little while she climbed up onto his lap.

* * *


Ten days later, the boys really were leaving.  The baby, a boy, had been born that first evening, but George had asked them to stay for a few days to help with the farm-work.  There had been a lot of discussion of a name for the newcomer.

Joshua's quite a nice name,” mused Heyes.  “Or  maybe Thaddeus,” said his cousin.

In the event, the baby was named George McFarlane, like his father.  Janey was so thrilled with her new baby brother that she did not really seem to mind that the boys had to go.

“We can't thank you enough for your help,”  said George  as he saw them off. “Thank God you decided to steal my chicken that night!  What would we have done without you?  Now, have you got everything you need?  What has Elspeth packed for your supper tonight?”

The boys sneaked a glance at each other.  “I think I'll let you guess.” said Heyes.

Counting Chickens

“One, two, three…” Jed concentrated as he pointed and counted chickens. “Four, five, six… OH, stop movin’ around so! How can I count ya?”

The blond curly seven-year old sighed and started over. “One, two, three, four…”

A rooster pecked at his leg.

“OW!! Why’d you do that for?” He kicked at the offending bird and rubbed his leg.

“Jedediah, you’re supposed to be counting the chickens, not kicking them!” came a stern voice from the barn.

He twirled and saw his father leaning on the doorframe. He head bowed. “Yes, Pa.”

Jed watched his father retreat back into the barn. “Dang bird! You got me in trouble.” He looked down at the ocean of feathers surrounding him. “Now where was I? One, two, three, four, five… ten, eleven, twelve…” He scratched his head. “Did I already count you?”

The hen in question clucked and scurried away.

“One, two, three, four… Oh, it’s no use. They keep movin’ on me.” Jed sat down dejectedly in a corner of the coup.

“Jedediah!”

Jed jumped up and looked around. His mother stood on the porch with her hand shielding her eyes. “Yes, Ma?”

“Are you through counting those chicken?”

“No, ma’am. They keep movin’ around and I lose track.”

“You better finish your chores, including counting those chickens, before you go off with your cousin.”

“Why do I have to count ‘em, Ma?”

“Because I told you to – I have my reasons.” She squinted. “Are those your clean pants?”

He looked down. Drat! “Sorry, I grabbed the wrong pair this mornin’.”

His mother frowned. “You’ll be needin’ them tonight so see you don’t get them too dirty.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He brushed the dirt from his pants.

“And put your hat on so your fair skin won’t burn.”

“But…” He stopped when he saw her scowl. “Yes, ma’am.” He picked up his brown floppy hat and hit it on his leg a few times to clean it.

“Now you’re getting your pants dirtier!” She turned to go back into the house. “Boys!”

Jed put the round brown felt hat with a black band on his head. “Now where was I? One, two, three, four, five, six… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

Han came up behind, leaned against the fence and watched his younger cousin for a moment. “Whatcha doin’, Jed?”

“ARGH!!!” Jed stomped his foot and threw his hat on the ground.

“What?!”

“You made me lose count!”

“Why are you counting chickens anyways?”

“Cause my ma told me to – she has her reasons!”

“So hurry up so we can get going.” Han picked up the hat from getting pecked at by a curious hen and set it on his cousin’s head.

“I’m tryin’ to, but they keep movin’ and I forget if I counted ‘em or not.” Jed turned and started counting again. “… fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

“You counted that one already,” Han commented.

“Dang it all!” Jed clamped his hand over his mouth and looked over by the house and barn. He sighed in relief when he didn’t see either parent come out to rebuke him.

Han tsked. “With that kind of language you could get your mouth washed out with soap.”

“I know that,” Jed grumbled. “But can you see my problem? Hard to keep track of what bird I’ve counted and which one I haven’t when they’re constantly movin’ around.”

“Got work smarter than harder.”

“How’d you do it?”

Han rested his chin over his thumb, his fist over his mouth as he pondered the situation. He looked around the chicken coup and yard. He bit his lower lip and then smiled.

Han walked around the Curry farm and picked up twine and a board, bringing them back to the coup.

“Whatcha got planned? You ain’t gonna hit the chickens, are you, ‘cause I already got yelled at for kickin’ one.”

“You kicked a chicken?”

“The dang…” Jed looked quickly around, again, towards the house and barn. “The stupid rooster bit me.”

Han slowly shook his head as he pulled out his pocket knife and cut the twine in two. He tied a piece of the string to both sides of the board. “There!”

“What that for?”

“Keeping the chickens separated so we can count them, of course.”

“Oh…” Jed said, not sounding convinced. “How?”

Han handed Jed a twine at one end of the board and he took the other. “We lift the board up and down behind the hens, counting them as we move them from one side of the board to the other.”

“Like this?” Jed moved the raised board behind a hen then lowered it, moving the bird to the other side.

“Yep, that’s one.” Han copied his cousin. “Two and three.”

“Four, five, six…”

The two boys continued herding the hens and roosters from one side of the board to the other while counting them.

Fifteen minutes later, there were five chickens on one side of the board and the rest on the other side.

“Finish counting them, Jed. There’s just five more left so we don’t need use the board anymore.”

“Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, and forty-six.” Jed looked at his older cousin for confirmation.

“Yep, you can tell your ma she has forty-six chickens.”

“Thanks, Han!” Jed ran into the house. “Ma, Ma, can I go with Han now?”

A voice came from in the house, “Did you finish counting the chickens?”

“Yep!” He came to a stop just outside the door. “There’s forty-six of them.”

“How many are roosters and how many are hens?” the mother asked as she continued to knead the bread.

“Huh? You didn’t tell me you needed to know that.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” She added more flour to the table. “One you’ve counted that, you may go with Han.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jed turned and walked slowly back to the coup.

“Hurry up! Let’s go!” Han encouraged him.

Jed kicked a stone and threw his hat on the ground. “I can’t. I gotta count hens and roosters.”

Han shrugged. “That’s not so bad.”

“Sure it is. We gotta start over.”

“No, we don’t,” Han informed him. “We know there’s forty-six birds, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So we just have to count the few roosters and subtract from the total number.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll show you. Roosters are easy to count since there aren’t so many of them.” Han sat of the fence. “How many do you see?”

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten… There’s eleven of them.”

“Yep. That’s how many I counted, too,” Han confirmed. “Now how many hens are there?”

“I don’t know!” Jed exclaimed, frustrated.

“Sure you do.” Han jumped down from the fence and picked up a stick. He wrote “46” in the dirt with “11” below it. “You just have to subtract 11 from 46.” He handed the stick to Jed.

Jed took the sick. “Six minus one is… five.” He drew a number five.

“Yep!”

“And four minus one is…” He wrote in the dirt. “Three.” Jed looked over to Han for confirmed.

The older boy nodded.

“So there’s eleven roosters and thirty-five hens.”

Han put his arm around his younger cousin. “That right! So go tell your ma so we can go to the creek.”

Jed ran up to the house porch. “Ma, there’s eleven roosters and… Han, how many hens did we say there was?”

Han rolled his eyes. “Thirty-five.”

“And thirty-five hens, ma. Can I go with Han now?”

His mother smiled and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, getting a little bit of flour on it. “Yes, you can go with Han now, but I want you back before dinner.”

“I will.”

“And don’t forget your hat!” she reminded him.

“I won’t!” Jed grabbed his hat and ran over to Han. “Come on! Let’s get outta here before ma or pa come up with another chore for me to do.”

Jed ran past Han as he ran to the creek.

“Hey, wait for me,” Han yelled as he followed after him.