The meal was something special but more was to come

The day had started like many others, warm and sultry with a sky that threatened rain. There was no doubt about it, it would either rain or go dark before morning. Miss Orpington was given to brilliant flashes of insight like that but had no one her equal to share them with. She sighed a deep sigh, her eyelids drooping in the still air as she gazed with disdain at her companions. Every single one of them dressed like her in black and every single one of them as dumb as they come. She made as if to sigh again, her mouth opened and her tongue quivered for a moment but no sound escaped her. To say that she was bored out of her pretty little mind would have been stating the obvious. Yet unbeknownst to her someone had his eye on her and thought her rather special.

She pondered her position. She’d seen the women from the business institute arriving for their meetings at the big house. She’d heard their interminable chatter over the tea cups as they dispatched sausage rolls, savoury pastries, scones, pikelets and chocolate éclairs. This one and then that one raising her voice in the hope of raising their status within the group. Miss Orpington had come to the conclusion that they were no different than the black feathered companions around her. They sounded just the same as they scratched in the dust and complained that no worms or grubs remained to scratch for and dust baths were not what they used to be. My, but the tired dry-as-dust, drawn out Sunday afternoon rasp of their sss...qqq...uuu...aaa...www...kkk... got up her beak. Didn't it just!

At that point she caught sight of the provocative upright tail feathers of the cocky little red bantam disappearing out of sight round the corner of the barn. She hadn't yet been introduced to the newcomer, resident of the farm down the road, but being a firm believer in the Orpington motto: Cast a wide net, she'd preened herself in full view of him just two hours ago. It had worked it seemed. She always was a saucy preener; skilful too in leading the odd male into her modern upswept version of ‘chicken in the straw’, with some amendments of her own bordering on the unfit-for-public-viewing kind. And would you believe it but it was conducted round the back of that very same barn. She felt pretty safe though. Aunty Leghorn's counselling sessions had taught her when her ovaries were ovar-ing and when they were not. Why stay at home with a brood of chicks when there are hot steppin’ barn dances to let one's feet and feathers fly? she thought wantonly. With the emphasis on the want.

She'd learned a few tricks all right. Best not to give in too easily. Play hard to get for a while she thought as she moved slowly in you-know-whose direction. And if there was a gleam in bantam's eyes as she sashayed into view, there was more than a hint of, ‘Not so fast, cocky,’ in hers as she hummed, ‘Miss Orpington regrets, she'll play a little hard tonight.’ Bantam soon caught on. He'd had some experience in the field of female evasion and using the slow, quick, quick, slow dance step he'd perfected at his Aunty George's dancing classes, sidled up to her and whispered in her shell-like, ‘Come with me princess. I've something to show you,’ and he led the way to a small shed containing several sacks of meal, one of which had spilled some of its contents on the ground. And Miss Orpington, forgetting all the niceties her mother had taught her, tucked in with a will. I should at this point mention that Aunty George had a strong tendency toward bisexualism, accounting for his confused look.

A little later he offered to teach her a new dance step as they relaxed together. She was about to tell him to, ‘Go whistle up a drain pipe, buddy,’ but recalled lesson five of Aunty Leghorn's course: When he chases you, and he will, don't run too fast. She beamed a quick thank you to all the Aunty Leghorns everywhere, and smiled her best beaky smile at him. Take it from me, it was a, ‘Get on with it then,’ cocky smile if ever there was one. True to form, he found her snappy remark rather fetching, repeated his invitation, and flashed his eyes as his heels practised a rapid tattoo on the ground before her. And wouldn't you know it, his performance in the Banty Stud Strut to the tune of, ‘Quick lay in the barnyard,’ had feathers flying in all directions. There he was jumping cockily high and she flashing her ‘come on eyes’, her delighted clucking rising to a crescendo accompanied by the sensuous dig of his spurs. Oh yes, quite a spirited number really, hitting the top ten in Barnyard Hots before the dust had settled.

She described the whole sequence to her closest friends back in the poultry run. Oh yes, she murmured, he'd said after the meal of spilled grain (which was something special), that more was to come. And there was. Her ovaries had led her astray you see. They do sometimes, don't they? If you'd been there a few weeks later, you'd have seen her with a clutch of the most delightful Black Orpington Bantam Cross chicks. Yes. One of them won the top prize at the district agricultural show that very same year. Trouble is, he's developing into such a cocky little bantam, just like his father.

Dennis Crompton © 1997
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)