The Chicken Gave It To Me Read Free

like it, people! Serves you right!
    (2) Horror that others might suffer as I had.
    Oh, which of these feelings would triumph? Which would win?

5
Penguins or cheetahs, whales or sharks
    All morning Gemma had chicken on the brain. The moment the first lesson started, Andrew slid the little sacking book safely into his desk, and both of them were kept busy. But just from glancing at some of the mistakes in Andrew’s workbook –
    the cluck said 9.45
    she put the coop on the saucer
    Jane cycled feather than Jilly
    â€“ Gemma knew that he, too, wouldn’t rest till he’d read on, and found out what had happened next on that black night at Harrowing Farm.
    Would the chicken decide on revenge? Or on pity?
    It wasn’t easy to guess. What didGemma know about what a chicken thought or how a chicken felt? The closest she came to them was when she found one sitting quietly on her plate, crisply roasted or steaming in sauce.

    She leaned across to nudge Andrew.
    â€˜Do you realise,’ she told him, ‘that there must be millions and millions of chickens all over the world, and I don’t know anything about them.’
    â€˜You should watch the animal programmes on telly.’
    â€˜They never do chickens.’
    Didn’t they? Now Andrew came to think about it, Gemma was right. Almost every evening you could watch aprogramme about penguins or cheetahs, whales or sharks. You saw them hunting, sleeping, giving birth. But when did you ever get to see the day-to-day life of a chicken?
    Never.
    â€˜You don’t get stuffed chickens, either,’ Gemma was telling him now.
    â€˜Yes, you do. I ate one yesterday.’
    â€˜No, no!’ Gemma sounded quite angry with him. ‘I mean soft furry toys. You’re given teddy bears and pandas. You get tigers and cats and ponies. You might even get three fluffy yellow chicks in a nest especially at Easter. But no one ever gives you a hen.’
    True. Under his bed at home Andrew still had Snoopy and Topcat and Dobbin and Grizzly. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember ever ripping the bright shiny paper off a present, and shouting: ‘Oh, goody! It’s a hen!’
    Gemma was getting angrier by theminute.
    â€˜In fact,’ she was muttering, ‘when I come to think about it, I know more about
dinosaurs
than I do about hens. I know more about
hairy mammoths
. I know more about
pterodactyls
!’
    Her usual little placid face had gone quite hard with rage. He knew her well enough to know what she was thinking. She couldn’t bring the words out, so he said it for her.
    â€˜Because people don’t have to be so ashamed about those. They’re already dead.’
    And suddenly neither of them could wait a moment longer to find out what happened next. Carefully, under cover of his workbook, Andrew slid the chicken’s testament out of his desk.
    They took it in turns to keep watch, as they read on.

6
I show myself to be naturally chicken-hearted
    Revenge! Oh, ho, ho, ho. The very idea was ridiculous. Chickens aren’t built for revenge. We don’t have it in us. We’re not the sort to slink about for years, feeling bitter, and then, when the moment comes, plunge in the sharpened claw.
    We’re a bit bird-witted, really. We mess about, scratching through each day as it comes. By daylight the only thing on my mind was breakfast, and I was out there peck-peck-pecking. I wouldn’t even have noticed I was back near the sheds, except for the horrible wailing . . .
    â€˜Let me ooooouuuut!’
    â€˜Heeee-eeelp! Heeee-eeeelp!’
    Oh, it was ghastly. Some creaturesmake your flesh creep when they cry. Rabbits, for example. And baby hares.

    But people!
    â€˜Saaaaave us, pleeeeaaase!’
    Quick workers, these little green men. While I was roosting overnight, they must have pulled all the wire cages apart, and set them up again, exactly the right size.
    (Of course, when I say, ‘exactly the right