The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly Read Free Page B

her bare neck. To console herself, she remembered that she had escaped the coop and was with the yard animals now.
Soon I’ll be able to lay an egg. Soon enough!
But then she remembered her departure orders. Her future looked bleak. And she was starving.
    Still, Sprout slept well for the first time in a long while. She was the first to wake, even earlier than the rooster, but she didn’t move. She wanted to revel in the coziness of the barn, and she didn’t want to disturb the sleeping animals. She grew hopeful.
Maybe they’ll let me stay. The mallard is a straggler, and he’s settled here. They’ll understand if they know how much I want to live in the yard.
    The rooster got up. He smoothed his feathers and stretched his wings, then lengthened his neck and shouted, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” He fluttered down from the roost near Sprout. She sprang up to let him by.
    â€œI’ll give you until I flap my wings and crow on top of the rock wall. Then you must be gone,” the rooster ordered. “We let the mallard stay because he really doesn’t have a place to go. But you have your own place. The coop. It’s safe there. No matter how brave a hen you are, you can’t keep running from the weasel.” He puffed up with pride. “I gave you a place to sleep last night because you’re our kind. But our kind can’t become the laughingstock of the barn. Now you have to go back to where you belong.”
    â€œI don’t want to go back. I want to live in the yard. I won’t need to worry about the weasel here,” Sprout pleaded. “I was culled.”
    â€œCulled?” Sprout nodded, and the rooster laughed derisively. He glared at her, as though he would peck her if she responded. “Nobody wants you!”
    Sprout’s hopes were dashed. Humiliated, she set her beak firmly. The rooster went out. A moment later she heard his crow, her signal to leave. She glanced at the mallard, who was awake and watching her. But Straggler couldn’t help—he was at the bottom of the pecking order. He gave her an apologetic look. Sprout understood. He had done all he could, helping her when she was about to be the weasel’s dinner and standing up for her when the yard animals refused her. Sprout left the barn, but she didn’t have anywhere to go. She crouched under the acacia tree. The farmer pushed the wheelbarrow toward the coop. When she was in the coop, Sprout would eagerly await the moment the door opened to get a glimpse of the yard she never thought she would reach. Yet here she was!
I shouldn’t be sad. It’s a miracle that I’m here at all!
Sprout looked up at the acacia tree, which reached toward the sky.
I’m going to lay an egg. And I’m going to hatch a chick. If I survived the weasel, then nothing can stop me!
Her stomach rumbled. Sprout salivated as she watched the farmer’s wife feed the yard animals. She wanted to eat, too. She stood up and ran toward a trough. She had no idea where she got the energy. Before she could reach it, a duck bit her mercilessly on the neck. “How dare you?”
    Without any feathers to protect her neck, Sprout nearly fainted from the pain.
    â€œGet lost! Now!” snapped the duck before shoving his head in the trough. The other ducks surrounded it, their tails pointing to the sky. There was nowhere for Sprout to wedge herself in.
    Sprout glanced at the rooster couple’s trough. There was enough room there, but she knew she couldn’t. The rooster was greedy and ferocious. And she didn’t dare think about approaching the dog.
    The farmer looked at Sprout as he pushed the wheelbarrow out of the coop. His wife, on her way inside to retrieve eggs, stopped next to him. “Somehow survived,” she said.
    Her husband nodded. “It’s a tough one.”
    â€œShould I put it back in the coop? Oh, right, this one can’t lay eggs. Should we eat