HOW FARMER GILES FEATHERED HIS NEST
Stella Leonard, who writes such excellent children’s (sic) stories, has given us this little
gem. Read on, and be amused; VERY amused …
WHAT IF …
Farmer Giles was renowned for his plump well fed chickens. They clucked happily as
they ambled freely across fresh green fields, and dabbled their feet in the rippling pond.
Their lives were short but happy, and Farmer Giles prospered over the years.
However, there was a problem. Sitting in his old rocker on the front stoep, he worried
about recent reports in the newspaper. Apparently scientists in the feed industry had
invented a super poultry food, with extra proteins, amino acids and energy booster
granules. Probably genetically modified feed, he thought, and this would give other
farmers who were not free range, an unfair advantage. He sighed. Farmer Giles was
nearing retirement, but still needed a few years to build up his pension. Besides he wasn’t
sure all these chemicals were good for the chickens, or the families who regularly
enjoyed their Sunday roast.
He wouldn’t follow the latest fad. His reputation would be at stake, and there was too
much interference with nature anyway. It was hard not to follow suit, when all the other
farmers were having such good results. Their chickens were huge with thick silky
feathers, large proud heads and strong shiny well structured feet.
Farmer Giles didn’t waver from his views, even when some of his customers took their
business elsewhere. It was six months before certain changes were noticed. Each new
batch of chicks grew larger and stronger and refused to eat anything except the super
food. They began to develop a personality along with a cunning brain.
The older chickens formed discussion groups and would nod and cluck to each other, as
though deliberating on plans they were making. They made up new games to pass the
time and their favourite was the chicken run to see who was fastest in the group.
By the time the seventh generation of new super-food chickens appeared, they were so
big they would not fit into a roasting tin. Farmers were becoming afraid for their lives, as
the enormous creatures attacked their benefactors demanding more and more food.
Eventually they took over the land, forming a chicken army, which marched across the
country invading supermarkets and butchers shops, threatening shop assistants with
pitchforks. The local cows who watched this happen, took grievances to the Bovine
Union, and demanded equal super food with extra large injections of hormones.
The nation was in a panic. Parliament hastily convened a meeting passing laws
condemning super foods. No one knew how to control the large ungainly birds, who by
now were almost the size of a young teenager. Scientists worked around the clock trying
to create a vaccine to calm the creatures, but it was discovered by accident that the only
calming influence they responded too, was the farmer’s wife singing. They would sit
around in a circle, heads nodding, large legs crossed in happy anticipation, as they
crooned along with the lady of the house.
When threatened, the creatures became so angry and unapproachable that it was decided
to let them live out their lives naturally. Volunteer singers from local choirs, were
employed by the government to work in shifts, singing night and day to keep the birds
happy and contented.
Eventually, one by one, the super chicks died from old age. There was a great shortage in
the land for genuine poultry, and Farmer Giles who couldn’t keep up with his customers
demands, found himself working round the clock to supply the nation’s needs.
Sometimes he would disappear from the farm for a few hours, and visitors would ask
where the famous farmer was. His wife was non-committal. ‘Just running errands’ was
her reply.
She could hardly tell them he was smiling all the way to the bank!