"Well, the job seems to have fallen to me (since the unfortunate demise of our dear Fiona Goosefeathers, may she rest in peace), to take over the job of Gossip Columnist for the Gazette. But, I always knew I could dish dirt with the best of em!
Allow me to introduce myself- Mavis Mudd- mother of 3 sets of triplets, a dozen sets of twins and 21 little runts. I have, of late, taken on the role of foster mother as well. Also, I am the widow of the late and dearly beloved, "Mister Red Rooster" ( beloved by at least 7 others, besides myself, and those are just the ones I know about!)
What I DO know is this: at his funeral- at which he was conspicuous by his absence, seeing as how he was carried off by a devious fox,put into a pot and turned into Chicken Fricassee!
Oh, the very thought of Fricassee sends prickles up and down my back feathers! All that was left to bury was a downy red feather. Upon his gravestone were the words:
What I DO know is this: at his funeral- at which he was conspicuous by his absence, seeing as how he was carried off by a devious fox,put into a pot and turned into Chicken Fricassee!
Oh, the very thought of Fricassee sends prickles up and down my back feathers! All that was left to bury was a downy red feather. Upon his gravestone were the words:
"Here lie the remains of Mister Red Rooster,
Otherwise known as 'Lover Boy'
He was
The best of the best,
A Cockadoodledoo above all the rest!" ),
But as I was saying, at his funeral there was nary a dry eye in the barn. Fat little hens came from far and wide to blow into their hankies and share anecdotes about MY husband! Including that little tart, Miss Mulberry, who struts around here like a Peacock! She is such a hussy. Which brings me to today's bit of mud.... the Peabody Boys.
As soon as the Mistress brought them home, I knew there would be trouble. There they stood in those flashy clothes...Did no one ever tell them that stripes and polka dots clash?
They pretended to be shy and bashful, but I knew that beneath those fancy clothes and finery there lurked hearts of ill-will. And it didn't take long to see it.
First there was the mysterious case of the fuchia blossoms....WELL, not so mysterious to moi! I saw those sneaky buzzards picking off the mistress's blooms one by one. I felt it my duty to tell her everything, but she just giggled and scolded them not to ever, ever do that again. Hah! If she was serious , she wouldn't let them lounge on the porch...
/
.
whenever they please...
and stare at their reflections in the window for hours and hours.
Oh... they think they are soooo handsome. I will tell you what handsome is...
This is Handsome.
Now, if we chicken folk set so much as one sharp toenail upon that porch, it is the broom-stick for us!
And then there is the ridiculous little dance they do..
First. they spread their tail feathers,
Then, they shake and wiggle their bottoms with a flutter and a fluff,
they do the hokey, pokey and they turn themselves around,
/
three steps forward, two steps back.
.
I mean REALLY, how about a good old fashioned square dance? That is what we chickens like. And just who are they trying to impress anyway?
These girls???
Well, I can tell you that my dearest friends and I have no interest, whatsoever in such self absorbed, vain, dandies.
So they can just sit in the trees,
In that self-important manner, and think about THAT!
That is, if they are not smack dab in the middle of the Mistress gardens, squashing her delicate forget me nots and snapping off the zinnia heads.... Hmmph!
And all the mistress says is. 'Oh, aren't they just lovely?'
Hmmmph!
It just goes to show,
you can get away with anything...if you are beautiful."
.
