The Rooster and the Fox, Part 1

(I had grand plans of posting a twisted folk tale today - a play on the Fox and the Hen stories, only this time, the fox is a "good guy" and the rooster is definitely not. Sadly a failed root canal and emergency dental procedure got in the way, and I've been recovering instead of writing. So I decided to deliver this story to you all in 2 parts. Here goes Part 1...)

Once upon a time there was a rooster in a barnyard. This barnyard was part of one of the larger farms in the land. The farmer had horses and oxen to help pull his carts and plows. He had cows for milk, sheep for wool, and goats for, well, clean up. And they had a whole double-decker coop full of chickens. There used to be a few roosters – a nice balance for all the hens. But now there was only this one rooster, this rooster named “Ron”. Now, as roosters went, he was a rooster that stood out. He had a fluffy golden crest of feathers that flopped over the side of his head. His feathers were orange, and his crow was loud. The farmer always said he thought Ron was the biggest rooster he’d ever seen, though his feet being so small was kind of funny. Ron decided that meant he was the best rooster to ever roost. He was some kind of specimen, and boy, did he tell everyone!

Every morning, Ron woke up and before he even left his roost in the coop, he started yelling his head off.

“GOOD MORNING, SUN. YOU CAN NOW SHINE YOUR LIGHT ON OUR FARM, THE BEST FARM OF ALL FARMS BECAUSE IT’S HOME TO ME. THE BEST ROOSTER THAT EVER ROOSTED. LET’S GET THIS DAY STARTED AND MAKE THE FARM GREAT AGAIN.”

And then he repeated it another four times.  See Ron, he thought his yelling brought the sun because he never actually saw the sun until he strutted out of the coop.  

“But, Ron,” some of the chicks used to ask, “Don’t you need to get out on the fence and crow so the farmer can hear you and wake up?”

“Well, now, son, how’m I supposed to get up on that fence if it’s dark out? And how’s it going to get light out unless the sun comes up? And how’s the sun going to know it’s time to come up if I don’t call it up?”

And the chicks, having only hatched yesterday and not having any other grown up rooster to ask, found that answer to be perfectly logical and went back to pecking.

And so it went, day after day, Ron hollering everyone awake from the coop, and the farm going about its farming day. The chicks grew into chickens and the chickens had more chicks. Somehow the rooster chicks never seemed to stick around long enough to become fully grown roosters. And the longer time went on with Ron being the only rooster in the yard, he more convinced he became that he, Ron, ruled the roost. He was the King. And since he brought the sun every day, which in turn, brought the farmer and the corn and seed, the other chickens figured he must be the King, too. The rest of the barn figured it was a chicken thing and had nothing to do with them, so they didn’t see any reason to disagree.

But then Rooster Ron started making demands. Oh, he was charming when he made them, and his logic was so persuasive that they didn’t even sound like demands. By the time he got his demands met, the other animals were convinced everything had been their own ideas to begin with. And Ron was just being gracious to accept what they offered.

Like that one time he decided he wasn’t getting enough corn and didn’t want to have to wade into the mess of chickens and eat the pecked over corn. And he stood in a corner sadly kicking at the dirt until Sue Hen and her friends came over and asked what was wrong. 

“It’s just so sad that I do all that work bringing the Sun every day, and everyone’s already crushed and kicked over all the good corn before I finish my breakfast,” he told her.

“Oh no!” Sue Hen cried, “That’s not fair. Not when we wouldn’t even get corn at all if you didn’t call the sun! What can we do?”  

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Ron sighed.

“Oh no, but of course we’re worried. Isn’t there anything we can do?” Sue and her friends clucked and fluttered.

“Welllll,” Ron drawled out, “if only there were some chickens who could come out here right after I call the sun and save me up a small pile of corn in the corner here, maybe that would be okay." 

“Oh, we will, we will,” the hens all clucked, and that’s what they did starting that very next day. And somehow, the pile was never quite big enough, and he kept nudging and hinting that his pile was just a little too small for him to enjoy, and soon all the chickens were building a pile of corn for Ron every morning, hardly getting any for themselves. 

And it wasn’t just the chickens. Ron somehow managed to get the horses and oxen to give him half their morning hay so he could build a fresh nest every day. By the time they came home from a long day of carting and plowing, they had no hay left to eat. And while the sheep were happy to shed a little bit of wool to line Ron’s nest, they weren’t so happy when the chickens started flying up and roosting on them, digging in with their talons and tearing out little tufts of wool with their sharp beaks.

Eventually, Ron wasn’t even asking nicely anymore. He simply strutted around the yard hollering about how poorly he was being treated and threatening vague dire threats at anyone he thought had wronged him that day. 

“ALL I ASKED FOR WAS A LITTLE BIT OF WOOL, BUT THESE SHEEP ARE INFERIOR SHEEP THAT CAN’T KEEP THEIR PROMISES. THEY’RE GOING TO BE SORRY WHEN THE SUN STOPS COMING OUT!” he would yell, or, “THOSE HORSES AND OXEN ALREADY GET OATS. WHAT DO THEY NEED ALL THAT HAY FOR? I BET THEY WON’T BE SO PROUD WHEN THE SUN STOPS COMING OUT, AND THEY DON’T GET OATS OR HAY ANYMORE!” and “THOSE CHICKENS ARE STILL STEPPING ALL OVER MY CORN, WHAT’S IT TAKE TO GET A DECENT MEAL AROUND HERE? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR THIS YARD, NOT LIKE MY PREDECESSOR WHO LET EVERYONE EAT IN FILTH.”

Well, the rest of the barnyard animals started getting upset about the way Ron was treating them. They were all too tired to work as hard as they used to and starting to feel sick from not having enough food to eat since they had to give almost everything to Ron. The sheep were sore from the patches of wool being torn out. And hens weren’t laying quite as many eggs. 

Some of the animals tried to speak up to Ron, but he chased them out of the yard, attacking them with his spurs. And then he was so riled up, he got even crankier with everyone else. Some of the animals decided it was better not to get him mad in the first place, so they started running off all the brave ones, too. The barnyard that had once been full of happy, chatty animals was now a quiet place, well, except for Rooster Ron, and with fear filled every corner. 

(To be continued...)