Tuesday, 8 March 2011
‘Oh heck,’ thought the hen.
‘Swiftly does it, old boy,’ thought the fox, and pounced.
‘Brace yourself,’ thought the hen and gritted her beak.
‘Ouch,’ thought the hen, as she was carried off in the fox’s strong jaws. ‘Remember your training, remember your training.’
‘Yum,’ thought the fox as he dumped the hen down in a corner of his den and busied himself setting the table with salt, pepper, a knife, a fork, a red and white checked napkin (for he was a fastidious chap) and a bottle of tomato ketchup, just in case.
The hen kept her eyes firmly closed until just the right moment. She had been the best pupil in her class and now remembered everything she must do as if it were written down in front of her.
‘Woo hoo!’ thought the fox when he’d finished his preparations and licked his lips in anticipation of supper.
‘Right, now!’ thought the hen and in a swirl of feathers, a scissor kick of claws and a splicing jab of her wings, she leapt up from the corner shouting:
‘Oh,’ thought the fox, when he regained consciousness the following morning. ‘Oh dear.’
He rubbed a sore bump on his nose and wondered, as he tried to stand up and fell down again, who had tied his front paws together.
‘What happened to my dinner?’
He looked round him, but the den was empty. The table was still laid with salt, pepper, a knife, a fork and a red and white checked napkin. But in the place of the bottle of tomato ketchup was a nice, brown egg.
(In memoriam Doris and Esmeralda)