And if you had more to base your thoughts on than chicken feed and feathers, you might have noticed the shiny zipper glinting in the sunlight. But alas, fear has clouded your chicken-sense and the shiny metal evaded your short gaze.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my!” you cluck. “I must call Farmer John.”
You turn around and run as fast as your little chicken feet can carry you and burst into the kitchen in a cloud of feathers and dust.
“Farmer John! Farmer John! Where are you?”, your terrified voice squawks.
The farmer’s wife Mary-Bertha hears your calls and rushes into the kitchen. “My dear chicken, what are you doing so far away from your coop?” she says in an annoyed voice. You see, Mary-Bertha is from the city. She wears those poufy clothes that look like curtains and waves at a small mirror all the time. She is not one of the farm, as is our Farmer John.
“Cluck, cluck squawk! Cluck cluck cluck!” you chant over and over- but it’s no use. She cannot understand you!
By now, the wife has gotten ever more irritated. “You little chicken you! Coming inside my kitchen and ruining the floor! Get out!”
You cluck and squawk harder than you have ever before, desperately trying to get her to understand your plight, but that woman is beyond reason. Stupid human, you seethe, the little feathers on the top of your head turning brown with the flames of your rage. What does Farmer John even see in her?
“Get out!” her voice shrieks again and she appears in your line of sight brandishing a broom. She raises her arms high and brings the broom down hard, but before it makes contact another voice rings out.
“Zzingr cluck…zzz cluck”
“W-what?” stutters Mary-Bertha and turns to the light at the door before grasping her head, as if it were pounding.
“Zzingr cluck” the voice hisses again and the figure moves closer. You hear the metallic claws tearing holes in the ground when it walks.
“Zzingr cluck” it snaps out forcefully and pushes the lady on the ground with its hideous magnificence.
For now, the light has gone and you can see; finally see what your saviour, the destroyer of chicken-kind looks like without his man-chicken disguise.
You are impressed and awe-struck; partly because it knocked her down and partly, because you know it and have dreamt of it. It is…