The Tragic Tale of the Hen-Flogged Indian Princess

This is a story my mother told us dozens of times of her experience with a Mother Hen.  It didn’t save me from having the same problem.  This is her original art.indian-dress-and-henFor my birthday, Mama made me an Indian outfit. By now, I’d been around the chickens long enough to know a mother hen would jump all over anyone getting near their chicks.  I’d already been flogged trying it.  This was different.  In my Indian dress, I was brave and invincible.  I played pretend in the yard shooting several  buffaloes  with my bow, saving the tribe from starvation, single-handedly.  As I rode my horse, Midnight, bareback across the prairie, my long black braids flowed behind me. I had actually imagined myself up two horses. Midnight, a black stallion with a white mane and tail and Silver a white stallion with black mane and tail. If only I’d thought to imagine Silver was a mare, they could have created their own imaginary colt, but that never crossed my mind. They were both wild and would allow no one else to ride them.  When I rode one, the other ran along with us.  Deep in my fantasy, I slaughtered a bear and saved the chief, who by the way, was desperate to marry me.  I was having none of it.   I rode into the chicken yard, bravely scooping up a baby chick.  Mother Hen ignored my two stallions,  Indian dress, and the long black braids flowing behind me. In a split second, she was on my head, squawking, pecking, flogging, and scratching till I gladly dropped her baby.  I’d never been so disillusioned in my life.  That hen had no imagination whatsoever!!!


49 thoughts on “The Tragic Tale of the Hen-Flogged Indian Princess

  1. Hi ms. Ibeth, sorry for myself to get behind on my reading. Great that Facebook invented that Love Button, eh? Your imagination was very beautiful way back then. Now I understand my sister and her horses much better- she had real ones!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What a cute story – I remember when I was a cowgirl, riding around on my horse and shooting the bad guys. I had the task of collecting eggs in my grandparents’ chicken coop – i had to learn to wait until the hens were out pecking corn in the yard to sneak in. There’s nothing worse than an enraged hen!

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  3. Funny, Linda. So sorry your illusions of bravely riding your steed against the chicken was dashed to smithereens. My family had geese. Talk about ornery animals. In our fifties, my brother and I are still afraid of waterfowl!

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  4. Ah, reminds me of me as a little girls. We didn’t have chickens, but I did have an imaginary horse or two of my own. As I read your post, I remembered riding those horses all over the house and yard. It was just the uplifting kind of post I needed after a hard day.

    Liked by 1 person

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