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.
For 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!!!
Nutsrok
The humor and humanity of storytelling.
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