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.Β  It didn’t save me from having the same problem.Β  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.Β  I’d already been flogged trying it.Β  This was different.Β  In my Indian dress, I was brave and invincible.Β  I played pretend in the yard shooting severalΒ  buffaloesΒ  with my bow, saving the tribe from starvation, single-handedly.Β  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.Β  When I rode one, the other ran along with us.Β  Deep in my fantasy, I slaughtered a bear and saved the chief, who by the way, was desperate to marry me.Β  I was having none of it.Β Β  I rode into the chicken yard, bravely scooping up a baby chick.Β  Mother Hen ignored my two stallions,Β  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.Β  I’d never been so disillusioned in my life.Β  That hen had no imagination whatsoever!!!