Had someone rewritten the script and not told him about it?
Chapter Ten
Malika
Never once, inMalika’s entire life, had she stopped to consider where eggs came from.They appeared on her plate—sometimes boiled, sometimes sunny-side up, sometimes in an omelet.
“It’s not difficult,” Tilly said.“You shoo the hen off the nest and pick up the egg.If the hen won’t move, you reach underneath her or give her a little push.They aren’t all that smart.”
The hens didn’t worry Malika.The rooster, however, had an attitude problem.He began to express it every morning shortly before dawn, or immediately after, and the unholy noises he made would startle the dead back to life.Malika approached this egg-gathering venture with extreme prejudice against him.
The chicken coop sat in the middle of Mavis’s backyard.The long nest box that comprised the main body of the coop sat on a platform raised a few off the ground.Holes in the front of the box opened into each nest.The back area of the nest box was communal.How clever.Because the hens weren’t very bright, they each believed they had their own private apartment.A ramp led to the nest box so the hens could get in and out without stumbling over each other.The ramp could also be raised to keep the hens secure for the night.
A wire enclosure surrounded the coop.Cayenne pepper had been sprinkled on top of the sawdust that covered the ground inside fencing.The pepper didn’t bother the chickens, Tilly explained, but other creatures disliked it.Heavy mesh wiring underneath the sawdust further discouraged small predators from burrowing under the fence and into the coop.
The rooster alone should be enough of a deterrent.He watched Malika and Tilly from the other side of the fence—white feathers puffed up, chest out, red comb erect—spoiling for a fight.
“He can be a little aggressive,” Tilly said, understating the matter.
She carried a stick and a basket.She passed them to Malika.
“His feathers make him look bigger than he is.Don’t be fooled.He only weighs about twelve pounds at the most.You have to show him who’s boss.Chickens have a hierarchy and he’s at the top.It’s his job to protect the ladies.”
Malika felt kindlier toward him.How could she not appreciate him for that?
A loop of rope fastened the crude chicken-wire door to the fence.She slipped the basket over her arm, held the stick in her hand, and unhooked the loop.The rooster remained very still.All that moved were his hostile, beady little eyes, tracking her movements.
Show him who’s boss.
She could be bossy.
She stepped inside the enclosure and started to fasten the door.
“Don’t turn your back on him,” Tilly cautioned, but the warning came a second too late.
Wings outstretched and flapping, the rooster lunged at Malika.He’d gained about twenty pounds in the span of a heartbeat.He thrust out his neck and pecked at her arm.
“Ouch!”Malika cried, indignant.She swung the stick and rapped him smartly across his puffed-up chest.He backed off.
She shook the stick at him.“There’s more where that came from.”
“That’s it.Stand your ground,” Tilly said, calling out encouragement from the sidelines.“He’ll give up before you do.Guaranteed.”
Malika edged toward the nest box, keeping her eye on the rooster and the stick in between them, making sure he could see it.She reached inside the first box.
And discovered that hens were smelly and dirty and took little pride in their homes.
“Good heavens,” she said, withdrawing her hand and covering her nose.“How can they live in such filth?”
“You raise an excellent point.”Tilly sounded as if she were enjoying herself.“Guess who gets to clean out the coop?”
“Servants?”Malika said it with more hope than real expectation.
“Western women are handy and resourceful.Remember?”
Malika kept her hand over her nose.The smell was appalling.“If we were really resourceful, we’d convince a man to clean it for us.”
“Or you could stop talking and gather the eggs.Then we can clean out the coop and get the job over and done with,” Tilly said, because she was heartless.
