CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (feel good novels txt) 📗

as well as the gloves, and stood at the ready by the door.

Yelling and laughing, the Sproutlings burst out of the door. Several of them threw their spears at Mason, but they got caught in his clothes or bounced harmlessly off his gloves. Two in the rear produced longbows—long compared to the archers themselves, at any rate—and peppered Mason’s face with arrows. Although some drew blood from scratches on his cheeks, Claire’s borrowed glasses protected his eyes.

“My turn,” Mason growled.

Vivian saw him lunge forward and grab a pair of Sproutlings by the midsections, lift them clear off their chickens, and toss them at another two of their comrades. He shouted again and spooked the mounts of the archers at the door, sending their chickens squawking back into the shed. Vivian yelled to warn him about another rider coming up to spear Mason in the shin; that Sproutling was also lifted off his chicken and tossed onto the roof for his trouble.

“Is he winning?” Claire asked, squinting in the general direction of the battle.

“Oh yes,” Vivian replied with a smile.

Finally, Mason seemed to spot an opening.

With a grand dive and roll through the dirt, he stood holding the struggling chief firmly in both hands.

All the Sproutlings who still had any fight in them immediately stopped.

“That’s enough!” Mason called out. “Now we can have a civil conversation without any spears or arrows, or we can find out how Lurgs in Canada treat Sproutlings who tie them to the ground. Deal?”

“Say your piece, then release my Pa!” yelled the chief’s ginger son, Whispit.

“You’re going to give me your word not to release any more animals from this zoo,” Mason said. “Especially none bigger than you already have. Then you’re going to let us all leave, and I’ll release your chief before we go.”

“Absolutely not!” Chief Dundoogle said from Mason’s grip. “The Herdening must continue, it is our way!”

“What’s so important about this Herdening?” Vivian asked. “Is it for sport?”

“Sport? Leave to it to a great daft Lurg to think the Herdening is a game!” said the chief, rolling his little eyes. “This is aboot our boys becoming men! They must prove that they can ride their fowl skillfully enough to bring down a great beastie before they can become a full warrior of the clan. That’s what the Herdening is for.”

“Is that all?” Vivian said. “What a silly reason to cause all this trouble. Now promise you’ll stop, like Mason told you.”

“Hang on, Viv. This is a horse of a different colour. This is important,” Mason said, and lifted the chief to look him in the eye. “When my brothers and I were younger, our dad took each of us on a father-son deer hunting trip when he thought we were ready. It wasn’t just about whether we could bring down and clean a deer; he wanted to make sure we were ready for responsibilities and big decisions. He wanted to make sure we were ready to be grown men.”

“The Herdening is the same!” Whispit shouted.

“Those trips helped to mold each of us into who we grew up to be,” Mason continued. “I’d hate to have lost out on that because of circumstances beyond my control.”

“Aye, then ye ken it well,” Chief Dundoogle said. “The Herdening must continue.”

“But you can’t keep putting the zoo animals and everyone else at risk,” Claire insisted.

Mason thought for a second. “What if I told you, you didn’t need any of these animals for the Herdening?” he asked the chief. “What if I told you there was another animal that lives all over this park, in fact all over the city, far more ferocious and a more worthy hunt than anything in these pens?”

“Well o’ course I’d want to see this beastie!” the chief said. “But what could possibly be as fierce as ye say?”

“This will never work,” Vivian whispered to Mason as they approached the massive Grenadier Pond which took up almost the entire western edge of the park. They and Claire led the Sproutlings to the water’s edge as the sun rose behind them.

“Those over there? Those are the great ferocious things ye havered of?” Chief Dundoogle asked from the back of his chicken.

“They are indeed. Don’t believe me? Go bother one,” Mason said with a grin.

The chief whistled, and a scout approached went ahead to investigate a pair of large brown birds with black serpentine necks. As the scout approached, one of the geese honked and hissed at him with outstretched wings. The scout ignored the warning, and the goose charged.

“Chief Dundoogle, may I present the illustrious Canada goose,” Mason said, still smiling.

The goose swung a wing at the scout and knocked him from his chicken onto the cement path. Still honking, it ducked its head to deliver a pair of swift bites before it picked up the scout in its beak and threw him screaming into the pond. The wounded Sproutling grabbed a floating piece of tree bark and kicked for shore.

“By the heather, it’s as ye said and more!” the chief said. “And these beasts are plentiful?”

“Almost too much,” Vivian said.

“Tis a worthy foe for the Herdening indeed!” the chief declared. “Ye have a bargain, Lurg. My clan will darken the zoo’s doorstep no more.”

“Well, you don’t have to stay away entirely,” Claire said. “We always love guests. Just do like the other guests do and don’t touch the animals. Or, you know, release them. I’ll leave out some snacks for you guys at night, if you like.”

Vivian and Mason took their leave as Claire and Chief Dundoogle made their arrangements, and Vivian socked Mason on the arm.

“That was mighty brave of you, taking on a whole clan of warriors by yourself,” she chuckled.

“All in a day’s work,” Mason replied.

“Mind if I offer one piece of advice, though?” Vivian asked.

“What’s that, Viv?” Mason said.

“Next time, pick a fight with someone your own size.”

The End

About the Author

J. Trevor Robinson is an author and new dad from Toronto, and the