Chapter Four

           It must seem comfortable and easy, life in a cozy roost. With plenty of good feed and all of her family close by—very close by, Roberta thought to herself, wiggling her backside in hopes of scooting out just a little more room. There were her cousins Marilla, Anne, and Diana all snuggled in to her left, and her cousins Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy all flocked together to her right. All snoring.

            Yes. Roberta sighed, as she did every night. Chickens can—and do­­­—snore. In fact, snoring chickens were one of the major trials of Roberta’s life.  

            She had shelter from the rain and plenty of sunshine, enough room to stretch her legs and run when her soul just needed to move. She had a nice warm lamp—when she could get the pesky baby chicks out of the way—and all the clean water she could drink, and she even had the nice boy next door, who sometimes brought handfuls of shiny things for her to peck. What more could any chicken want?

            Justice. That’s what any sensible chicken should want, anyway. Roberta lifted her wings and elbowed both Beth and Diana out of her way. Justice. The world needed it and Roberta wanted—no, Roberta needed—to deliver it.

            Away in the distance—but who knew how far away, really?—a dog howled. See? That was a perfect example of lurking injustice. Everybody knew that howling dogs only had one thing on their minds: sneaking into chicken coops and chomping on hens.

            For days, Roberta had listened to the howling move closer and closer. She looked at her cousins clustered all around her. Sure, they snored so loudly they shook the coop, and they liked to crowd into her personal space without any regard for sharp bones or pokey feathers, but Roberta didn’t want to lose Jo or Anne—or any of them—to a howling dog.

            Roberta wanted to rid the world of the injustice of howling dogs.

            And chicken nuggets. Chicken nuggets? Chicken. Nuggets. Talk about injustice. A hen arriving from another coop had told her all about chicken nuggets: tiny balls of fried-up chicken people apparently loved to eat straight out of little cardboard boxes. The nerve! If it was Roberta’s destiny to end up as food, at the very least let her be a shiny golden brown roasted chicken. At the very least.

            Of course, there was injustice of the non-chicken variety as well. Sometimes the nice boy who lived next door liked to paint his fingernails, and he’d told her one day while they practiced standing on one leg that another kid at school made fun of him for it. Imagine—not liking something so shiny and glossy? It boggled Roberta’s mind.

            The world was full of injustice and Roberta wanted to save the world.

            But who was she, except for one little chicken? She had the heart of a superhero but a body made of feathers.

            Roberta sighed and settled back down between her cousins. Marilla stretched and wrapped a wing around her, and Roberta snuggled in. Her eyes started to droop and she yawned. It was late and she was tired. She could figure out saving the world tomorrow.

            But then, Roberta heard a sound. After all, her ears were always on alert. It was an unusual sound, and it came from the house next door. She sat up straight and opened her eyes wide. What could it be? Injustice? If it was injustice, Roberta was ready.

            Then there was a voice, but Roberta couldn’t make out what it was saying. Something—something—chickens? Roberta closed her eyes and listened as hard as she could.

            “CURSE YOU CHICKENS!”

            Curse you, chickens? Roberta’s beak fell open but nary a squawk came out. It was the nice boy next door—or the boy next door she thought was nice—and he was cursing chickens. That was it—she’d had it.

            Forget sleepy. Roberta was wide awake now. And she was hurting from the bitter sting of betrayal. She stood up. With a butt swing to the left and a butt swing to the right, she bumped her cousins out of the way. And then she marched right out of the roost. She was going to go give that not-nice boy next door a piece of her mind.

            Out in the front yard, with the moon full and bright above, Roberta was exposed and vulnerable. She knew she had to be stealthy. Many dangers stood between her and her destination: the howling dog, which could be hiding in any of the nighttime shadows. Roberta’s owner, who wouldn’t hesitate to lift up Roberta and deposit her right back in the roost (Roberta had certainly experienced that before). There were cars and nighttime pedestrians and unscrupulous raccoons—a whole world of dangers just waiting for one unlucky or unprepared chicken. Just waiting for one chicken to let down her guard.

            Roberta drew a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, flattened her wings, and dashed—from the doorway of the coop to the bush at the edge of the sidewalk. In her mind, music blared: the intense, staccato soundtrack to a dozen super-spy movies she’d watched from outside her owner’s window. Dun dun dun-dun…

            Panting, and surveying the scene, she planned the next leg of her route: she had to make it to the other side of the road. There was no other way but straight across. Her wings waving, screaming, “I don’t want to be a chicken nugget!” she ran as fast as she could. She made it to the other side.

            Finally, all that was left was to make it to the boy’s door. That was easy. Eyes narrowed, beak clenched, she stomped across the lawn. With as much dignity as she could muster, she hopped up the porch’s four wooden steps. She strode up to the glass door and knocked on it: three sharp cracks with her beak. She saw the boy on the other side.

            Fueled by outrage, Roberta’s wings rose up into the air, and she actually flew, if only for a moment. Now was her chance to right a wrong. Now was her chance to avenge an injustice. “I’ve come for my revenge!” she screamed.

            On the other side of the glass, from his rocking chair, the boy mumbled something, but Roberta wasn’t paying attention. Another sound echoed in her ears. A scary sound.

            It was the dog, and it was howling. And it wasn’t anywhere off in the distance—it was climbing the porch stairs that Roberta had just hopped. It howled once more.

            Roberta froze.