An orange-red sliver could be seen poking up over the horizon. The light from the sun scattered amongst the trees as morning arrived; the the brightly colored fall leaves on the ground appeared exceptionally brilliant. Bobby cooed and sang his good-morning song; the wind rustled the leaves and carried with it the sounds he had heard the evening before – the cackle and clucks of other birds. These birds were definitely not other quail; they were loud, boisterous, and somewhat boorish.
The pair of foxes from previous day were no where to be seen. Bobby dropped out of the tree and fluttered to the ground. He hopped and flew in the direction of the other birds. He flew over the creek and quickly ran through a field; passing along the way several deer who bid him a good morning as they chewed the dew-covered clover and grass.
Bobby paused and listen. A loud and hardy but slightly muffled, “Cock-a-doodle,” rang out from the direction Bobby was heading. The cackles and clucks were much louder now, as well.
He hopped across the narrow dirt road and continued behind a building – moving ever closer to the bird-sounds he had first heard the previous evening. Down a slight hill, around the trunk of a tall pine tree and over a short fence. Bobby rounded the corner. The cackles, clucks and cock-a-doodles were coming out of the window of a small, flat-roofed chicken coop that rested on posts; a long ramp went from the ground up to a small porch. Inside the porch, there was a small door that was closed.
In a loud voice, Bobby cooed and chirped hoping the residences of the coop would hear him and reply. Nothing. He tried again. Again, nothing.
Hopping around under the coop, Bobby noticed a pail hanging from a hook. The pail was filled with corn, oats and other grains. Bobby quickly realized he was hungry but could not quite reach the rim of the pail. Luckily, scattered all around the ground, under the pail, was the same corn, oats and grains. Nibble. Peck. Peck. Nibble. Bobby ate quickly, he thought to himself, “This place is great! Food, good food, just seems to be heaped and scattered on the ground. I just hope those other birds turn out to be friendly.”
Just then, the farmer and his wife walked out of their home. “About time to let the chickens out of the coop,” the farmer said his wife. The two walked up the path to the coop. Bobby ran around behind one of the concrete post supports. He peeked around to get a look; the farmer had unlocked large coop door and had walked inside. Within moments, the smaller coop door in the small attached porch opened. Bobby heard the farmer address the birds inside, “There you are ladies and gentleman; out of you now.”
The farmer exited the large door as a single file line of large chickens exited the coop down the ramp; blond colored chickens, black and white speckled chickens, solid black chickens, red chickens; bringing up the rear of the line was the source of the loud “Cock-a-doodles” – a rooster. A beautiful bird with a fancy set of feathers on his head; the feathers appeared to go in all directions. Bobby had never seen such a crazy looking bird in his short life.
Walking down the ramp, the rooster paused and gave a loud and hardy crow; he continued down the ramp into the yard with the other chickens.
As the farmer rounded the corner to check on something, he was too quick for Bobby to take action and hide; Bobby stood statuesque next to the concrete post support. The farmer quickly noticed him standing there.