COCK, COCK, MI LAY OH! Part 1

                              COCK, COCK, MI LAY OH!  

                                                By HENZINGA HENZINGA

Part 1
Young Princess Hen Peck wants to lay.  It’s her first time. She is locked in the hen house with the other birds. She does not want to lay her egg here with all the other birds watching. Moreover, with their constant movements, she could not guarantee the safety of her product. 

The master of the farmhouse and his wife had travelled abroad and left their lazy son Fred Drinkmoore in charge. A man who liked his drink and sleeping late, he left the chickens in the hen coop until ten o’clock some mornings. They had heard his car drive in in the early hours of dawn, just before the first cockcrow, so they did not expect an early release.

“From the time I heard that lazybones Drinkmoore drive in here so late, I knew what to expect, a late breakfast, or should I say brunch?” Baroness Hen Noble said with pecking sarcasm. She and the other birds had no use for the inconsiderate Fred Drinkmoore. At seven o’clock, Fred was still asleep and Princess Hen Peck was in trouble. 

She kept moaning, “What am I going to do?” As she squeezed up her anal sphincter muscles to hold in her egg, she sobbed, “I’m even afraid to pray to God to deliver me, lest he takes me literally and delivers me in this inconvenient place. Blast that alcoholic, brewery-breath stink mouth Fred Drinkmoore,” she swore under her breath.

“Hold it in, Princess Hen Peck. Don’t push. Don’t sneeze even if you’re dying to. Hold it in, chick,” Mrs. Hen Doctrine, who was standing beside her, advised from her many years of experience. She demonstrated the Lamaze breathing technique used in ante-natal birth programmes among females of the human race, and pretty soon Princess Hen Peck had ‘mistressed’ it and was holding her own.

About an hour later, she cackled loud and clear for even the delinquent Fred to hear, “It’s going to come. Oh God, it’s going to come. I can’t hold it in any longer, Mrs. Hen Doctrine, Lamaze technique or no Lamaze technique, I tell you it’s going to come. I gotta go.”

As if by a miracle, Fred appeared and flung the coop door open with a sheepish smile, his breath smelling like a distillery, and apologized. “Sorry, chicks. I overslept again. The work, you know. Too much on mi plate.”

Princess Hen Peck did not wait to listen to Fred’s feeble apology or to allow any other bird, regardless of rank or age, to precede her, but was out like a bolt of lightning. She landed on the ground, made it in one flash to the boxes where the hens lay their eggs. Unfortunately for her, the boxes were all closed against preying night prowlers. Princess Hen Peck stood there in agony, squeezing up her sphincter muscle and Lamazing with all her Lamaze know-how.

At last she cried loud enough to wake the dead, “I can’t hold it in any longer. I simply can’t. Qué será será. What will be will be.” And so saying, she went down on her slender legs, way down, until they could no longer be seen, then raising her lovely tail, her sexual drawing card, sighed. “Aah, ahh, aah!”

After a brief moment, up she jumps, looks at her big, brown, warm egg, saw that it was normal, ovoid and intact, and flapping her dainty wings, proudly proclaimed not only for the whole barnyard to hear, but moreso for a particular male bird to rejoice with her and praise her, “Cock, cock, mi lay, oh!”

Old Queen Mother Henderson, who had laid umpteen eggs umpteen times and was mother both to Princess Hen Peck and to the cock that had served or rather serviced her, remarked to the proud young layer in her driest tone of voice, “As if he cares, my dear. As if he cares. Look over yonder. There is your cock. See if he cares.”

True enough, there was the tall, reddish black and handsome sire of Princess Hen Peck’s first egg, soon-to-be chick, making some pretty staggerlee moves around a beautiful white-plumed virgin pullet, scratching up dirt, stretching his feathery neck and tossing his magnificent red comb, the focus and emblem of his sexuality, and before Princess Hen Peck could peal out again her song of achievement and deliverance, “Cock, cock, mi lay, oh!” he had overpowered the young poulet and finished his business in plain sight of all the members of the barnyard. 

The pullet made a swift and noisy retreat while her macho cock wiped his beak on the earth and strode away with a macho swagger and without as much as a glance in the direction of the startled, jealous and displaced Princess Hen Peck.

“Cock, cock, mi lay, oh!” she sang in melodies pure and sweet to his shiny elegant back, quiet desperation almost rendering her blind.

“Cock, cock, mi lay, oh!” she chirped in her most sexy and melodious tones, flashing her luscious tail which he had professed to find so irresistible.

She couldn’t believe that cock was giving her the cold wing after having courted her so ardently.

“Cock, cock, mi lay, oh!” she appealed in her silvery treble one more time, willing him to take notice of her and thus lessen the shame which was eating away at her heart, the heart he had so lovingly captured from her and promised to treat like china. 

“Turn around, Cock. Turn around and look at me with affection for even one brief second and I will walk out of your life treasuring that moment, that look of caring, and make it last a lifetime. Turn around just once. God of the barnyard, please, let him turn around for me. Turn around, Prince Cock of the Walk. Turn around for your little Peckyweckychoopsiewoopsiedee.”

Cock turned, such a beautiful movement of a beautiful body, and piercing her with a look of scorn which turned her blood to ice and which was not lost on the others, sang in his most mellifluous baritone:

                   “If it wasn’t fah me

Yu couldn’t lay doh

Me, Cockadoodle

Me Cock-a-di-walk

          Me done it, oh!”

And executing another majestic swing, Cockadoodle kept on walking, not at all in her direction.

Princess Hen Peck stood stock still, speechless, stunned, deflated, her mind in turmoil, her pretty little royal beak trembling.

“He’ll be back but not until you are in season again. And you will have him. Mark my cackle, he’ll be back. Sweetheart, he’s only doing his job.” Mrs. Hen Ceforth told her with a bitter twist to her aging beak. She spoke from experience and would have liked to tell Princess Hen Peck that if she paid more attention to what was happening around her rather than spend so much time with her eyes glued to books, she would learn a few facts of life which would better equip her for an event such as this in her life. However, Mrs. Hen Ceforth thought that that was not the appropriate time and kept her thoughts to herself, vowing to express them to the little princess at a more opportune moment.

However much Princess Hen Peck wanted to stop preening and to cease from announcing Cock’s sexual prowess to the barnyard, she couldn’t. Like the egg forcing its way out of her womb as soon as it was ready and she being powerless to stop its emergence, so were the words forcing themselves out of her without her being able to restrain their utterance. Like Leontyne Price, Shirley Bassey, Whitney Houston or Celine Dion, she heard her voice being lifted up out of her very being, wafted on high and ringing out with great avian feminine pride: “Cock, cock, mi lay, oh! Cock, cock, mi lay, oh!”

A feeling of the fiercest outrage and rebellion welled up inside her and she wanted not to want to keep making this silly announcement or to crave her vain cock’s attention, but there was no stopping the ardent desire or the surge of excitement that accompanied her anger. She looked bewildered, and in trying to force herself to stop, she heard herself stuttering to her utter embarrassment: “Cocococock, cocococock, mimi lalalay, ohoh! Oh-o-ooo!”

Old Queen Mother Hen Derson looked more with annoyance than with tolerance at the retreating figure of her son, Prince Cock of the Walk, the most resplendent and cocksure ever of all her descendants, perfect in form, haughty in demeanour, elegant in gait with his long finely spurred legs, well-proportioned wings, brilliant eyes, enchanting voice, lofty aristocratic gaze, a comb that stopped traffic in its magnificence and a well-feathered body with soft silky down sweeping his breast like the finest filigree necklace of pure gold. 

Then she shifted her troubled gaze to take in her puzzled hen child who had laid her first egg and who felt so abandoned by her handsome incestuous brother who had made her so many promises a short time before, and said with a sigh of resignation: “Hen Peck, mi dear, you can’t stop it no matter how hard you try. It comes with the territory, chick. It’s a hen’s nature to announce the delivery of her egg. It’s as compulsive as the very act of laying the egg. You can no more keep quiet about it than you can stop wanting cock once you have started.”

The Queen Mother turned to her mature middle-aged daughter, the Princess Royal, and said, ”Hen Vee, tell your little sister some facts of life for me because certain vital things she’s not going to find in all those books she’s filling up her head with night and day. Tell her the truth for me, Hen Vee, because she is not going to listen to me. Maybe you might be able to penetrate through to her since you are nearer to her in age than I am. Wise her up, I beg you.”

Princess Royal Hen Vee approached her little intellectual sister who had just been initiated into the rites of mating, and shaking her beautiful variegated head that had won for her many cocks, including her brother, the cock of interest, the Don Juan Prince Cock of the Walk, cackled with all the resignation and expertise of hen matronhood that she could muster: “Learn this, little sister. All that is happening to you this morning is an occupational hazard of henhood. You can’t avoid it, chick. You can’t sidestep it. You can’t even choose your own cock. I have had to submit to all kinds of cocks with no one to defend me, to our father, our brothers, to our uncles, to our male cousins and even to old grampa cock with one drumstick in the pot! Relax, Pecky. Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is but to lay and tell.”

But young Princess Hen Peck could no more relax than if she had worms in her ears. She was blubbering and threatening to assault Prince Cock of the Walk one moment and take him to Fowl Family Court the next. It was then that their mother-in-common, the Queen Mother Hen Derson whispered to the Princess Royal to get a message to Capt. Hen Semble to call a Hen Party Summit immediately.

  
To be continued.

All the images were taken from the Internet and I claim no copyright.