Super-Herby And The Smarty Fox

And where did he?

He had just got out of his shell and was already pulling such a dirty trick on her.

She grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to have a bath in the trough, which consisted of a small alluminium pot that had turned black on the outside because of the smoke of the firelight, but was still silver and shiny on the inside.

And on and on she was washing him, but to her distress, the green was not coming off.

He was shiny, well-groomed, but he was still green.

And that is how she named him Herby.

Herby was visibly upset for all that situation.

As soon as he got out of the shell of his egg, he had been shaken and tossed left and right. He had not managed to make the most of the only good thing of being born: filling up his belly with corn flakes.

He was wondering what chicken-chef could have cooked such a delicacy.

As soon as the hen put him on the ground, his little legs raised a cloud of dust and took him back to his supper.

No other chick had acknowledged his presence: they were also too busy eating. No one among the fellow diners would raise their head out of fear that someone might snatch some grains.

The hen, who was still in shock for that occurrence, ran looking for an advice from the gossips of the barnyard.

Something of this sort must have

happened to one of the senior hens too.

The eldest among them suggested that she checked among the shells of the hatched eggs, maybe he was not a hen’s chick.

On the other hand, the dumb-dumb one said:

- Are you sure it’s not a snake?

- A snake with a beak and a small crest? - said the brooder.

Another one stated: If it cheeps, it’s not a snake. Does it cheep?

- What does the rooster say? - asked yet another one.