The Chicken Story...

Ben was a coal miner that lived in Boone County, West Virginia and had two fine strapping young boys by the names of Cleve and William. Ben not only worked in the mines, he had a few chickens and grew a small garden each year.

The boys weren’t too keen on working in the garden or taking care of the chickens, but they did what their father told them. William did all the chicken feeding and egg gathering until Cleve was responsible enough to take over gathering the eggs each day.

When it was time for Cleve to take over the job, Ben took his son out to the chicken coop to show him how delicately to raise the hens and take out the eggs that was underneath them. The hens laid one egg a day, but it was a chore just to retrieve the eggs regularly.

Cousin Neil came to visit the boys one summer with his father and stayed for about a month. Neil was a city boy and could tell some of the tallest tales that William and Cleve had ever heard. Whatever the coal camp boys had, Neil had more and better back in the city. Wherever William or Cleve had visited, Neil had already been there. Whatever the country lads had experienced or accomplished, Neil was already an expert on the subject.

Neil and Cleve were the same age and Neil followed his cousin around the whole time telling him all about the city. Neil didn’t like country life and couldn’t stop praising his own existence in “civilization” as he called the streets where he lived.

Neil’s father wanted him to learn dependability and responsibility and asked Cleve to show his cousin what good care he took of the chickens. Neil walked after the boy and talked and talked as Cleve did his chores in silence. First he fed the chickens by throwing cracked corn on the ground and then he cleaned the chicken coop. Last, it was time to gather the eggs. Cleve had about all he could take of his city slicker cousin and was a little annoyed by the time he was to gently raise the hens and get the eggs from underneath them.

When they entered the chicken coop, Neil was close at his cousin’s heels bragging as they walked. Cleve took one egg after another and put them carefully in the tightly woven straw basket. His cousin continued to boast how he didn’t have to do any kind of work where he lived. He bragged about how he just laid around, ate, slept, dated the prettiest girls, drove a fine car and on and on.
Cleve was fed up of his cousin. About that time, instead of lightly raising the hen to get the egg, he shoved the hen off her nesting box and the hen landed on its head on the concrete floor breaking its neck. The bird lay in the floor not moving. Neil immediately said, “There’s something wrong with that chicken.” Cleve could see for himself there was something not right with the hen. It seemed to be dead. He picked the chicken up and its head just flopped over to the side.

Cleve thought and said with dismay in his voice, “Oh my God, I have killed Daddy’s prized hen.” He was extremely worried. “What am I going to do?” he wondered out loud. Neil asked, “Is that chicken dead? Are you going to tell Uncle Ben?” Worry was written across Cleve’s face in capital letters. After a few moments, Cleve heard his father calling. What was he going to do? He didn’t have time to think and quickly shoved the hen under a wooden crate that set in the floor of the coop to decide later and went out to see what his dad wanted.

“Supper is ready, son. You and Neil come on in,” Ben said gleefully. Ben and his brother, George, sat on the front porch in rocking chairs. As soon as Neil saw his uncle, he shouted. “Hey Uncle Ben, Cleve just killed your prize hen!” A stern look crossed Ben’s face. Before Ben could open his mouth, George let out a big laugh. “Ben, you can’t believe a thing that boy says. Quit that lying Neil and get on in here and eat supper.” Neil looked at his father in wonder and said in a low voice, “Believe whatever you want, Dad.” Cleve was saved.

Later that night Cleve was feeling guilty and went to his father. He was almost in tears as he stood in front of his father with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, “Dad, I did kill that hen,” he said quietly, “But it was an accident!” With a pleading expression in his eyes, he looked up at his tall foreboding father.

His dad touched his shoulder in a kind, loving way. He said, “Well son, you have had quiet a distraction these few weeks with your Cousin Neil’s fancy stories and we were going to kill a fine hen for Sunday’s supper anyway. You just made the choice for us.” The boy threw his arms around the lanky man and said, “I love you, Dad!” His father looked him in the eye and spoke very clearly, “Lying boys and cackling hens come to no good end."