The Little Brown Hen

Alison G. Clark

Once upon a time there lived a little brown hen. Her name was Rosabella. She lived with three other little brown hens in a little brown hen-house. Their names were Arabella, Clarabella and Dorabella. All around the chicken coop was brown earth, where they had pecked and prodded for brown wriggly worms and insects. The brown wooden feed-trough was in front of the hen-house and had recently been filled. There was always a bit of a rush when the corn was put there and for a short while there was something close to activity. Then everything would settle back down into peace and quiet and the occasional egg.  All in all, it was a good life. Three of the hens were quite content with their little brown lives in their little brown hen-house – but the fourth, Rosabella, looked out of the hen house and gave a deep sigh.

“Why must this world be so brown and boring?” she thought. “Even the eggs I lay are brown. I’m not asking a lot, am I? I mean, I wouldn’t mind laying a little white egg from time to time. But brown. I’ve had enough of brown. I want more. I want a wee bit colour in my life. A wee adventure.”

The other hens looked her in bewilderment. “Hen,” they chided, “why should you look for more? Be thankful that you were brought here – at least we can go outside into the fresh air and scratch the earth. We are safe from danger, and all our needs are met. Do not wish for more. Settle on your nest and lay your eggs”

But the little brown hen could not settle. Her little heart ached for colour and excitement.

One day just at the tail-end of winter, when the rain began to shower the sweet earth, Rosabella looked out and saw the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. She rushed out of the hen house to see it more clearly. “Come on, come on, oh, do come and see,” she shouted to the others, “there’s a beautiful light and many colours in the sky. It curves right over! Come quickly and we shall fly into it.” But even as Rosabella ran outside, the other three didn’t move from their perches. “It’s only a rainbow,” said Dorabella, the oldest of the hens in the coop. (She was a wise old bird, if a little grumpy), “you won’t be able to fly through it or to it, because no-one has ever flown that far.”

Rosabella was not to be discouraged. She ran over the brown earth as fast as her little chicken legs would carry her – but, just as she thought she could reach the rainbow, she was suddenly stopped by a large, wire fence which she couldn’t get through. Rosabella watched as the rainbow fade and disappear. With a heavy heart, she turned back to the coop and began to walk slowly home. “You silly brown hen,” cried a raven in the nearby apple tree. “Why did ’you try to catch the rainbow? No-one can do that – not even me, and I fly so beautifully – I can turn like a corkscrew through the air – fly upside down and dive and soar n’ everything - whereas you, why, you cannot fly at all.” Rosabella answered back defiantly, “I can so fly – when I need to.” But the raven only laughed and laughed. He almost fell off the branch where he was perching, he was laughing so hard.

Rosabella went back to the hen-house and all the other hens laughed at her and pecked at her for being so foolish.

The next day, Rosabella was sitting alone on an old tree stump. The other birds had teased her so much about her trying to catch the rainbow that she just had to get away from them. As she sat there with her head down, she noticed a tiny green leaf that was pushing through the brown earth. “Why,” she thought, “It’s a beautiful colour. I shall look at it and try to forget the rainbow.” But all at once, Clarabella came out of the coop. She wandered over to Rosabella, intending to tease her some more – but then she saw the little green shoot. Immediately, she rushed forward and pecked at it until it was demolished. “Why did you do that?” cried Rosabella, “it was so lovely and colourful and now it’s gone.” Clarabella looked at her in astonishment. “It was only a green shoot – tender and succulent and, I have to say,” she added, “that it was delicious.”

“Doesn’t anyone ever think about anything except where the next meal’s coming from?” cried the little brown hen. “Don’t bother to answer; I already know.” And with that, she hopped off the tree stump and went for a little walk on her own. All at once she looked up, and there was another rainbow – twice as beautiful as it had been the day before. “Oh please,” cried the little brown hen, “please wait for me,” Rosabella began to run and run as fast as her little chicken legs could carry her, but again, she couldn’t seem to catch the rainbow – which seemed closer than ever before. As she ran, she flapped her little wings and flapped and flapped – and suddenly, there she was – flying in the air. She cleared the fence that had stopped her the first time with ease – but suddenly, she just couldn’t keep going and found herself flapping weakly on the ground, exhausted, beyond the safety of the fence.

Now that she was in the wider world, Rosabella felt both scared and excited. She thought she would run a little further down the muddy brown lane, just in case the rainbow was hiding from her around the corner. But when she got there, she could see no sign of it at all. The little brown hen turned to go back, her heart heavy.  “What are you doing so far from home,” asked a voice, and the little brown hen looked up and saw a thrush, sitting in a hawthorn bush.

“I wanted to catch the rainbow, so that I could sing and dance and bathe in all the colours,” replied Rosabella. “I am so tired of brown and black – why, even you are brown.” “So what?” replied the bird, “I have beautiful dark spots and a creamy throat – and I sing most beautifully? You cannot do anything except cluck and squawk.” And with that, the thrush began to sing his lovely, liquid song. But the wee brown hen dug in her little claws and said, “Well, at least now that I am in the big, wide world, I think I’ll have a look about before I go back. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll see a rainbow while I’m walking.”  The thrush stopped his lovely song for a moment and said to her, “Go back to your coop, little brown hen, and forget about the rainbow. There are many dangers beyond the fence.”

But Rosabella ignored the thrush and wandered on, singing softly to herself. After a while, she met a creature she had never seen before, lying along the top of the stone wall that bounded the muddy lane. It was as black as night, and had long whiskers, and a lovely long furry tail.  It also had the loveliest green eyes, and the sharpest, whitest teeth. It was a most handsome - cat -and he sat on the wall like a rugby ball, with his paws all tucked under him, so Rosabella couldn’t see his razor-sharp claws.

The little brown hen had no fear, for she didn’t realise that she should be scared. “Hello,” she said politely, “have you seen any sign of a rainbow around here, for I am looking out for one?” The cat yawned and said in a lazy drawl, “Why on earth do you wish to see a rainbow?” Rosabella replied, “Because they’re beautiful, and I want to sing and dance and bathe in the colours” The cat laughed. “Dance, indeed! Why, you are all fluff and feathers and have no style. To dance, you have to be able to move gracefully and sinuously – like me. I am a wonderful dancer. Why don’t you let me teach you?”

The little brown hen said, “Oh yes, please –I should love to learn to dance. What do I have to do?” The black cat leapt down from the wall. “Well,” he said, “I must first embrace you and keep you close – you must rest your little head upon my shoulder. Can you do that?” The little brown hen nodded her head.  “Of course I can,” she said, reaching up to the cat with her little wing. “How’s that?”  The cat smiled. “That’s good, but put your other wing about me, so that you may have a tighter grip.”

Rosabella was just about to embrace the cat (and he her) when all at once there was a great noise and commotion. It came from a big brown fox, who had seen the cat just about to make a meal of Rosabella. “Unhand that hen,” he commanded, “and clear off – or I shall chase you and chase you until you fall down, and I fall upon you.”

Quickly, the cat released the little brown hen and turned tail and jumped over the stone wall and ran away as fast as his furry legs could carry him. Rosabella looked at the fox and was not afraid, for no-one had told her that a fox was her direst enemy. “Why did you do that?” she asked, “he was about to teach me how to dance.” The fox grinned at her. “He would have taught you well enough, and then spat out your bones. He was no friend of yours, little brown hen – whereas I, (at this he gave a slight bow), I will take care of you properly.” The fox grinned again, and suddenly, Rosabella felt a little uneasy, for, although the fox seemed pleasant enough, his tongue was very long and pink and he too, had sharp, white teeth. He looked at her and asked, “Where are you going?” and she replied, “I want to see a rainbow, and run into it and dance and sing in it, for I am so tired of all the brownness in the world.” The fox opened his mouth and again his tongue licked his foxy lips. “If you would allow me to accompany you, little brown hen, I too, would love see a rainbow. I believe I know the way and know the quickest way for you to come to your heart’s desire. And mine, too.”

The fox and the hen walked a little way along the muddy road. The fox asked the little brown hen why she was so tired of the brownness of the world. “For surely,” he said, “you must know that in winter everything looks dull and drab – but spring is coming, and soon the world will be full of colour, from the tiny yellow primrose to the beautiful bluebell. The swifts and the kingfishers will fill the skies with their brightness and the pink cherry-blossom will shed its petals like snow. It is a wonderful, exciting time.”

“But no-one told me. I am young, and have never seen the spring before.”

“And ah, you will never see one, I’m afraid.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“It’s a figure of speech, m’dear, that’s all. I’m not afraid, not really” He turned to her and his eyes were bright, “but you should be.” And with that, he made to spring on the poor little brown hen and eat her up, just like that!  At that moment there was a sudden flurry of iridescence – of gold and blue and red and of green. There was a terrific noise and Rosabella saw a good many feathers flying – interspersed with an awful lot of brown fur.

Suddenly there was a yelp and a yowl, and the fox ran away as fast as he could, over the fields and far away. The little brown hen then saw who had saved her – He was like a hen, but he was a good deal bigger, heavier and altogether more colourful. His tail feathers with all their iridescent colours reminded the little brown hen of the rainbow she so wanted to see, and he was proud and strong.

Rosabella’s little heart skipped a beat.  “Thank you,” she said to the handsome bird, “I thought the fox was my friend. He was going to keep me safe while we sought the rainbow.” The bird looked at Rosabella and replied, “He would have kept you safe, all right – inside his stomach. Dear little brown hen, why did you wish to find a rainbow, anyway?”

“I wanted to find the rainbow so I could see colour, and dance in it and sing in it – but now I see that I have been a foolish little hen – and all the other hens were right to tease me and laugh at me.”

The Cockerel (for such he was) said kindly, “It is good to have a dream, little brown hen. If you will allow me, I shall teach you how to sing and dance. Then, when you find your rainbow, you will know what to do.” Rosabella inclined her little head, smiled and nodded.

And so the Cockerel taught Rosabella how to sing and how to dance, and they parted tenderly after he had taught her all he knew. Then, soon afterwards, it began to rain once more and the Cockerel said, “I must return to the barn before my feathers are soaked; but I shall think of you often, dearest Rosabella and hope we meet and dance once again.”  He flexed his wings and gave a great “cock-a-doodle-do” and with great strides, was soon out of sight.

Rosabella sighed and turned back to go back the hen-house. It seemed that she had come a very long way during the afternoon.  It was time to return to the coop. Perhaps she would catch her rainbow tomorrow. She certainly wasn’t going to give up!  She began to walk up the road but, as she turned the corner she looked ahead – and what do you think she saw? Why, it was the biggest, most colourful, most beautiful rainbow yet. The colours were pouring right into the hen-run – right into the feeding trough, lighting up the few remaining pieces of golden grain that lay there.

No other hens were in the yard, for it is well-known that hens hate the rain. They were keeping dry in the coop and hadn’t noticed the big, beautiful rainbow right in their front yard. Rosabella ran and ran as fast as her tired little chicken legs could carry her and again, flapped her wings and sailed back over the fence into the yard. The raven, sitting once more on the old oak tree looked on in astonishment. “You can fly,” he said. “Yes,” replied Rosabella, “but did I not say only when I needed to?”  “Still chasing rainbows, eh? I hope you make it,” he called.  Rosabella said to the raven, over her shoulder, “I know I will, this time.” Well, she ran as fast as she could to the feed trough, but, oh, just as she came within a few feet, the rainbow disappeared!  Rosabella couldn’t help herself. She tumbled, a mass of brown feathers, into the trough. She cried aloud as she lay there sprawled out.

                                                                                                                                                                                The other birds had come out to see what all the commotion was. “Why, our Rosabella has crash-landed into the trough,” said Arabella, “how funny an’ stupid she looks!”  “There’s no need to be so greedy, Rosa,” added Clarabella, “there will be more, soon enough.”  Rosabella gathered herself up, and feigning indifference, ignored them and began to peck at the bits of golden corn as if she had meant to be there.

The next morning, the hens were let out to run in the yard. As Rosabella left her nest to go to the trough for the golden corn, Arabella gave out a startled squawk. “Why, Rosabella – look at your egg!” Rosabella turned to look; expecting to see the usual brown egg – but there instead, nestling in the hay was a gorgeous scarlet-red egg, which seemed almost to glow.

“Well, I declare” said Clarabella, with a hint of jealousy, “Rosabella must be ill. I have never seen such a thing in my life.”  Dorabella looked at the red egg. “Hmm, I don’t think Rosabella is ill. Leave her alone, girls, and we’ll see what the next egg looks like”

Rosabella looked at the red egg with wonder. She sat back down. Suddenly she felt reluctant to leave her nest. She decided that she had had enough adventures yesterday to last her forever. And besides, she liked to close her eyes and think of the handsome, strong cockerel who had taught her to dance so well. Suddenly, the other hens began calling to her. “Rosabella, come quickly. There’s another rainbow. Try to catch it!” Rosabella slowly got off her cosy nest and went to the door of the coop. “Why yes, so I see. It is lovely, but my little red egg is prettier still.” With that, she returned to sit once more upon the egg.

The next day, Rosabella laid another egg. This time it was orange. The day after that, she laid a yellow one, then a green, then a blue one. After that came an indigo one and finally, on the seventh day, an violet-coloured egg. She now had a complete rainbow of eggs in her nest. People came from miles around to see the coloured eggs, but kindly didn’t disturb them or Rosabella the little brown hen. She became a bit of a celebrity, much to Clarabella’s annoyance. Then, early one morning, Rosabella she felt one of the eggs move beneath her. It was the red egg, and it was cracking! Suddenly, she could see a tiny beak and then a bright black eye. It was a chick, hatching into the world. As she looked, the tiny chick, having broken out of its shell, stood up on its wobbly, spindly legs. It wasn’t red - just an ordinary yellow chick, but to Rosabella, it was the most glorious thing she had ever seen. She put her wing tenderly over the tiny, peeping baby and her heart was at peace at last.

©Alison G. Clark.