The Chicken’s Soliloquy

Front Page, Opinion/Editorial



Well, the ducks quack and waddle, and I don’t think it’s proper

They should learn to walk like us chickens

You have noticed how proudly we chickens walk; our breasts protrude

And surely you haven’t missed the swagger

Now it’s not that I have anything against the ducks; as I often say

The ducks are the salt of the earth, decent folk

I am sure you haven’t given it a thought, but the ducks descend from migrants

Regular north-in-the-summer south-in-the-winter types

Surely you know with all their migrating, they do not come from stable homes

And you can’t expect too much from transients

But the constant quacking and the waddle, I don’t think it’s proper

And something should be done about it


I know it’s not for me to say, but it needs to be said; someone has to say it

Have you seen Henrietta lately? She’s turned into a regular porker

Well, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, but she is as wide as she is tall

And you remember how cute she used to be

Remember her pink little cheeks, and of course you remember her curly tail

What a change; now she has jowls

I know it runs in the family, but really the whole lot could use some exercise

They could learn something from us chickens

You never see a chicken wallow in the mud or squeal for that matter

Wallowing and squealing; what a life

And Henrietta as wide as she is tall; she’s turned into a regular porker

I’m going have a word with her; I must have a word


Well, if that don’t beat all; I can’t imagine, have you heard the news?

Who’d of thought? The cows won’t give milk

Yes, yes you heard me right; the cows are getting a bit uppity I would say

All they do is stand around, chew their cud, and moo

It’s a pretty good life for the dumb bovine type you’d have to agree

Standing around chewing their cud all day

They could learn a thing or two from me; I never stop laying my eggs

No sir, it’s an egg a day, everyday

Now don’t go repeating this, but I heard the cows are plotting some mischief

No one really understands their mooing but it’s suspicious

They always stand around in groups you know, and I think they are whispering

Yes, I am sure; just chewing their cud and whispering


Horses are a cursed lot; there is no doubt, and everyone on the farm knows it

They whinny and produce manure; nothing more

Often they are seen prancing around, their noses held high in the air

While pretending not to see their lessors

Always treated with preference, always admired and their hooves shod with iron

I’m certain they are friends with the cows

They whisper too and I have seen it – they nod their heads and wriggle their ears

Whisper, wriggle and nod – that’s it, that’s all

I could teach them a thing or two if only…if only, they had a brain under their ears

Ears, big ears, yes, ears like a jackass I should say

And pretentious to a fault – I see them admiring themselves in the water trough

Jackass ears and whinny that’s all there is


I could say it is difficult and it is, but there is more to it, so where should I start

I do my part, I contribute and help anyway I can

Only to be surrounded by incompetence, villainy, deception and ducks

Decent folk mind you, but ducks quacking and waddling – it’s not proper

And the cows, the horses, the ducks and I didn’t even mention the sheep or goats

Bah, bah black sheep never was funny to me

Goats, who needs them?  Goat’s milk!  Does anybody really drink that stuff?

I tell you it’s difficult, and it is difficult

It wasn’t always like this – there was a time when living on the farm was nice

The cows gave milk and didn’t conspire

Henrietta was a cute as a bug, the ducks; well, it was really very nice on the farm

And then… Old McDonald… he up and died

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