Peepacheep's Rebellion

“Attention, everyone!” Peepacheep, a red and white bantam rooster, cried.

The fowls gathered in the dusty yard ignored him.

“Attention!” he exclaimed, louder this time.

No one so much as ruffled a feather in acknowledgement. Anger rose in Peepacheep’s small breast—it swelled . . . and swelled . . . until it burst forth in the highest, squeakiest crow ever heard on Preservation Valley Farm

“Err-er-er-errrr!”

That got the other’s attention—which was good—but then they burst out laughing—which was intolerable.

Peepacheep cast a half-pleading, half-indigent look toward the edge of the gathering, where Henrietta, the oldest hen in the yard, and the hen that had reared him, sat watching the proceedings—but the motherly bird only shook her head at him and clucked sadly to herself.

Henrietta had known as soon as the tiny, speckled egg had been added to her nest that the chick inside would be different. Even before he had hatched, Peepacheep had been a restless little scamp. He’d been the first to leave his egg, and he was full of pride and ambition.

With another shake of her head, Henrietta and settled to the ground to watch Peepacheep strutting back and forth, trying to bring order while exchanging insults with the other roosters and the turkeys.

“Still haven’t got your man voice, Peeper.” A gorgeous young black and gold rooster taunted, shaking his long, iridescent tail.

“Well you still haven’t been able to beat me in a fight Demetri!”

Demetri raised his hackle feathers and glared at Peepacheep, who pretended to ignore him. Demetri was twice his size, but everyone knew Peepacheep was the superior fighter.

“Cut it out you two,” Romeo, the eldest gander honked, looking down his long bill at the pair of roosters. He and the other geese stood apart from the crowd of other birds—as usual. “Why did you call this meeting anyway?”

Peepacheep swelled visibly at the question, and he couldn’t help but strut in excitement. “An excellent question Mr. Romeo—an excellent question indeed.” He glanced around the yard and waited for the last rustlings to die away.

“My dear fowls;” he began—“I have lived in this place for over a year, and the longer I have lived the more disturbed I have become at the things you wonderful birds put up with from The Farmer. He gives you only enough food to keep you in producing condition, and you let him do whatever he wants with you! He takes our elders when they get too old, and they’re never seen again—and even some of our young are taken by him, yet you all do nothing!”

Peepacheep paced back and forth before the flock, getting more excited with every word. “You submit to being shuffled around and handled by those small farmers—and the other animals on this farm get over three times the pasture space that we do! The injustice!”

“But why would we want more space?” One of the ducks asked, cocking her head.

“Oh really!” Peepacheep clucked. “Of course you don’t want change—you never think of anything but that muddy old pond of yours! Let the birds with ambition do the talking.”

“Namely you?” one of the turkeys sniffed, putting out his snood.

“Yes, me.” Peepacheep sniffed back. “Someone’s got to lead this rebellion if we’re to–”

“Rebellion?!” a dozen voices squawked.

“Yes, rebellion.” Peepacheep was completely calm. “Tell me, my good birds—don’t you wish we had more freedom, more food and luxury? Don’t you wish we could keep every one of our young and old—and never again have to do what some crummy farmer tells us to?” He looked over the crowd and could see them beginning to warm to the idea.

“But how would we get rid of the Farmer?” one of the pullets wondered. “He’s so much bigger and stronger than us.”

“Not if we all attacked him.”

“But . . . attack The Farmer?” a duck gasped. “He’s been nothing but good to us!”

Peepacheep stared at the fawn duck, eyes wide. “Did you hear nothing I just said?” he squeaked.

“Well, yes but–”

“Then how can you not want to drive off The Farmer?”

“Oh . . . I don’t . . . I don’t know,” the duck fumbled. “It’s just . . . We have everything we need here already . . . Isn’t that enough?”

For a moment Peepacheep stood there, speechless. Then, recovering himself, he smoothed his feathers and sniffed. “Fine—go back to your mud and your primitive existence—we don’t need you anyway.” He turned back to the other birds, and with a chorus of confused quacking, most of the ducks got up and waddled away to the pond.

“Are the rest of you with me?” Peepacheep asked.

Slowly, most of the other birds nodded, and Peepacheep was about to speak when Romeo’s voice cut in –

“We geese are in by all means, but you seem to assume that you will be the one leading this rebellion—and why is that? First, you’re tiny–” Peepacheep’s breast puffed with indignation at that—”and what ability do you have for leadership? I think–”

“What ability do I have?!” Peepacheep squawked. “I got you all here, didn’t I? Ability! I’ve every bit of the ability you geese think you have, and I dare you to challenge it! Besides—after we drive off The Farmer there’ll be no need for leadership—everyone can do as they please, and you can take your royal airs elsewhere!”

“That little punk has no idea what he’s getting himself into.” Romeo muttered to his wife.

“No, he doesn’t.” She sniffed. “Don’t worry—we’ll wait ‘til he’s near the chopping block—then we’ll strike.”

Meanwhile Peepacheep had begun laying out his plans for getting rid of The Farmer, and by now all the birds had accepted the idea, and an air of excitement even began to pervade the sunny yard.

#

Next morning, when the Farmer came to do the chores, the birds were ready for him. They let him open the doors to all the coops, waited until he had opened the feed shed—and then they attacked.

Peepacheep led a swarm of chickens into the shed, up onto the stacks of feed bags and then down onto the Farmer, the hens using their beaks and wings and the cocks their strong, pointy spurs to batter the enemy.

The Farmer ducked and swung his arms, attempting to fend off the furious balls of feathers hurtling towards him, but it did no good.

Finally, he quit fighting and ran out of the shed—only to be set upon by the geese and turkeys. The geese put their sharp bills to good use, pinching and twisting anywhere they found a hold. The turkeys battered him with their powerful wings, and by now the chickens had rallied and were attacking again, and even some of the ducks, caught up in the moment’s excitement, rushed at him with necks outstretched.

The onslaught was overwhelming, and after a few kicks that sent birds flying but did nothing to dampen their ferocity, the Farmer gave up and ran. The birds pursued him all the way to the gate of the yard, stopping only once he was far, far away.

When Peepacheep saw his enemy put to flight a crow of victory swelled in his breast and burst out in all its high-pitched glory, and this time the other birds did not laugh—they lifted their voices along with his, and such a clamor of crows, clucks, honks, gobbles, and quacks had never before been heard on that farm.

The Farmer heard Peepacheep’s triumphant crow, and he shook his head. “I knew that little scrap would be trouble.” He said in an exasperated voice, dragging a hand over his forehead. He winced at the painful welts beginning to swell on his legs and shoulders and shook his head again. “The rascal clearly didn’t think about the consequences of what he was doing. Well, I suppose I’ll let him have his way for a while—and wait until they all get hungry.”

#

Peepacheep was in heaven. His plan had been wildly successful, and already he was planning the next pieces of the farm that he would liberate. But first, it was time to enjoy his freedom.

The geese set to work on the sacks of feed, and with their sharp bills they soon had half a dozen of them open, and everyone dug in.

Peepacheep ate and ate until his crop was full to bursting, and though he was rather uncomfortable afterwards, the congratulations that poured in from all sides on the success of his brilliant plan brought a fierce glow of pleasure to his chest. When the birds had eaten their fill, they gathered in the shade of a big old oak tree and tucked their heads under their wings. All that day they feasted and dozed under the tree, and all the birds congratulated their fellows on the splendid victory and looked forward to the wonderful life ahead of them.

The next morning though, Henrietta went to the water dish for a drink and instead found it bone dry. The other birds soon made the same discovery, and complaints began to come to Peepacheep.

“Go drink at the pond!” he said in answer. “That will have to do for the time being.” He was deep in his plans to take over the rest of the farm.

For the first few days after the rebellion, Peepacheep was happier and prouder than he had ever been before—for the first time in his life he had all the food he could possibly hold, and he could come and go from the coop whenever he pleased.

After a few days though, rumblings of trouble began to sound. The Farmer had not shown his face since that fateful morning, and so the eggs that the female birds laid in the coops every day were never collected. It was the height of summer, and soon the coops were all but unlivable from the stench. The birds started murmuring among themselves against Peepacheep’s leadership. He heard the murmurs, and it made him angry, but there was nothing he could do about it.

And then the feed ran out.

The birds had feasted with abandon on the grain in the feed shed, and half of it had been spilled and trampled into the dirt. That was all they had to eat now, and the murmurings against Peepacheep grew louder by the day. The turkeys even whispered of throwing him out of the yard.

But none of that could compare with what happened the next night.

Peepacheep had just settled in to sleep for the night when an uproar of alarmed quacks sounded from the duck coop. By the time the other birds had reached the scene, the terrified ducks had all fled the coop—all except three.

Without a word of direction, the geese, led by Romeo, marched through the panicked crowd and into the coop. A hush fell over the yard. Then there was an uproar of honks, and a moment later a large, black and white beast waddled out of the coop door, bringing with it a horrible stench. The geese were hot on its tail, and with their sharp bills they herded it away from the panicking fowls, along the fence, and finally out of the yard.

When at last the geese returned, Romeo moved to the front of the crowd, where he was assailed with praise, questions and exclamations of fear. Finaly, he raised both wings and flapped them twice, and slowly the tumult died away.

“My friends,” he began, “I regret to inform you that three of our good ducks have been murdered by the enemy of all fowls—the skunk.”

Gasps and lamentations sounded among the crowd, and then as one the birds turned to Peepacheep, and he cowered at the look in their eyes.

“Lier!”

“You tricked us!”

“This is your fault!”

Romeo hid a smile of glee and raised his wings again. “Some of you are accusing Peepacheep of terrible crimes, but friends,” he paused for effect and then lowered his voice—” I fear your accusations only scratch the surface of Peepacheep’s treachery. I have it on unshakable authority that he has been in league with the skunks all this time, and that is why he convinced you to rebel against The Farmer—he planned to murder you all and keep the spoils for himself!”

The yard erupted with squawks, honks, gobbles and quacks of rage as Romeo finished speaking, and without waiting to verify the claims, the birds turned and rushed at Peepacheep. He had no time to think or fight; all he could do was run, and he ran as he had never run before.

#

A few mornings later, the Farmer sat on his front porch, sipping coffee and watching the sun lift above the horizon. He was thinking of the rebellion in the poultry yard, and he sighed as he thought of the waste that it had caused.

Presently he noticed a small, bedraggled bantam slowly making its way towards him. The little creature’s head hung low, and its feathers were tattered and smudged with dirt and manure. As the bird came closer, a jolt of surprise ran through the Farmer as he recognized Peepacheep. He set down his mug and hurried down the stairs to meet the rooster.

“Why aren’t you in the yard with your fellows, little one?” He asked, going down on his knees to Peepacheep’s level.

Peepacheep couldn’t look at The Farmer, but after a moment the whole story came spilling out. “And now they kicked me out and the geese have taken over and I don’t know what to do!” he finished.

The Farmer was quiet for a long time. Peepacheep dared a peek up at Him—his face was grave and sad. Regret flooded Peepacheep at the sight, and he burst out—“Oh, I’m so sorry for all this! It’s all my fault; I was the one that started it, and now I have innocent blood on my head! What on earth am I to do?”

The Farmer sighed, anger at the trouble Peepacheep had caused rumbling inside him—but pity for the humbled little rooster before him also tugged at his heart, and he said as gently as he could, “What’s done is done, Peepacheep, and I hope you can learn from this experience and not repeat the same mistakes. The only thing to be done now is to go and convince your fellows to let me back into the yard. But even then, it will take much longer to restore things than it did to ruin them.”

“But . . . but me go back in there? They’ll kill me if I do that!”

The Farmer shook his head and smiled a little. “I’ll go with you to see that they don’t.”

Peepacheep looked up at him, confused. “Why can’t you just fix things?”

“Do you really think they’d let me after all this?” The Farmer asked. “And besides—you started this, you can finish it; but I’ll be right with you as you do.”

With a sigh that came from the core of his being, Peepacheep nodded. “Ok. I’ll do my best.”

The Farmer smiled. “I ask no more than that.” And then together they headed for the poultry yard.

The End