Chicken Little Nails It

Chicken Little Nails It

As the name might suggest, Chicken Little was the smallest critter in the barnyard, but somehow the loudest. He was also the fastest on two legs, especially when racing downhill to alert his fellow farm friends of approaching danger.

“The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”

One would think that a warning of such magnitude might trigger some movement down on the farm, but all the animals remained still as stone. The boy may have cried “wolf”, but Chicken Little cried just about everything. The horse was not amused.

“Oh my God, Daisy, now he thinks the sky is falling. What was it last week?”

“Locusts, Harry, hordes of locusts.”

The horse and cow could only laugh and shake their heads. Chicken Little had been warning everyone in earshot about impending doom ever since he popped out of his shell.

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“Chicken Little, why are you crying?”

“Grandma’s dying, Mom.”

“Grandma’s not dying. Why would you say that?”

“I heard her cough last night. I know she’s dying.”

“She has a cold. She’s fine.”

Chicken Little checked on Grandma every morning for the next three weeks before he believed in her survivability.

His worrisome outlook on life began at an early age. Even as a child, he checked the locks on the chicken coop three times every night before he could sleep. He slept with a pitchfork under his bed. He waited for his mom and his dad to eat a portion of their meals before he started eating his. He worked with Harry the horse for months to develop the ability to sleep with one eye open. His fourth-grade paper was entitled “Things I Worry About Every Day.”

Farm animals live by the mantra, “Live and let live” (they wished Farmer John thought the same way), so Chicken Little’s paranoia would not have been concerning except that he felt it was his duty to alert everyone in the barnyard of the perceived threats.

“Remember, Daisy, I saw that snake… well, I think it was a snake… it could have been a curvy stick… out in the pasture two years ago. I wouldn't go out there.”

“Holy crap, Harry, do you know how glue is made?”

“Gobbles, Farmer John’s family is growing. They might be looking for a bigger turkey this year for Thanksgiving. You might want to cut down on the late-night snacking.”

“Porky, the town board is getting a lot of pressure to do something about the smell coming out of our farm. I think that’s you, Porky.”

It was a constant bell-ringing of looming disaster. Chicken Little’s propensity to inflict worry and stress throughout the community was nearing the breaking point.

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“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Little, but your son is driving us nuts.”

“What do you mean, Harry?”

“Well, Cluck, he is constantly warning us about something… snakes, locusts, werewolves, floods, rockslides…. whatever. If we listened to him, we’d never even leave the barn.”

“He’s always scaring us about something, Henrietta.”

“I know, Daisy. He worries too much.”

“And he can be insulting. He said I stink.”

“Uh… well, Porky… uh…”

Henrietta stepped up to bail her husband out of an awkward moment.

“We’ll talk to him.”

“If he continues to sound the alarm every time the wind blows, please ask him to at least crank down the volume.”

Harry, Daisy, Gobbles, and Porky had made their concerns known many times. They could only hope this time would make a difference.

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“Henrietta, have you seen Chicken Little? We should probably talk to him before we have some kind of a barnyard revolt.”

“He’s up on the roof with the new binoculars we got him for his birthday. He’s facing southwest, so he’s probably on tornado watch.”

“Remember what they said at last week’s support group meeting? The guy said we should meet him where he is. I’ll get the ladder.”

Cluck and Henrietta hopped rung by rung up to the roof of the barn. They found Chicken Little sitting at the very top with his back propped up against the cupola. He was scanning the horizon with the intensity of Ahab seeking the great white whale. Chicken Little wasn’t just searching; he was hoping, hoping to discover some new menace that threatened the barnyard population. His original fears of everything had subsided, but it had given him an idea. Whatever the danger, he wouldn’t just save himself; he would save everyone. He now he longed for the chance to play the role of hero to his friends.

Chicken Little had suffered from low self-esteem ever since his first day of kindergarten. His diminutive size and squeaky voice made him an easy target for teasing and hurtful jokes from unkind, thoughtless children. The name-calling was brutal- “Wee-wee-wings”, “Pee-wee-pee-pee”, and “Petite Beak” were the worst. His mother had read him the stories of the Ugly Duckling, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and the Cowardly Lion, and he dreamed of having that one glorious moment that would make him a somebody in the eyes of the other animals.

It would have been unbearable for Chicken Little had it not been for the kindness and compassion of Hopper, his little bunny friend who lived in the thicket near the creek and attended the same school.

“Ignore them, Chicken Little. They’re just a bunch of dummies. Who cares what they think?”

“I know, Hopper. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.”

An oasis of relief. Hopper was there for Chicken Little, before school, recess, lunch, after school, and she gave him occasional sympathetic looks during the school day. Her support kept him going.

Besides the bullying he suffered at school, he bore the burden of the entire community thinking he was one egg short of a dozen. But it would be too embarrassing to reveal the true reason for his troublesome behavior: if he could be the hero that saved the day, he would never be teased again. He sounded the alarm every time he perceived the possibility of danger, hoping that one of them might actually materialize.

“What are you doing up here, Chicken Little?”

“Uh… nothing, Dad.”

“Chicken Little, it’s midnight, and you’re up here with your binoculars. What’s going on?”

“Uh… I’m bird watching.”

“It’s dark. You couldn’t see a bird if it were sitting on your nose… I mean your beak. What’s really going on?”

“Uh… I was just…”

“Chicken Little, we know what you’re doing. This is the third time this month you’ve been up here. We think you’re up here looking for tornadoes.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. I’m just… getting some fresh air.”

“We know you’re afraid of things. We want to help you, son.”

They talked for hours. Henrietta and Cluck took turns trying to convince Chicken Little that his fears weren’t real, that he was safe, and that they would always protect him. Their efforts to change Chicken Little’s behavior were unsuccessful as they were addressing the wrong problem.

The morning glow was creeping up over the trees.                                                           

“Cluck, shouldn’t you be crowing or something?”

“Oh yeah, I’m on it.”

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It was their Saturday afternoon ritual. Chicken Little packed a picnic basket with sandwiches, chips, and lemonade. He spread a blanket down alongside the stream and waited. Whatever the appointed time, Chicken Little was always early. He cherished the moments.

“Hey, Hopper.”

“What did you bring today?”

“The usual. Oh, I did sneak a couple of my mom’s chocolate chip cookies out of the cookie jar.”

Who knows how friendships are forged? A certain undefined chemistry is a stronger pull than common interests or selfish needs. For whatever reasons, Hopper and Chicken Little had been good friends since the day they met.

“Hopper, I’m sure you could find a place in the barn or the corn crib to sleep. I worry about you out in the woods at night.”

“I’m ok, Chicken Little. That’s where I belong… out in the wild. I couldn’t take being cooped up… oh, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sure your chicken coop is very nice.”

“That’s ok. I understand, Hopper.”

“I’m a wild rabbit. You’re a domestic chicken. We belong where we are.”

“Well, I’m glad I can see you in school… and on picnic Saturday.”

“Chicken Little, there’s talk in the woods about you.”

“Really? What kind of talk?”

“Well, some of the animals are saying you act a little squirrely sometimes… that you are yelling about something while you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off… oh, sorry again.

The imagery was disturbing.

Chicken Little paused for a moment. No one understood him, and it might help to confide in a friend. But telling Hopper about his dream to be a hero might sound worse than being afraid of everything that moved.

“Whatever it is, I want you to stop worrying about it. It doesn’t matter what others think of you, Chicken Little. You’re fine just the way you are.”

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There had been no confiding or soul wrenching confessions, but Chicken Little felt better that night. He kept going over Hopper’s words. He had great respect for her, so even though her counsel was brief, it had an effect on him. He saw the futility of living to impress others, and from this day forward, he would be ok with being Chicken Little.

His parents noticed.

“Cluck, do you think there’s something wrong with Chicken Little? He’s acting… well, normal.”

A sense of calm had returned to the farm. Harry, Daisy, Gobbles, and Porky enjoyed the quiet.

“Daisy, have I been asleep for the last two weeks? I haven’t heard from that cuckoo bird Chicken Little for a while.”

“Yeah, it’s been nice, Harry. Maybe he’s gotten over whatever his problem was.”

“Sure, that’s better, but that feather-head still hasn’t apologized for saying I stink.”

“Well, Porky… it’s… uh… well , you know…”

Who noticed it most? Chicken Little. He felt relaxed and at peace with himself for the first time in years.

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Ingrained habits tend to linger. Chicken Little was restrained, but restless. Having given up his primary preoccupation in life, he was having trouble finding something to do with his time.

“Why don’t you clean your room?”

“Did that yesterday, Mom… and the day before.”

“You could mow the lawn.”

“We don’t have a lawn, Dad.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.”

 Even sleep was elusive for Chicken Little. He couldn’t escape the need for doom. It was a recurring dream. The clouds turned dark, darker than he had ever seen, and then they slowly started to descend toward the earth, with occasional flashes of lightning announcing their arrival. He felt like he would be smothered by a billowing blanket, and that all life on the farm would be snuffed out. He would awaken, smack his forehead, and tell himself, “Chicken Little, you’ve been crisis-free for almost a month! Hang in there! You can do it. Resist the temptation!”

The dream came into focus. The events became clearer. It wasn’t a blanket; it was the entire sky coming down in waves of water, wind, hail, and lightning. With the old barn on its last legs, such an event would be unsurvivable. The animals would need a fortress sturdy enough to withstand the storm. Chicken Little had a decision to make- keep the dream to himself and avoid the embarrassment of yet another false alarm, or build that fortress to save the lives of his friends in case the dream was real. He couldn’t decide.

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“Hopper, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Chicken Little.”

“Would you help a friend with something even if you’d be risking eternal embarrassment and humiliation?”

“I guess I’d try to help my friend, but what are you talking about, Chicken Little?”

“I’m pretty sure the sky is going to fall, and I want to alert everyone and maybe build a fortress where we’ll all be safe.”

“Huh?”

Chicken Little explained his dream, and Hopper listened politely. In the end, she was conflicted. She knew it was a crazy idea, but she didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings.

“You have to do what’s in your heart.”

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Chicken Little struggled with it all night. Heartfelt emotion won out over reasoned logic. The next morning, Harry found Chicken Little in the barn sorting through Farmer John’s toolbox.

“What are you doing, Chicken Little?”

“I’m pretty sure the sky is going to fall, so I’m going to build a sturdy shelter that will protect us. You want to help?”

“Uh, I think I’ll pass.”

Chicken Little got the same response from Daisy, Porky, and Gobbles. Even his own parents turned him down. He trudged up the hill alone, pulling a little wagon with a hammer, a saw, a few displaced barn boards, and a pail of nails. He tried hard to ignore the laughter behind him.

“Hey, Chicken Little! You better put a hard hat on. The sky might fall and hit you in the head. Ha, ha, ha!”

Chicken Little was undeterred. He would save his friends whether they liked it or not.

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“Oh my God, Harry, I couldn’t sleep a wink with him hammering all night long.”

“I know, Porky. And it doesn’t look like he’s gotten much done.”

Harry was right. Chicken Little hadn’t accomplished much in four days and four nights. There isn’t much an undersized chicken can do on his own. His Radio Flyer red wagon was getting a workout, hauling loose barn boards, logs from the wood pile, and stones from the creek. Just bringing the materials to the job site took up half his time. He was so consumed by his work that he completely forgot about his Saturday picnic date with Hopper. She was worried.

“Daisy, is that a rabbit coming through the pasture?”

“It sure looks like it, Gobbles. What the heck would a bunny be doing around here?”

Hopper crawled under the fence and hopped over to a startled Harry.

“I’m a friend of Chicken Little’s. Can you tell me where I’d find him?”

“You mean Noah? He’s up on that hill building an ark or something. Ha, ha, ha.”

“Noah! Oh, that’s a good one, Harry. You are one funny horse. You should be on Hee-Haw."

“I try, Porky.”

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Hopper’s heart nearly stopped beating when she saw the vultures circling above the hill. When she reached the top, she saw Chicken Little lying motionless, spread-eagled, on his back.

“Chicken Little!”

Hopper was relieved to see movement. She rushed to his side and held his little wing.

“Chicken Little! Are you ok?!”

Chicken Little struggled to get up on his knees.

“I’m ok, Hopper. I’m just tired. And I’m worried I won’t finish on time.”

Chicken Little saw a glimmer of hope standing before him.

“Hopper… maybe if I had some help… maybe even just a little help. Do you think…”

“The two of us could build your fortress? Don’t be absurd, Chicken Little. That’s impossible.”

A little tear formed in the corner of Chicken Little's eye as he watched Hopper hop back down the hill.

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Chicken Little was tired. His hammering became weaker with every passing hour. He was close to giving up. He stopped working and set his hammer down when he heard the commotion. He walked to the edge of the hill and saw the most beautiful sight- Hopper leading a brigade of animals from the forest up the hill: 15 bunnies, 12 squirrels, 6 groundhogs, 4 beavers, 4 deer, 5 raccoons, 27 chipmunks, and one turtle.

“Hopper… I... how..."

"I told you friends mattered, Chicken Little. Let’s get moving.”

It was a bee hive of activity- hauling, sawing, hammering, digging, and stacking rocks. Chicken Little barked out instructions while Hopper assigned duties. It was an Amish barn-raising on steroids. When the last nail was driven, loud cheers could be heard throughout the valley.

The dark clouds forming in the west cut short the celebration. Lightning ripped across the sky, thunder pierced their ears, and it started to rain. The animals all took shelter in Chicken Little’s fortress. They would be safe.

“Chicken Little, what about the farm animals?”

“I don’t know, Hopper.”

He had to think. Does he save his tormentors? Lightning flashes lit up the farm, and the rain was coming down harder. Chicken Little would be risking his own life to save them… but they were his friends. And of course, he thought of his parents. He had to save them. He raced down the hill as fast as his little legs could carry him.

“The sky is falling! The sky is falling! You must come to the shelter!”

The animals paid him no heed, but then the wind picked up and rattled the roof of the barn. Egg-sized hail was coming down, and constant thunder pierced their ears. Cluck and Henrietta were the first to step forward.

“Let’s go, son.”

Harry looked at Daisy.

“Holy crap, the sky is falling! Let’s get out of here!"

It was a veritable stampede up the hill and into the shelter. The rain came down in buckets, hail pelted the roof, the fierce winds blew, the barn collapsed, but Chicken Little’s fortress withstood nature’s fury. The animals would all be safe.

“We’re all sorry, Chicken Little. Thank you for saving us.”

“That’s ok, Harry. I’m just glad everyone is ok. And… uh, Porky, could you stand a little closer to the door?”

Chicken Little and Hopper huddled together in a corner of the shelter. Hopper leaned over, put her head on his shoulder, and whispered.

“Chicken Little, you’re my hero.”