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Super- Herby
and
The Smarty Fox
Translated by Laura Jurinich
Copyright © 2019 M.G.Gullo – M.Longo
The cover image and the graphics were created and edited by Massimo Longo
All rights reserved.
Su per Herby and The Smarty Fox
Once in a henhouse, during springtime, when all the eggs had hatched, something miraculous occurred, or maybe it was something malignant?
In the middle of all the bright yellow chicks, a wisp of grass was walking by: but it was not a wisp of grass actually!
It was the
weirdest event that had ever occurred not only within the farm, but also within the entire community! The brooder had to intervene in order to understand what had happened. She had to chase the wisp of grass away herself: who knew how it ended up there in her brood. She started chasing it all over the compound until she realised that the little creature was cheeping.
Never ever in her entire life, the hen had witnessed to a cheeping wisp of grass, although she had been a well-respected brooder for
several springs already.
What if a chick was trapped in that wisp of grass?
Maybe a teeny tiny chick...
When her target was already a beak away, and the hen was about to give it a peck, the face of a green chick poked out of the wisp of grass.
She gently rubbed him against her beak and realised that his feathers were green.
But how did he manage to get so dirty?
And where did he?
He had just got out of his shell and was already pulling such a dirty trick on her.
She grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to have a bath in the trough, which consisted of a small alluminium pot that had turned black on the outside because of the smoke of the firelight, but was still silver and shiny on the inside.
And on and on she was washing him, but to her distress, the green was not coming off.
He was shiny, well-groomed, but he was still green.
And that is how she named him Herby.
Herby was visibly upset for all that situation.
As soon as he got out of the shell of his egg, he had been shaken and tossed left and right. He had not managed to make the most of the only good thing of being born: filling up his belly with corn flakes.
He was wondering what chicken-chef could have cooked such a delicacy.
As soon as the hen put him on the ground, his little legs raised a cloud of dust and took him back to his supper.
No other chick had acknowledged his presence: they were also too busy eating. No one among the fellow diners would raise their head out of fear that someone might snatch some grains.
The hen, who was still in shock for that occurrence, ran looking for an advice from the gossips of the barnyard.
Something of this sort must have
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