A/N - Well, it's almost Christmas so I better get working on this fanfic! Oh and for sake of the story, I thought that I'd mention that none of the Robinsons know of the song 12 Days of Christmas so basically it kind of doesn't even exist in the story. Indiana Baked Chicken is a ref. to Kentucky Fried Chicken. And again, for sake of this story, Wilbur is not a fan of eggs. Don't know why, he just isn't. And Art being a fan of eggs and chicken along with his nickname is a reference to Adam West voicing Ace in Chicken Little. Lastly, my apologies to anyone who is a vegetarian!

Chapter 3

Wilbur walked into the dining room in his usual confident stride. He was the first one to arrive except for Carl who was busy setting out plates and cups and other items. "Good morning, Carl. Sunday breakfast again and all is right with the world."

Carl stopped what he was doing and looked at the thirteen year old oddly. "And just why are you so happy this morning? You didn't swipe another one of your dad's prototypes again did you?! Because if you did, I'm going to…"

"Relax, Carl. It's nothing like that. Can't I just be happy that it's finally my turn again to have what I want for Sunday breakfast? I can finally have waffles again!" Wilbur said enthusiastically.

"Oh…uh…I…" Carl began fumbling for words and set to working faster at setting the table.

"Carl, what do you know that I don't?" Wilbur eyed his robot pal suspiciously.

"Come on, Wilbur. We don't have time before breakfast to discuss the things that I know that you don't," Carl faked a laugh, refusing to make eye contact with Wilbur.

"Ha ha. You know what I mean. If you don't tell me, I'll…" Wilbur didn't even have to finish a threat for Carl to crack.

"You were skipped! Okay!? Are you happy now!?"

"What do you mean I was skipped?" Wilbur raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side.

"I mean, somehow you were skipped and your father told Lefty to make eggs a plenty for breakfast," Carl answered nervously, afraid of how his 'little buddy' would respond.

"He did what!? Dad knew it was my turn. I've been waiting for this since…wait! Did you say eggs? Dad knows I hate eggs. And since when does he love eggs so much? It's always Art that wants eggs," Wilbur went on and on, the thought of eggs already leaving a horrible taste in his mouth.

"Well, it's funny you should mention Art. He's kind of the reason why we're having eggs for breakfast this morning. And by the looks of things, eggs will probably become a permanent part of the daily breakfast menu," Carl tried to explain.

"If you tell me that there was another stupid gift, I'll…" Wilbur was interrupted by a highly unusual sound outside in the hallway. Bawk, bawk, bawk. "What on earth was that?" Wilbur left, much to Carl's relief, and followed the noise until he saw three hens and beside them was a basket of eggs that Wilbur could only assume they had produced. He shifted his eyes here and there quickly and believing he was alone, grabbed the basket as fast as he could. However, as he started to move slowly away from the three hens, a long tentacle reached out and grabbed the basket out of Wilbur's hands. "Hey! What's the big idea?" Wilbur looked at Lefty, definitely annoyed by the squid-like butler's action.

"MMMMMM," Lefty grunted in response, not understandable to the untrained ear.

"What do you mean you need them to make the rest of the omelets?" Wilbur demanded an answer.

"MMMMMM," Lefty responded again and turned and headed back to the kitchen.

"This is just great," Wilbur rolled his eyes, and they rested on the hens. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and his mouth twisted into a mischievous, almost evil, grin. "Here little chickies, come here. I'm not gonna hurt you…" Wilbur grew as close as he could and then pounced on the first hen to grab it. Unfortunately, the chicken got out of his grasp and ran as fast as it could, squawking as it did. The commotion caused the other hens to run around madly as Wilbur chased them around the foyer jumping here and there in attempt to catch at least one of them.

Wilbur noticed one of the hens all alone and he stalked closer and closer but just as he was in mid-pounce, Cornelius' voice could be heard behind him and it didn't sound too happy. "Wilbur! What are you doing?" The loudness scared the hen away and Wilbur landed flat on the marble floor. "I came out of my lab because I heard all of the squawking. Have you been chasing the poor hens around?"

"Well, I…uh…I guess I…" Wilbur fumbled for an explanation.

Cornelius knew all too well that it meant his son was trying to come up with a story that he would believe. "I want the truth…now."

"Okay, okay. I was trying to catch them so that I could get rid of them somehow. I wasn't going to hurt them or anything…I just wanted them to go lay their eggs somewhere else!" Wilbur knew when not to test his father's patience.

"And did you stop and think that what you wanted to do was wrong?" Cornelius asked, bewildered by some of the things his son came up with sometimes.

"Well, no…but I didn't care. I hate eggs and Carl said that we'd be having them every day for now on and so I thought no more chickens, no more eggs. Since when did we have chickens anyway?" Wilbur managed to say everything in one long breath, somewhat hoping that it would make his father too dizzy to comprehend him, but it didn't work.

"They're not your chickens to get rid of, Wilbur. They belong to your uncle Art. They're three grade A hens straight from France."

"Great…more ridiculous gifts. If I ever get my hands on the person sending them, I'll…" Wilbur didn't finish his threat as he noticed his dad was eyeing him in a way that told Wilbur he wasn't too thrilled by his attitude.

"You'll what?"

"Thank him of course!" Wilbur said with a nervous laugh. "But why did it have to be chickens and eggs."

"Probably whoever sent it knows Art likes chickens and loves eggs," Cornelius explained as Art came up behind him.

"That's right, I do!"Art said excitedly. "From the glorious sound of an egg frying in a skillet to the delicious taste of chicken toppings on a pizza…chickens stand alone as the ultimate white meat. Why, I remember clucky, my pet chicken from boyhood. Nana Framagucci gave him to me as a gift when we visited her in Italy. He was my tried and true friend from the early days of summer until the next spring when we finally ate him," there was almost a tear in Art's eye as he recalled the memory.

"You ATE him!?" Wilbur's eyes grew larger than saucers.

"Well, chickens don't make good pets forever, Wilbur, my boy. But I'm sure Clucky understood his purpose and was glad to make a meal for the family who loved him."

Wilbur looked at the chickens and felt queasy feeling creep into the pit of his stomach. "That is by far one of the weirdest things I've ever heard."

"It's okay, son," Cornelius laughed slightly. "Everyone has different tastes and tolerances."

"Breakfast time," Carl called from the dining room and they began making their way towards it.

"Wilbur, did I ever tell you about the time I was the mascot for Indiana Baked Chicken?" Art asked as they walked.

"Uh, no, not that I remember."

"Ah, yes…the best they had ever had. I dressed up in a chicken costume and greeted customers with the best 'bawk' I could conjure up. Why, I even one the best cluck of the year award three years standing. Art 'Buck Cluck' Framagucci is what they called me," Art reminisced fondly.

"I remember that actually," Cornelius commented. "It was your job through high school."

"The second best job next to delivering pizza-y goodness to people everywhere."

"Okay…" Wilbur ducked away and took his seat quickly. However, he was surprised when a mini-Carl brought him a plate of waffles instead of eggs. "Waffles? I'm not complaining but who…"

"I felt bad taking your day to pick breakfast away, Wilbur, so I made sure that you still got your waffles," Art replied kindly.

"Oh…uh, thanks," Wilbur said shyly, suddenly feeling the guilt of what he had tried to do to his uncle's three hens.

"Think nothing of it," Art said with a hearty chuckle. "A little exercise will do them good. Why, I wouldn't doubt if they laid twice the amount of eggs tomorrow they did today.

Wilbur's eyes grew wide in panic as he stared around the table at the mounds and mounds of eggs. "Great…"