Of Chickens and Spilled Milk

Part two

By Kayden Eidyak

After Jack finished his dinner, he headed back out to the barn and into the loft where he attempted to make himself a sort of bed with the musty blankets, one of which had already been made home to a family of mice.

Fortunately, being a sailor had long since taught him to get up with or before the dawn if the need arises, so when Bryan came to rouse him, he was already awake and mostly dressed, still pulling on his slightly damp boots.

Bryan ran through the to-do list one last time before hurrying back into the kitchen to eat. Jack followed at a more sedate pace, his thumbs looped in his sash, whistling a tune to himself.

After breakfast, Bryan hurried off to school, Mr. Sunders departing soon after for work in the pub, leaving Jack quite alone. He collected the milk pails from Mrs. Sunders and traipsed into the barn, where the cows were waiting for him, their heads all hanging over the gate in anticipation.

He stared at them a moment, wondering how best to go about getting them out of their pen and tied up to the wall. Deciding there was nothing else to do, he opened the gate and let one shuffle out. She took up her spot along the wall and waited. Jack went over and tied a rope to her collar and went back for the next one. Each followed suit of the first and within no time, Jack had a row of four cows waiting for him to make the next move.

Jack eyed the one-legged stool, wondering if he should even attempt its use. He cast his glance around the barn, his eye falling on an unused bucket. Upturning it, he sat it down beside the first cow and tested his weight on it.

"Perfect," he said. "Now then. Top to bottom."

So he did. Starting at the top, Jack closed each finger in turn, a steady stream of milk running into the pail.

"Ah ha!" he shouted in triumph, startling his cow and causing her to shift nervously and stamp her foot in the pail.

"Now then! See here, lass, no reason for that!"

Jack pulled on the bucket, but Daisy - or whatever her name was - had her foot planted firmly in the pail. He groaned and leaned his head against her flank.

What would he do if he encountered a person standing in a bucket that he needed? Why, he'd shove them right out of course…as unlikely as the scenario was.

Jack stood up and pushed experimentally on Daisy's side. Nothing happened. He pushed a little harder. She didn't budge.

"Hmmm."

Throwing his weight into it, Jack shoved against her hip for all he was worth. The cow begrudgingly shifted her weight, giving Jack enough time to kick the bucket out from under her.

Using some water from the horse's water trough, Jack rinsed out the soiled pail and began again.

Right hand, left hand, right hand left hand…

Soon the bucket was half full.

He was going to kill Anamaria for this.

Once the cows were milked, he let them off their ropes and opened the gate to the pasture. In a nice neat line they filed out to do their day's eating.

He carried the two buckets - one at a time - to Mrs. Sunders, who thanked him politely. Then he carried the other two buckets to the four calves who were bawling pathetically in their pen.

"Easy there, mates. Food's a-comin'."

The four calves crowded around the gate, their sticky tongues extending to their furthest lengths. Jack squeezed in, managing both to not spill the milk or let the calves out. They immediately swamped him, bawling and shoving, each trying to get to the milk first.

"Hey there!" he shouted, when one trod on his foot.

Jack held the milk up higher, trying to keep it out of their reach while at the same time trying to find a spot amidst the tightly packed heads to set the pails down. Of course, when the milk went up, so did the calves. One even attempted putting his front feet on Jack's leg. Jack took a step backwards and lost his balance when he bumped into another one, falling to the ground, landing with an audible splat in a cow pie and spilling milk all over himself.

That was the least of his worries. The calves stampeded towards him, pouncing on him all at once, licking, slurping and sucking at his clothes, the corner of his hat, his hair and even his goatee – anywhere milk had spilled.

Jack kicked and smacked his way out of the pile of calves and struggled to his feet. He vaulted the gate without even getting the pails and collapsed to the ground on the other side, wiping calf slobber out of his eyes, nose and mouth on a filthy sleeve, and rubbing his hands on any bit of clean space he could find on his trousers.

Staggering to his feet, he tackled the pitchfork again. It went rather well. By the third time he pretty much had the hang of it. Perhaps the day was taking a better turn.

Striding off to the goat's pen, Jack was met by a clamor of maa-ing.

"I'm comin,' I'm comin.'"

Just like little cows, he figured. Open the gate and…

"Hey, wait! Get back here!"

One, two, three, four, five goats, trotting out of the barn and into the yard.

So maybe it wasn't getting any better.

Jack let out a groan of frustration and ran after them, shouting a few choice phrases.

The next hour went as follows: Goats run in five random directions. Jack runs after goat number one, who skips and leaps just out of arm's reach. Jack runs after goat number three, who races ahead straight at the barn and just when Jack thinks it's going to run in, the goat turns at the last minute and races back past him. All goats regroup and discuss next plan of action. Jack sees goats just standing around and runs after them. Goats stand motionless until pirate is exactly three inches away, before they all scatter once more. Dog watches in amusement from under porch. Goat number two runs into barn and climbs up large pile of hay. Goats one, three, four and five follow suit, all jumping on hay pile, scattering it everywhere. Jack sprints into barn. All goats slide off pile and run back outside. Jack wipes forehead with dirty sleeve and falls down under the shade of a tree, panting. Goats stop playing and decide that this man is extremely boring and all go inside the barn, to wait by the gate that leads to the pasture demanding to be let out.

Jack scrambled to his feet and loped after them, closing the barn door just in case they decided to bolt off again. They waited impatiently; goats two and four had their feet up on the gate. Jack opened it and they all raced out into the pasture.

"Just the chickens left," he muttered disdainfully, shoving the strewn hay back into a pile.

Jack found the basket hanging on a nail in the barn. He took it down and walked slowly to the coop. He opened the door a crack and peeked inside. A couple chickens clucked warningly and Jack closed the door again.

He stepped back, swinging the basket idling, wondering what to do. His glance fell upon the scruffy looking dog, lounging under the porch.

"Doggy! Here, boy. C'mere! Want some nice, tasty chicken?"

The dog got to his feet and trotted over to Jack. He opened the gate for the dog and knelt down to explain the plan.

"Now see here, mate. I want you to go in there, flush out them mangy birds while I go in and collect the eggs. And when we've finished, you can have a nice fat rooster, savvy?"

The dog listened intently and woofed slightly once he had his instructions.

Jack stood up and the dog ran to the coop, staring avidly at the small space between the door and its frame.

"Go get 'em!"

The dog ran inside barking and snapping. The chickens shrieked and flapped off their nests, running outside as fast as their legs could carry them. Once they were chased outside, Jack quietly crept in and closed the door behind him. He flitted around, putting eggs into the basket as quickly as he dared. He removed the rooster from the wall, stuffing the dagger into his boot. Coming out, he grabbed the dog, who had three hens trapped in a corner, by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the enclosure.

"Good dog," Jack said, patting him on the head and tossing the mutt the rooster.

The dog caught it and carried his prize back under the porch.

"There," Jack said, strolling back to the house with the eggs. "Cows, calves, goats, horses, sheep, pigs and …chickens." He wrinkled his nose.

Penny met him at the door and Jack had to resist the urge to tell her that if her eyes got any wider they would fall right out of her head.

"Just a second," she said, taking the eggs.

She came back a moment later with a lump of soap.

"Ah, thank you very much," Jack said grinning broadly.

He took the soap and went off to the stream to clean up – again.

When Bryan came home, he found Jack lounging against a tree, sharpening his dagger.

"Hullo, Nathan."

"'lo," Jack said lazily, testing the edge of the blade.

"How did it go?" Bryan asked, afraid of the answer.

Jack glanced up at the boy and grinned. "Beautifully. Couldn't have been better."

"Really?" the boy asked, somewhat astonished.

"Aye. Got the cows milked and the calves fed and the goat…" Jack coughed, "goats put out, and the eggs collected. I just finished about an hour ago, in fact."

"An hour ago…? Nathan, it should have…"

Jack threw the boy a warning glare.

Bryan clamped his mouth shut and went into the house. Grinning, Jack finished the dagger and set it beside his boots that were soggy and wet again from washing.

Bryan came out about an hour later and stood before Jack, the milking pails clanking.

"S'time already?" Jack asked, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Where are the other two pails?" Bryan asked, a slight edge in his voice.

Jack lifted his hat up slightly, peering up at the boy who had an expression something like annoyance on his face.

"In with the little buggers," Jack said casually.

Bryan groaned in exasperation. "Come on, Nathan. We gotta get the chores done."

Jack sighed and put his boots on and rolled to his feet, stretching exaggeratedly.

"If you insist," he yawned.

"Here, you start milking; I'm going to get the other two buckets."

Jack took them and swaggered off to collect the cows.

He had just settled down on his upturned bucket when he heard his name being called, none too nicely.

"NATHAN!"

"Be right back, ladies," Jack said standing up and patting Dainty on her side.

He set off at a trot for the calf pen and peered over the gate to find Bryan struggling with a calf, who had one of the buckets stuck on his head, the handle caught over his little horn stubs.

"Help me get this thing off!"

Jack turned his laugh into a cough and smothered his smile with a sleeve. He climbed over the fence and held the calf still while Bryan twisted, wiggled and eased the bucket off the frantic youngster's head.

When it finally came free, they both fell backwards, Bryan with the pail clutched in his hands, Jack with the hundred pound calf on his chest. Bryan got up and helped get the struggling animal back on his feet and off of Jack.

"Don't leave buckets in the calf pen," Bryan said sternly.

The boy left without another word and stalked to the house to get the buckets washed.

"Don't leave buckets in the calf pen," Jack mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Yes, mother."

He went back to the cows and was nearly finished with Dainty by the time Bryan came back with the clean pails.

Jack was done with his other cow before Bryan had finished with his two. He went off to give out hay. When he came back. Bryan was leaning over the gate of Nessley's pen, patting her head and talking softly to her.

"She's going to calve soon," Bryan commented, his tone suggesting he'd forgiven Jack for the previous incident.

"That so? How can ya tell?"

"I just can," the boy said with a grin. "Now then. Do you want to get the goats, feed the calves or collect the eggs?"

Jack weighed his options.

"I'll get the goats," he said finally, not sure he wanted to do any.

"All right. You take this milk to mother, and get the goats, and I'll give this milk to the calves and collect the eggs."

"Sounds good," Jack agreed, setting off to carry out his tasks.

He got the milk to Mrs. Sunders without spilling a drop and the he goats followed him back to the barn and into their pen without a hitch. They seemed to be worn out from their day of excitement and hour-long adventure earlier that morning.

He met Bryan at the doorway of the barn with empty buckets and a basket of eggs.

"All done?" he asked cheerfully.

"Aye, all done here," Jack replied.

"Good. Now we can eat."

They were all nearly finished with the meal when Mr. Sunders cleared his throat.

"Tell me, Bryan. How is it that Pirate came to have rooster feathers all over his fur when I got home?"

Jack nearly dropped his forkful of lamb chops at the mention of both the dog and the said canine's name.

Bryan looked up at his father and cast a sidelong glance to Jack who was chewing nonchalantly.

"Um, well, er, that is, sir, um…" the boy stammered.

"You know we have to keep the dog out of the chicken coop. Bryan, how could you have been so careless?"

Bryan chewed desperately on his lip before Jack spoke up.

"Excuse me."

Everyone looked at him.

"If you would allow me to say something?"

Mr. Sunders nodded.

"I found the rooster dead in the pen this morning. Figured it wouldn't hurt the dog so I gave it to him"

Mr. Sunders stared at him, disbelief etched all over his face.

"Well, all right, then," he said finally with an if-you-say-so-but-I-don't-believe-you tone.