Merry ducked behind the splintering fence, his breath coming in short gasps. Was It Old Prisca? Had she seen him? He wasn't entirely certain, but if she had, he didn't particularly want to meet her face to face.
Meriodoc Brandybuck was a relatively normal young hobbit. It was his twelfth birthday in Harvestmath, and he nearly felt that he was grown up. As I have said, he was fairly average, and therefore, he always made it a habit to be getting into some kind of trouble.
But today, of all days, he was looking for trouble more than ever. He had ventured to Prisca Hamwich's home, the bad-tempered old woman who regularly shooed intruders away with her straw broom. Peregrin Took, the hobbit who lived next door to Merry, and a handful of other cheeky Hobbit children had dared him to do the one thing they would never even consider doing. He was supposed to creep into her hobbit hole and fetch something back out without being seen, just to prove that he had done it. But, he needn't have done that, in all actuality. The other Hobbit children were watching vigilantly his every movement through a gap in a nearby flowering shrub, located across the narrow dirt path.
Merry heard a rustling noise across from where he was hiding.
"Psst!" It was Pippin.
"What?" hissed Merry. The other hobbit silently wedged a hand through the vibrant green leaves of the shrub and pointed to the door of the house. It was inwardly ajar a sliver, as he had seen it before. But outside stood a red hen, clucking and scratching at the ground for seeds. Merry nearly burst out laughing. Is that what he'd been afraid of? The hen cackled, interested, and cocked an eye at Merry. But Merry didn't care. So what if the chicken had seen him?
"Go on Merry," Pippin and the others urged from behind the shrub. So Merry slowly stepped out from behind the broken down fence and cautiously crept across the yard. He was almost to the diminutive green door. The old widow Prisca would be fairly easy to get past, Merry thought to himself. She usually slept most of the day in an aged wooden chair by the round window. He looked. If she hadn't been there, Merry would undoubtedly have turned back. He wouldn't get beaten with a broom for the sake of a dare! But, Prisca was sleeping by the window. Her echoing snore resounded throughout the tiny house. Merry sighed audibly in relief. Now, he had only to get past the chicken, of which he paid no heed to at all. As he placed a careful hand on the door, he felt a sudden twinge of pain in his lower leg. He looked down. It was the chicken! She cackled an obvious warning and fluffed up her feathers intimidatingly. Merry was surprised, but he thought she might just be an angry hen that enjoyed pecking passer-bys. He pushed the door open another inch and felt another harsher peck on his leg. He peered down irritably at the chicken.
"Stop that!" he whispered, shoving the hen out of the way with a hairy foot. The chicken didn't like that very much at all! She screeched in rage and flew at him.
"Hey!" cried Merry, louder than he'd intended. "Ow! Ow!" The bundle of feathers scratched and pecked his legs in a fury. Merry jumped back a great pace. The hen spread her wings and stood guarding the entrance. She cackled angrily, glaring up at him with one of her small, keen eyes. Merry backed off. This was a fight he couldn't win. He was ready to turn and go when he heard Pippin jeer:
"He was too scared of a chicken to even go inside! Ha ha! I'm telling everyone about this!" The peer pressure won over, which is exactly what Pippin had meant to do. Merry turned and stormed back to face the chicken.
"Listen!" he said. "I'm going into that house and there's nothing you can do to stop me!" He charged straight for her and then zigzagged around her just as he reached her. She squawked her disapproval. Merry just about made it, practically diving headfirst for the door, but the chicken was too quick for him. She leapt at him; assaulting in a flurry of feathers.
"Ahh!" he shrieked. "Help!" But the other Hobbits were snickering too profusely to assist him. And then, on top of everything else, the elderly woman roused from her repose. Seeing the fuss, she seized her straw broom from where it lay in a crook of the wall beside the door and marched cantankerously out.
"You little whipper-snapper!" she cried crankily. "I won't take this gobbledygook from you youngsters!"
"Please call the chicken off!" implored Merry, kicking frantically at the livid fowl. I'm afraid Merry was crying out for the moon. Prisca smiled a toothless grin.
"I think Petunia can teach you a lesson to not be sneaking around in my yard," she said. "She's my guard chicken." Prisca turned to go back indoors.
"Keep up the good work Petunia," she said over her shoulder. "I suppose I won't have to wallop him with my broom this time."
And this is why, forever after, Meriodoc Brandybuck was afraid of chickens. Especially chickens named Petunia.