His was a domain that stretched
from Mr. Crowe’s farm to
Plummer Creek, a land of sprawling
farms with produce of cows
sheep and chickens, especially chickens.
Today, Fox's family traveled wide
with visits to homesteads where snacks
awaited, and they lapped tongues
in hunger listening to tales of the hunt.
Too soon empty bellies began to
overcome the group, a chance for Fox
to show prowess, his style that never
failed. Much practice pretending to be
a chicken among the flock made
him easily acceptable to them.
Without fail they lingered around the
barn, and his habit-copying chicken
antics kept him close to his next meal,
except this time the farmer caught
him among the flock. Smelly fox tried
hard pretending he was a chicken, but
the farmer could tell by his scent he was
not and raised his thunder stick, pointing it
at the hapless fox who wished for a pause
to exit this scene, knowing his family
awaited, yearning for a chicken snack.
Not this time perhaps, he thought and lucky
him the farmer turned at other sounds
allowing Smelly a chance to run, and he did.
© Richard L. Provencher