True Adventures of Little Red Hen
A fairy tale for adults who grew up with the wrong version! (Part 1 of 3)
This is the first 1/3 of the real “Little Red Hen” story. You see, Mother Goose got it all wrong, in her impatience to meet a deadline, but later scratchings by her daughter, Long Yellow Goose, gave us the real story. The moral of this version is quite different.
Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The little dog laughed to see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
~ Inspired by little Neil, who never felt the classic story ended right. ~
1. Wheat
One fine spring day, Little Red Hen woke up hungry. She strutted to her cupboard and clucked. Empty. Just a few seeds, and they were old and stale. She cackled indignantly, strutted out of her little house and ran straight into Furry Gray Cat.
“Oh!” said Little Red Hen, “What are you doing with that stick?”
“I’m going fishing,” said Furry Gray Cat.
“Well!” clucked Little Red Hen, “I’m busy today stocking up with food.”
Furry Gray Cat mrowled. “Oh. Too nice a day for that. Why don't you just go eat some of the wheat Big Man Farmer spilled in the barn?”
“Yes! And I can bring some home! Will you help me?” asked Little Red.
“Mmm. Not I. I’ve got fish to catch.” And he trotted off, tail high in the air.
“Indeed!” clucked the hen to herself. “Off fishing. Won’t help.”
Little Red Hen scurried across the bright barnyard, into the dark barn, and there, right under the big wagon, was a beautiful pile of wheat. She pecked and pecked, and ate as much as she could, but still there was a big pile left over.
“If only I could bring this home!” she thought.
Just then she heard padding paws and clicking claws. She scuttled into a dark corner and peered out to see who was coming. The sounds stopped. She heard a clunk. She stepped out to see who was there, and found herself beak to nose with Waggy White Puppy.
“Oh!” she said. “What are you doing in the barn on such a fine day?” She drew herself up to full height, hoping the puppy would not get too playful and jump at her.
Waggy White Puppy, lying with a bone between his paws, jumped up when he saw Little Red and pranced to one side. “I'm going to bury this bone and keep it away from Old Yellow Dog!”
“Indeed!” clucked Little Red Hen. “I'm working to fill my cupboard today. I'm going to carry all that wheat home. Will you help me?”
“No, not I,” said the puppy. “I have to get this bone to my hiding place without Old Yellow seeing me. Why don't you just bury your wheat? Then you can dig it up any time and eat it.” And with that, he trotted off, carrying his bone and clicking his claws on the floorboards of the barn.
“Tut,tut!” said Little Red to herself. “Off to play with a bone while I work to fill my cupboard. No time to help me. Tut, tut!”
She eyed the pile of wheat, first with one eye, then with the other. She walked around it to the other side, just a step away from the barndoor. She pecked at a few stones and grains, and couldn't resist pecking at a little brown worm. But as she tugged at the worm, the brown paper with the wheat on top moved toward her. She stopped, puzzled.
Again she tugged at the worm, and again the pile moved.
She heard renewed cackling of the hens out in the barnyard, and began to work very hard tugging and tugging at the little worm, slowly inching the brown paper bag and its little pile of wheat past the threshold of the barn and part way down the dirt driveway. There, the side of the driveway tilted and so did the paper. The wheat spilled onto a patch of soil.
Now that she was outside the barn, Little Red could hear the cackling even louder. She set about pecking the wheat into the ground as fast as she could.
“Better to bury my treasure here than have it raided by them,” she thought.
And as she pecked, she thought, “I'm working very hard. I won't stop until every seed is buried like a bone. Then I can dig it up and eat it whenever I want.” She was very proud of herself.
Before long, she clucked wearily and eyed her work. Some of the seeds had been pushed into the soil. It was a big job. She'd have to come back later to finish.
“A good day's work,” she sighed, and strutted round the barn towards home.
2. Music
The next morning, Little Red Hen woke up hungry and marched straight to her cupboard. She pecked at a few old seeds and crumbs before remembering her buried treasure of wheat.
Out of her house she scurried to see if the treasure was still there. Through the barnyard, and through the barn she went, and there it was, by the dirt driveway. Partly buried and partly spilled, the golden wheat lay undisturbed as she had left it. She pecked at it for breakfast, and then thought, “I should really bury the rest of it, or surely someone will eat it for me. If only I could find someone to help me.”
Sparkles of sunlight danced on the side of the barn, reflections from a pail of water. It was another fine day. She expected to hear cackles from the barnyard, but instead heard something quite strange.
She walked through the barn and peered out into the barnyard at the great hulk of an animal hunched up against the food trough. It was Big Pink Pig. She was playing a fiddle.
“As if there wasn’t enough work to do around here,” muttered Little Red Hen. She strutted out to greet the sow. “Good morning, Big Pink Pig,” cackled the hen. “Would you help me bury some of my wheat in the field? You’re so good at rooting and digging.”
“Easier to eat it than bury it, I would think,” smiled the sow, her big chin still resting on her fiddle. Seeing the hen’s fright, she added, “Only teasing. I just had a big breakfast a few minutes ago.” She patted her belly with her bow, and then set it back on the strings and started up the music again.
Little Red Hen put up with the noise for a little while, pecked at stray grains and stones, and eyed Big Pink Pig peevishly. Finally she cackled loudly right in the sow’s face until the music stopped.
“Why won’t anyone help me?” she cried. “It would take you a minute with your big rooting snout to bury my wheat, but it will take me forever to peck each grain into the soil.”
“As for your wheat,” said the sow, “it will be a lot easier for you if you use your feet instead of that tiny pointed beak of yours. And as for my music, let me explain:
“I knew a fine cat who could play a fine fiddle. He knew half a tune, from the start to the middle. But even that much made us kick up our heels As if he could play a hundred good reels. When he played us that tune My best friend, the cow Was over the moon "So I made a great vow: I promised to learn our friend’s music by rote From the start to the middle--to the very last note!”
And Big Pink Pig picked up her fiddle and bow, and played.
Little Red Hen felt flustered and thought she ought to be indignant. She pecked and scratched and clucked importantly. She tried not to peck in time to the music. Before she knew it, she found herself at the far end of the barnyard, and had to strut the long way around the barn to get to her wheat, and back to work.
~ end of part 1 (of 3) ~ click here for part 2 ~