True Adventures of Little Red Hen
A fairy tale for adults who grew up with the wrong version! (Part 2 of 3)
Part 2 (of 3) of Little Red Hen -- for part 1, click here.
3. Water
In no time, Little Red Hen had tried what Big Pink Pig had suggested, and stomped on her wheat, back and forth with her feet, until it was all buried.
She eyed her accomplishment first with one triumphant eye, then the other. She clucked proudly, and turned toward home. But then she stepped into the clover.
Two big striped bees, Zzyzzy and Zack, rose up and circled each other in broad figure 8s. The hen watched curiously until the bees buzzed straight for her and zig-zagged around her head.
“Stop!” she said, “You’re making me dizzy! And please don’t sting me!”
The bees hovered, one near each eye. “Oh!” they said, puzzled. “Why would we sting you?”
“I don’t know why you sting. Just don’t!” said the frazzled hen.
The bees gave a buzzy laugh, and resumed zig-zagging around the hen’s head.
“Stop! Go home to the honey factory,” clucked Little Red Hen.
“We’re playing zap-tag. You want to play?”
“No! I've been working, not playing. I just buried all my wheat so I can come back any time and eat more of it and no one else will even know it’s there!” she said proudly.
The bees were bamboozled. “Why,” buzzed Zzyzzy, “would you want to bury the wheat and then eat it?”
Little Red Hen cackled and strutted three steps up and two steps back. “You don’t know anything, do you? Have you never seen a dog bury a bone and then dig it up later when he wants to chew on it? Hard-working, smart hens like me can do that, too.”
Exasperated, the bees said, “Why in the world would you eat the wheat when you can let it grow?!”
“Grow?” the hen clucked softly.
“Well, it’s already buried. Just water it and it will grow into huge wheat plants with lots of delicious flowers!”
“Hah. I like seeds, not flowers.”
“Seeds?” buzzed Zack. “Oh, well, after the flowers go bad, you get seeds. Loads of wheat seeds.”
“Seeds? Loads of seeds? . . . Grow?. . . Water?” The hen strutted and tossed her head so wildly that the bees buzzed away to avoid getting hit.
“Wait, where are you going?” called the hen. “Help me find water! I need to water my wheat!”
But the alarmed bees were on their way. “Sorry, not us. We’ve got to get home. We’re learning a new dance tonight!” And off they flew.
“A new dance, indeed! I thought bees were good workers. Ha! Playing tag! Dancing!”
Little Red Hen went in search of water.
A gust of wind blew some stones across her path, and she pecked at them. It was already starting to get dark. More gusts eddied across the dry dirt.
Then she felt the spray. She must be near water. Where is it? More water sprayed her face, then raindrops plunked down on her head.
She ran home to get dry, and promptly fell asleep, wondering how she might find water for her wheat.
4. Harvest
Little Red woke up and scurried out her door, straight to the buried wheat, still thinking about water.
“How do I water the seeds?” she thought. She cocked her head first to one side, then the other. The ground around the seeds was dark and wet.
“Somebody helped!” she thought.
Then she noticed her wet feet, and the wet driveway, and the wet wall of the barn, and thought, “No, nobody came to help me. It is wet everywhere.”
She pecked at a seed, then strutted to and fro over the soil. The busy bee, Zzyzzy, caught her eye as he buzzed near the flowers by the water pail.
“I cannot water my seeds, Zzyzzy,” she said. “And they are not turning into more seeds.”
Zzyzzy whizzed over to Little Red.
“You are a puzzle,” said Zzyzzy. “Can't you see? The drizzle watered your seeds.”
“Oh,” said the hen. “But they are not doing anything.”
“Because, because, bee-cause... It takes time!” said Zzyzzy, buzzing impatiently. “Go home and keep busy, Little Red. When your seeds are ready, we will come and tell you.”
In the weeks to come, Little Red Hen learned to be patient and let her wheat grow. She mingled with the other chickens in the barnyard, and heard Big Pink Pig play the fiddle. Sometimes the tune even matched up with the way she strutted and pecked.
One day, Zzyzzy and Zack buzzed over to her and told her that the wheat flowers were all old and used up, and that pretty soon the seeds would come. From then on, she made sure to march over to the field behind the barn every day to keep watch over the wheat.
It was tall and golden now, and she cluck, cluck, clucked at how clever she was to be growing lots of wheat to eat. She even started to think that after she filled up her cupboard, she might have enough to share with some of the other chickens. Or maybe she'd bury the rest to save it for later.
Sometimes she had to guard her precious crop against intruders. One time she found some ducks hiding among the stalks. Then from the doorway of the barn came Quacky White Duck peering behind the door, looking inside the empty water pail, and peeking under a little red wagon. Suddenly, a quack blurted out from inside Little Red Hen's wheat, and the Quacky plunged right into the stalks. Little Red was outraged.
She charged furiously into the happy chorus of quacks among the ducks. At first they thought she wanted to play hide and seek with them. But when she shooed them all away, cackling and pecking, they could tell she was in no mood for games.
Amid all the shoving and waddling and pecking and wing beating, Little Red Hen felt a shower of wheat seeds coming down on her head. She pecked at a few. They were delicious!
After she ate a little, she suddenly realized that this must be the time to get all the wheat home to her cupboard, before someone else ate it up. At last!
But how? Who could help? “Wait! Ducks! Come help me!” she shouted. But the sound of quacking had faded into the distance. “Tut, tut, hide and seek,” clucked the hen. “All they care about is playing games.”
It was practically silent. Except for some nearby munching and crunching. Little Red Hen threaded her way through the tall stalks of wheat to see who was there.
At first it looked like a big black and white wall, but then it moved, and the big head of a cow swung round to look at her. It was bobbing up and down.
“Why is your head bobbing up and down?” asked Little Red Hen.
“I’m chewing in time to the myoo-oosic,” said the cow.
Sure enough, the hen turned her head and noticed that Big Pink Pig was playing the fiddle far off in the barnyard.
“I love that tyoo-oon,” said the cow, chewing her cud sleepily.
“Yes, we hear it all the time,” said the hen. “That’s about all Big Pink Pig ever does.”
“Mm-hmm. That’s what she promised me when I gave her Old Gray Cat’s fiddle,” she said dreamily.
Little Red Hen clucked impatiently. “I’m here because I need help getting all my wheat home to my cupboard. Will you help me?”
“Me help yoo-oo? Not I. But Little Red Molly is coming soon for her milk. Her little red wagon is there by the barn. Maybe she can help.” And the big black and white cow slowly swung her huge head round in front of her and resumed chewing her cud in time to the strains of Big Pink Pig’s fiddle tune.
For a moment, Little Red Hen heard the fiddle music, too. But then her thoughts drowned out the music as she tried to understand what the cow had said. She remembered something about “Little Red Molly” and “little red wagon.” Was the wagon named Molly? Could the wagon help? It was clear that the cow was not going to get up from her comfortable spot and help collect wheat seeds.
“Tut, tut!” clucked Little Red Hen. “Just lying there, chewing and listening to music! And I have to strut and peck and do all the work around here!”
She went off to find Molly. Threading her way back through the tall stalks of wheat, she came in sight of the barn door again, and sure enough, next to it was a little red wagon, the one that Quacky White Duck had peeked under when he was looking for the other ducks.
“Molly!” said the hen. “Will you help me gather my wheat?”
But the little red wagon made no sound.
She strutted up close to the wagon to peer inside, and when she bumped into it, it rolled a little.
“Will you help me, Molly?” she asked again, and again she bumped into the wagon with her red breast, and the wagon rolled a few inches.
Since the wheat was downhill right next to the barn, Little Red Hen’s third bump into the wagon started it rolling right into the wheat. Excited, the hen began beating her wings among the stalks and pecking and pushing and shaking them up just as the ducks had done. A shower of wheat rained down into the wagon.
When she had shaken the wheat as best she could, Little Red Hen jumped up into the wagon and ate some. Then she sat down, wondering how she could get her wagonload of wheat home to fill up her cupboard.
~ end of part 2 (of 3) ~ click here for part 3 ~