Posted by Suzanne McMinn | Permalink
The confinement was torture.
Spartacus listened to the big chickens cavorting in the chicken yard from which he was banned. Banned! Banned for his size, banned for his breed, banned for nothing that was his fault. And those big chickens? Did they care? Did they feel his pain? No.
“You will fear me someday!” he hissed at them through the cracks in the chicken house. “I’m a big chicken, too!”
But all they did was laugh.
He bided his time, watching old spaghetti westerns on TV and plotting his revenge. One day… One day! His day would come. He would be a fearsome hero, just like Clint Eastwood. “Make my day,” he hissed to those big chickens in the yard.
And then the day did come, the day when new chicken wire was put up around the chicken yard. Spartacus joined the big chickens out in the big world.
He blazed out into the chicken yard. “I am here! Fear me now!” he announced.
He stood as straight and tall as he could stretch. But did they care? Did they notice? Did they bow to him in their midst and give him his due? Did they fear him at all? No.
The big chickens ignored him. They called him “little chicken” and sometimes they even stepped on him. Did they not know he was a fearsome hero? Did they not know he was like Clint?
He would show them!
“Prepare to die.”
