The Chickens issue a proclamation: No More Snow!

The Chickens have met and made their demands. They are done with all this snow. No. They will have no more of it. They see, as surely you do, the boots on the feet of all who make their way here and there on the Farm. And are they given boots? No. They’re not. They’re expected to walk around in this Stuff in nothing but their bare feet! Will such a thing be tolerated? No. It will not.

A Pro-Claim-Ation was handed to the Farmer just this morning, and this is what it said.

We (The Chickens) do herby state Winter is done. There is to be no more Snow. We want our warm Sun and our Dust Baths. And bugs*. We will not tolerate this anymore.

Signed-

*Worms would also be acceptable

Well, the Farmer got right to work. The chicken yard was shoveled thoroughly and fresh hay added to their coup.

Chicken Little slowly descended the ladder and looked here and there. There was still snow. She turned to return to her perch.

The Farmer shook the cup in his hand, dropping a dried meal-worm or ten on the bare ground. Chicken Little paused.

Oh! But she wishes now she hadn’t! Because six other chickens, less stubborn than herself plowed past her, nearly knocking her off the stairs! Did you see how she barely saved herself! Well, I did, and it was quite the show of athleticism. Who knew the old girl still had it in her?

But that’s beside the point. Did you see all those chickens scamper to gobble up those worms? Practically forgetting the snow that lay pushed to the side here and there?

Chicken Little clucked loudly, summoning all to a follow-up meeting, a discussion-of-the-new-developments, if you will.

It took several clucks and a holler or two, but eventually, the other chickens complied and returned to the Coup. It did help that the Farmer didn’t lay out any more worms.

Chicken Little nodded in his direction, acknowledging that act as well, something in the way of a promise that that deed-would-be-considered.

The second meeting lasted ten times as long as the first. Three was rustling. There was squawking. There were more than a few feathers lost, for sure, but two minutes later, Chicken Little proudly descended the stairs with another note tucked in her beak. This was laid at the Farmer’s feet. And this is what it said:

Never mind*.

*Keep shoveling the snow and bringing the worms

Chicken Little waited for the Farmer’s reply. He stooped down and gently patted her on the head, tossing a couple dried worms on the ground just beside her feet.

She turned to give the good news to the others. But not before gobbling up those worms.