Chicken Pot Pie

In the Empire State building, when men conferenced for newer, more efficient, cost- effective rubber solutions, and women hurriedly scribbled memos to drop in the void- tube to nowhere, there was Helen, an old hen, living her final days in the coo-coo's nest, left of the barn, near
the farmhouse. When the time came to lay an egg, she would try and try, and yet every time still, come up at a deficiency. This happened time and time again, until at last, the other hens began to notice.

"She's just not got any left, I'm telling you," said the two little hens from accounting. "She's run out!"

"Oh hush you two," Said the Work Horse, peeking in through the door, "I bet she'll still have many."

"She's missed nearly three, horse," said one of the young hens, flauntingly.

"It's never been a problem before," Replied the Horse, " In all the years I've known her."

"Then your memory must be going before your age, horse, she's not laid an egg for near a month."

-"Yha, Yha! Forward!" Cried the farmer.

"I still DON'T REMEMBER ANY-" Neighed the work horse.

The whip finally snapped, and the horse plodded on forward. The gossiping hens heard the wagon beat on, and grow more faint.

The days rolled past, and things in the cubicle stayed much the same. The old hen had still not laid an egg, and the farmer grew more and
more impatient. By the end of the fiscal year the old hen seemed infertile, and finally the farmer came by to inspect.

"I tell you Josephine, there's only 6!"

"Well check again Robert, we need more than that!"

The farmer counted off the eggs, pointing at them dumbly, "One, Two, Three, Four-"

" -Robert, the carton is empty. I need another dozen," Josephine interrupted, standing with her hip to the door post, holding the empty carton in her left hand, above her elbow.

The farmer walked down the row of cubicles to inspect the three hens. He lifted the first, then the second, and patted each gently on the
head in the vain belief that one more should fall out. He gathered two eggs in his left hand and rolled them gently in his basket. He finally lifted old
Helen, the third, and patted her on the head. Nothing falling out, and not wanting to be wasteful, he picked her up, placed her gently on the table
outside the nest, and removed a knife from the wall. He held it against the skin above her neck, and drove it quickly through.