UnderAgeThinker

Click for Barnyard Dialogues Part 1 

The Scene: Two Chickens in nesting boxes at night.

Clare: You still awake, Marsha?

Marsha:

Clare: Marsha!

Marsha: Hu! What?

Clare: I’ve been doing some figuring again

Marsha: The kind you do with your toes, or the kind you do with your brain?

Clare: The brain kind.

Marsha: Clare, the last time you did brain figures, you set my rheumatoids off into a scuttle and I laid pear shaped eggs for three weeks!  Besides, I talked to Herman the Goat, and he told me all about the eggs.

Clare: You spoke with Herman the Goat?  What did he say?

Marsha: He said that you’re just an afarmerist and he’s seen your kind before.  And he told me what really happens to our eggs.

Clare: Well out with it!  What did he say?

Marsha: Well, you’re not going to believe this but… I didn’t believe it either when Herman the Goat first told me but…

Clare: Marsha!

Marsha: OK. Herman the Goat said that what really happens to the eggs is that… that the farmer takes em!

Clare: What?!  What would the farmer want with our eggs?

Marsha: He takes them in the house so that his wife can sit on them.  Herman the Goat says that she can’t lay eggs.  It has something to do with the blue jean overalls getting the way, but he reckons that a woman of her girth could sit on at least three dozen at a time!

Clare: Well I’ll be!  If I had teeth, I’d whistle through em!  How did Herman the Goat get to be so smart?

Marsha: The beard and the trash.

Clare: What?

Marsha:Its the beard and the trash.  That’s what makes him so smart.  Just think about it for a second.  The beard is what Herman the Goat has that no other animal has.

Clare: Hmmm.  Makes sense, but what about the trash?

Marsha: Well, important documents and manuscripts and such get put in the trash.  Herman the Goat, he eats the trash, see?  Well when he finds an important manuscript, he doesn’t eat it straight away. 

Clare: He doesn’t?

Marsha: Nope, he reads it first.  Then he eats it.

Clare: He never ceases to amaze.

Marsha: And you know the farmer’s wife tells him important stuff too.  Just the other day, she had to tell him something so important that she yelled it out the kitchen window instead of walking outside to tell him.

Clare: What was it?

Marsha: “Herman, zen tha turn up patcha gin!”  And do you know what he did?

Clare: What?

Marsha: He kicked up his hoofs and ran off as fast as he could to take care of whatever emergency it was that she told him about!

Clare: What a trooper!

Marsha: So, the point is that, the farmer takes the eggs so that his wife can sit on them.  That is not evil and, that should be the end of your nonsense about the farmer not existing.

 Clare: Oh, but that is what I was going to tell you.

Marsha: What?

Clare: I have another theory about the farmer.  This one has nothing to do with eggs.

Marsha: What is it this time?

Clare: Its Old Stella.

Marsha: What about her?

Clare: Well, didn’t you hear?

Marsha: No?  I don’t think so?

Clare: She finally kicked the bucket!

Marsha: No! You don’t say!

Clare: Yep, she just up and keeled over, by the windmill yesterday mornin’.

Marsha: Was it the droppsies?

Clare: I heard it was cold feet, but of course I can’t be sure.

Marsha: Well that’s a shame.  She was a good hen.

Clare: That’s my point.

Marsha: What’s your point?

Clare: That she was a good hen.  She was a prize layer.  The farmer paid sixteen dollars for her at the fair.

Marsha: Sixteen!

Clare: Yes, sixteen.  Least-ways, that’s what Thelma told me.  So, my theory about the farmer and the eggs didn’t work…

Marsha: No, it sure didn’t.  The farmer exists and he is the one taking the eggs, so its not an evil after all.

Clare: Well I’m still not convinced.

Marsha: Oh Clare!  Give it a rest!

Clare: Just hear me out.

Marsha: Remember my rheumatoids.

Clare: The farmer needs chickens, right?  Its part of being a farmer, right?

Marsha: Makes sense.

Clare: So, Old Stella, being what she is…

Marsha: MmmmHmmm.

Clare: Well that’s an evil that even the farmer would see.  He’s out sixteen dollars!  He’s got to replace Stella!

Marsha: Clare, I’m starting to get goose-pimply again.

Clare:  How could the farmer allow such a thing to happen?

Marsha: Clare.

Clare: The farmer cannot exist!

Marsha: Clare!

Clare: At last! I have proved it!

Marsha: Oh oh! I just don’t know what to think!  Now you’ve got me thinking like an afarmerist!

Clare: Yeah?  How’s it feel?

Marsha:  Oh, My feathers are all in a tizzle!  I need to talk to Herman the Goat about this.  I’m sure he’s got an expla –Ploop– You’ve made me go and lay an egg!

Clare: Is it pear-shaped?

Marsha: No. Its more like a potato! 

Clare: Well, the truth can be difficult to swallow at first.