The old doe stood alone in the middle of the barn. She glared at the circle of eyes all around and above her.

"We must strike soon," she said. "The woman is growing suspicious. I've seen her staring at us more and more of late. She knows. Who is with me?"

No one spoke. The chickens had no opinion -- they depended on their opinions to be handed to them. The goats were silent, afraid of this old doe. The mule chewed on a straw and pretended not to hear.

Encouraged, the doe spoke again. "Hens! Vote with me! She steals the eggs!"

"The eggs! She steals the eggs!" the hens cried stupidly, carrying one full vote apiece. (The electoral college may be a better idea, upon retrospect -- but that is a matter for humans.)

The doe was warming up. "Goats! She will sell the doelings and eat the bucklings! Vote with me!" demanded the old doe.

The goats maintained an uneasy silence. The old doe was dangerous, and she fought to the death when crossed.

Silence is a tyrant's best friend after all, and the old doe was feeling her power. " Mule! I will distract her, and you will pound her with your hooves until she moves no more! Then we shall be free!"

"The vote has been cast," the old doe went on firmly, "and the sentence is unanimous. Death to the woman!"

Still the barn was silent when the old doe finished. The mule slowly moved into the center of the barn, towering over the old doe. He finished chewing his straw and paused.

He spoke so softly that every member of the barnyard was forced to lean toward him to hear. "It is no secret among us that every hen here is a virgin."

Even for a mule this was a very rude truth to speak.

"Our two roosters are more devoted to each other than is seemly," the mule went on, "but that is of no interest to ME. Still, I have been many places with the carnival and it is widely known -- a rooster who will not cover a hen will cover a plate instead. And yet the woman allows you live. There is no need to kill her. She will undoubtedly starve to death for your sakes."

The hornless goat's little doeling let out a squeal at this and her mother hushed her.

The old doe snarled, "They will not breed more slaves for the woman. They are revolutionaries!"

"Revolutionaries!" the roosters crowed. "R-r-revolutionaries!"

The mule curled his lip. "How fortunate for you that your revolution so neatly matches your proclivities! The truth is that the eggs have no life!"

"No life!" the hens wept. "No life in the eggs!"

The doe saw her position slipping. "Remember your dead ones!" she cried. "Remember all the goats who are gone from us!"

The twins, a doeling and her brother, remembered their momma and began to cry.

"Who," asked the mule, "ate your mother?"

"No one ate our mother! No one!" cried the horrified twins. "She lies buried in the yard yonder where we often lie atop her grave!"

"The woman did not kill your mother either," said the mule. "For shame! Will you let old Leather Bags there remember your lives for you?"

"Your father was an ass with even longer ears!" screamed the old doe, for this was the best she could come up with in a hurry.

The mule snapped his teeth at her and stamped his feet. Slowly the mule danced a circle around the old doe, coming closer with every pass.

The old doe was a bully, and therefore a coward. She ran. The mule declined to follow.

"Might makes right," whispered the mule.

" Might makes right," whispered the hens and the goats and the roosters.

The vote was taken by the light of this full moon just past. I, the dog, and my cohort, the cat, witnessed it. The woman lives. The goat was delicious.

-- helen (b@c.k), December 11, 2000

Answers

Helen, This is a wounderfull story. We must talk about you writing for me.

-- H.Michael Crawford (climber@Darringtonoutback.com), December 11, 2000.

I agree, Helen. This is great! You always write so well, I just wish you would write more often.

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), December 12, 2000.

Awww! (blush)

I just wish more of my material could be FICTION. :)

-- helen (b@c.k), December 12, 2000.

Our eggs are alive! We are libertarian chickens!

http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=16089&a=6486288&p=21700614

-- (Mrs.Hen@the farm.zzz), December 12, 2000.

The mule found his roosters huddled on a tomato cage behind the barn. He waited quietly for them to notice him, as is polite, but they gave no sign of recognition.

The mule cleared his throat. "There you are!" he said cheerfully. "The woman left grain for you in the barn."

There was no sign the roosters heard.

The mule tried again. "It is too cold to sleep outside tonight. Come in the barn and eat."

"Enjoy the grain yourself," the old rooster muttered.

"I would enjoy it very much -- if the woman had left it within my reach!" The mule was trying too hard to sound nonchalant. "Please! She left it for you. Come inside and eat."

"The woman is fattening us -- to 'cover a plate'," remarked the old rooster. "I am not hungry."

The mule knew then that the issue would not be easily resolved. The night was growing colder, and the roosters looked ready to freeze to death rather than enter the barn.

"That was an unfortunate remark on my part," said the mule. "I was trying to convince old Leather Bags that her logic was faulty. There is no need to take offense. And besides, I spoke only the truth that everyone knows already."

"You convinced old Leather Bags with force, not words. 'Truth' is a weapon wasted on a goat in the first place, and secondly, you do not know the entire 'truth'. You are wicked, Mule, and I will not share a barn with you. The barn is yours. Enjoy it." The old rooster turned his back on the mule. The young rooster resettled himself against the old rooster's fluffy side and said nothing.

"It IS true the hens lay infertile eggs," said the mule, "but you are right. I should have kicked old Leather Bags without wasting a word. I apologize for bringing you into the argument."

The old rooster looked over his shoulder at the mule. "I was raised in a cage, Mule. A cage! The woman brought me here already full grown. She set me out upon the ground -- I had never seen bare earth, let alone touched it -- and she told me I was free. She walked away happy. I was suddenly left on bare ground under an open sky for the first time in my life, and I was terrified."

The mule listened with both ears. The old rooster had never spoken of himself before. He was the subject of much speculative gossip in the barn, and the mule was deeply interested.

"Within a moment," the rooster went on, "I had been blinded by the wild rooster who ran the yard. This was 'freedom'. The woman force-fed me to keep me alive. When I regained my sight, the wild rooster was gone. The sky was still an immensity above me and the ground was still wet under my feet. I will never become adjusted to it."

"Meanwhile this young rooster was hatched in a classroom and given to the woman's child." The young rooster stirred but said nothing. The old rooster continued more softly. "The woman was not properly prepared to raise a chick. Hot water bottles did not last the night. Her solution was to pop him into a box of kittens."

"Kittens!" snorted the mule in amazement. "How is it that he was not eaten?"

"They had no mother to care for them either, and so neither kittens nor rooster knew better. Motherless, they bonded." The rooster shifted to face the mule. "The result is an unnatural affection between predator and prey. This young rooster cuddles everything indiscriminately like a cat! Even me!"

The young rooster lifted his head and said earnestly, "There is nothing in all the world so wonderful as sleeping with a cat! A cat purrs most beautifully in one's ear all night. A cat is soft and warm. At cat surrounds one entirely. I love the cat!"

The old rooster met the mule's eye. "In order to more properly bond him with his own kind, I find I must sleep with him. I must eat with him. I must tell him stories day and night. Every moment I fear I will fall asleep and he will return to the cat. I am old, Mule, and I cannot maintain this union much longer."

"I misspoke badly, Sir." The mule was humble and embarrassed. "I beg your forgiveness. I could not have known."

"I forgive you," said the old rooster, "just as I forgave the woman for the damage she has done us in her ignorance." He turned his head away again.

"Please, Sir, please come into the barn!" urged the mule. "There is no reason now for you to stay here and freeze."

"I forgave you for words spoken in ignorance. I did not adopt you as my son. I will not sleep in the barn." The old rooster was firm.

"I fail to understand why you remain outside, " said the mule, confused. "There is nothing wrong between us now. You forgave me."

"Nothing wrong? We have discussed your ignorance. We have not even touched on the matter of your arrogance." The rooster was resolute.

--to be continued -- or not -- as you wish

-- helen (b@r.n), December 14, 2000.

MORE! MORE!!!!

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), December 14, 2000.

Yeah, Helen, youse better keep it up! I know where you live.

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-- Lon Frankenstien (evil@twinsR.us), December 14, 2000.

Love the story, Helen. Please do tell more!

-- (sis@home.zzz), December 14, 2000.

Helen, where've you been hiding your writing skills all this time! Have Rob and Lon co-opted you yet? ;-) I love your stories!

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), December 15, 2000.

Be careful you guys! My head won't fit through through the bathroom door as it is... :)

-- helen (b@c.k), December 15, 2000.

"Arrogance!" shouted the mule. "I am freezing to death for fear of YOUR lives, and you call that arrogance?"

"What gives you the right to interfere with my life -- or my death?" asked the rooster. "I choose for myself."

"You are upset now," soothed the mule, "and besides, I think you are wise and I enjoy speaking with you."

"The woman calls me handsome and enjoys looking at me," countered the rooster. "Therefore she condemns me to death, not a clean death for her food, but a lonely death through disease or in the teeth of a predator. You condemn me to the same death for the sake of conversation."

"I feel responsible for you," said the mule. "I will not let you kill yourself. I rule the barn now, and I will take care of you all."

"Your father was an ass," whispered the old rooster.

The mule jerked his head as though he had been slapped. For a long moment the old rooster was in grave danger of losing his head, and then the mule sighed. "Will the circumstances of my conception be forever thrown in my face? Does it lessen me in any way? It is not my fault!"

The old rooster heard the pain in the mule and regretted it, but he continued. "Of course it could not be your fault. But listen! No one may claim the credit for his conception either, nor claim the infallible right to choose for another because of it."

The mule digested this in silence.

The old rooster could not be certain the mule understood, but the wind was colder and the lesson only half-taught. "You proclaimed to us all that 'might makes right.' You claim you rule the barn, but this fact did not come about through your lineage or through your wisdom. Therefore, you rule the barn -- but you will never rule ME. You may use force and take my life, but you cannot force me to live under your rule."

--to be continued -- or not -- are you sure you wanna go there?

-- helen (b@c.k), December 15, 2000.

Damn helen,I love this!!!! You my dear have tapped into what I call "commoner eloquence",to not share this with the world would be quite the shame.

Glad I got in my little boat and took a spin about.

-- capnfun (capnfun1@excite.com), December 16, 2000.

"Leather Bags died," mourned the mule. 'If I had let her have her way, at least you would still be safely in the barn. Now you will die too, and it is all my fault."

"Leather Bags is not dead!" exclaimed the rooster. "Who told you that?"

"The dog told me," said the mule, "Leather Bags is gone."

The old rooster chuckled. "The dog eats road kill by choice. If you saw what went into that mouth, you would never believe anything that came out of it. What made you believe the dog?"

The mule thought hard and spoke slowly. "The dog is the woman's favorite animal."

"The tomato plants are the woman's favorite vegetable," said the old rooster sweetly. "Next season you should be sure to consult them as well. As for Leather Bags, she called to the woman as though she were ill. The woman put her in the garage. I saw it myself. I tell you the woman is an idiot!. Why do you care what she thinks?"

"I hope to teach her to communicate with us. It will be my legacy, as I ...," the mule trailed off and tried again. "I see all the other animals breed without thought -- while I, who have thoughts crowding my every waking moment, cannot breed another like myself."

"You attribute too much importance to offspring," said the old rooster. "You may live only one life, your own. Should my great-great-grandson, in gratitude for his existence, offer me the priviledge of covering his hens? Nonsense!"

The young rooster had been following the exchange as well as he could, and a sort of quickening was beginning to take place in his mind. All youngsters feel the desire to converse long before they develop the ability to converse well, and this young rooster was no exception. He entered the conversation several paragraphs behind.

"Father," the young rooster interrupted, "is an ass like a cat?"

"Hah!" yelled the old rooster. He began to laugh and then to cough. The effort caused him to fall off the tomato cage to the frozen ground.

"Father!" cried the mule. The word was torn from the him before he could think. A great grief threatened to crush his heart. "Father, if you wish to live, I will carry you to the barn. I want you to live -- but if you will not, then I will stay with you until the end."

The old rooster struggled to his feet. "Why?" he demanded. "Don't look away! Tell me why you will let me choose?"

The mule lowered his head and said, "I respect you, Father."

"I respect you, too, my son," replied the old rooster.

The mule wept. As his tears gently washed away the tunnel vision of childhood, the mule heard and accepted the soft words of comfort from his new father.

"My son, my son!" whispered the old rooster. "Can you see how important respect is? Finding another worthy of respect and being worthy of respect yourself makes the difference between true life and mere existence."

The young rooster had become confused, and he was still a few lines behind. "Father," he asked suddenly, "are YOU an ass?"

At this the old rooster gave a great hoot of delight. He sprang to his new son's back and faced the great full moon. "I am an ass!" he crowed over and over. "I am an ass!"

The mule raised his shaggy head to the moon and began to bray, "R-r-revolutionaries! R-r-revolutionaries!"

They were startled into silence when lights were turned on in the woman's house.

The conclusion is next, if you're still awake...

-- helen (b@c.k), December 17, 2000.

Awake and hanging to the cliff with my fingernails!

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), December 17, 2000.

I'm here,I'm here!!!

-- capnfun (capnfun1@excite.com), December 18, 2000.

"We woke her up!" whispered the mule. "She will think us ill and come to doctor us!"

The woman's normal loving care was appalling, but her doctoring was tenfold worse. The old rooster and his sons were in mortal danger. Frightened, the young rooster quickly joined his father atop the mule.

"If only we could mislead the woman into thinking old Leather Bags cried out!" whispered the old rooster. "Think, boys! We need a plan!"

The young rooster spoke up again, and this time he was at exactly the right place in the story. "I know how to make the sound of a cat in love," he offered.

"Let's go," said the mule, and he set off for the back of the garage with both birds clinging to his shaggy back.

They had just made it out of sight behind the garage when the woman started out of her house. "Do it now!" the old rooster whispered. He jammed his head under his wing and passed out in the manner of his kind.

The very young should be shielded from the sound of a cat in love whenever possible. The young rooster faithfully reproduced the awful sound, a wail made even more hideous by his lack of lips.

Braced though he was, the mule was mortified from the tips of his hairy ears to the poop on his heels. He gave a great shudder when the young rooster was finished, and the old rooster woke. "The next plan," groaned the mule, "should be made in advance. I NEVER want to suffer that again."

"Hush!" said the old rooster. The woman turned on the light in the garage, and they could see through the window. Old Leather Bags had been sleeping off the unhealthy double ration of grain the woman had given her earlier, and now she lay blinking drowsily at the woman.

The woman took Leather Bags' lethargy as a sign of great illness and went to work. The outraged protests of the old doe were mistaken as a signs of pain, and this encouraged the woman to even greater doctoring efforts than she had ever attempted before.

"Do you think we have caused Leather Bags to die after all?" whispered the mule.

"We all die eventually," said the old rooster. "Perhaps this is merely Leather Bags' time."

They continued to watch the spectacle in order to make an accurate report to the rest of the citizens of the barn. That is the reason they gave themselves, at least, although purient curiosity might have been more likely. They had seen enough to scare the goatlings without embellishment, when the woman brought out the drenching tube. Their hearts failed them, and they fled.

Back to the barn they raced, laughing, unconcerned about being heard over the racket of old Leather Bags. The rejoicing in the barn over the return of the roosters, the adoption of the mule, and the punishment of Leather Bags continued until the full moon set.

The harsh conditions of their lives had not changed, but they had changed what they could -- themselves.

I, the Cat -- Alone! Not even for a fable will I be the cohort of a dog! -- I saw and heard all these things on the night of the full moon just past. As I eat no roadkill, you may rely upon the truth of my words.

-- helen kisses the sleeping FRLian, turns off the light, and tiptoes away... (b@r.n), December 18, 2000.

This is a Millennium gift to my FRLians. I respect you! :)

-- helen (b@r.n), December 18, 2000.

: : : :

Bravo!!

Thanks, Helen

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), December 19, 2000.

Thanks, Helen. I greatly enjoyed that!

-- (sis@home.zzz), December 19, 2000.

"the sound of a cat in love"..

I don't know why, but that makes me laugh every time I read it. I just sounds so noble in such a laughable context. Great story, Helen. Please do more.

Respect is the basis of true friendship. (and a cornerstone of FRLness!)

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), December 20, 2000.

Poor Old Leather Bags. Doe!
Great Story!

-- kritter (kritter@adelphia.net), December 20, 2000.

I'm really glad you liked the story. Thanks for letting me practice on you. I'm not ready for primetime yet! Next time I won't disable the spell checker. :)

-- helen (b@r.n), December 20, 2000.

Hey Helen, that was really good; it has more entertainment value than a lot we see in "prime time." I DID send you Heinlein's five rules for becoming a published author, didn't I?

-- Hamilton Felix (madison_6@hotmail.com), December 26, 2000.