The Court of Honor

"The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it."
-Arnold H. Glasow

A Rhode Island Red Chicken

"I think this one has a pretty good chance" the "chicken helper", or fair assistant told us.  My dad thought it was a nice thing for the guy to say about our pitiful home-raised chicken, but to me, a gullible fourth grader, that meant that we would crush the competition, win everything and go home victorious.  All of that from the prettiest chicken competition at the Topsfield fair.  We had entered four chickens, all of them had been raised by us, on the farm that I used to live on before I came to Fenn.  For those of you who know anything abut chickens, we entered two Rhode Island Reds (red colored chickens), and two Bard Rocks (black, white and grey speckled chickens).  They were all young chickens, and had thick feathers covering almost every inch of them except for their head and feet.  I couldn't sleep that night, because I was so excited that I might win the poultry contest.  The next morning I was ready to go see if my chicken had won.  I woke up bright and early and got my parents up too.  My dad, preparing me for disappointment stalled for as long as he could and finally (at 8:30, the fair opens at 9:00) agreed to take me to the fair where we would meet some of my friends and see if our chicken was victorious.  It was a long car ride (mostly because I was really anxious to see my new favorite chicken).  Finally we arrived, and charged through the gate to check on our chickens.  Our Bard Rock's had received first and second place in their small category.  Our Rhode Island Red had received first place in its' category and the other one was... gone.  Our chicken was not there.  We rushed to the administrative office.  I was completely bewildered, I wondered if some day a movie would be made of this horrific event: "The Great Chicken Heist".  

"Our chicken is missing from its' cage." My dad calmly reported to the lady.

"Did you check The Court of Honor?"  The lady replied.

"The Court of what?!"  I interrupted.  She led us out of the room, and onward to The Court of Honor.  There sat our chicken.  

As it turned out, the "chicken helper" had been right and we ended up winning first prize, with our farm raised chicken, despite the fierce competition from people who bred chickens to compete in these competitions.  Now that we had conquered the chickens, it was time to turn our attention to cows.