An impossible challenge, really, thought Mollie. Her legs were short. So too the rest of the hens. This was just silly, she thought, who’d win?
The last challenge (which Judy won and now was quite smug about) was for who had the most ruffled feathers. She’d hijacked the lone rooster and shook the coop like a coconut tree swaying aggressively in a tropical storm. Bitch, thought Mollie. If only she had snagged him first. Que sera, sera.
She was determined to do her best this time. I need that all-expense paid trip to wherever-you-like-to-go, she reminded herself.
So Mollie got started.
With each egg laid, she lifted herself so that the next would balance on top of the other. It took her a gruelling forty-eight minutes. Gently she lifted one leg over the other, standing on the tips of her claws. When she finally cleared the area, she sighed and looked at her four eggs tall pile. This was a winner, for sure.
Then the coop door banged open and Mollie watched in horror as the top most egg wobbled and slid down the pile, landing at the bottom. The second top most followed. Until all the eggs were on the hay instead of piled up.
‘Good job, Mollie! Knew you’d deliver the goods!’ said Jim the farmer, reaching in, putting the warm eggs in his basket.
Mollie looked at him, eyes wide. ‘Cluck, cluck‘.