Animal Factory

by Philip Caveney

  ‘Oh, they give the impression of being as nice as pie,’ said Kurt. ‘But if you only knew what they were up to . . .’

  ‘Tell me!’ insisted Sally. She was a terrible gossip and never missed an opportunity to spread stories.

  ‘Well. . . I suppose you’ve heard that the egg-yield has gone down considerably this last couple of months?’

  ‘I had no idea,’ admitted Sally.

  ‘Well it has, by some fifty percent. I have it on good authority that the chickens have been withholding their eggs and secretly selling them to other farmers.’

  Ralph almost laughed out loud at this. As if chickens would even be capable of such a thing! But Sally sounded convinced.

  ‘Really? I didn’t know about that.’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know,’ said Kurt. ‘For instance, I’ve been told that the chickens harbour awful diseases. That whole chicken run is absolutely infested.’

  Now Sally sounded quite fearful. ‘What . . . what kind of diseases?’ she asked.

  ‘They haven‘t even found names for some of them. But I happen to know that these are diseases, which chickens are immune to . . . but which can easily be passed to other animals. Take my advice, keep well away from those unclean creatures or it could be the end for you and your sisters.’

  ‘Well, er . . . I suppose it would be all right to talk to Henrietta, wouldn’t it? She always seems very clean.’

  ‘My dear lady, Henrietta is the worst of them! It is she who has organised this egg-selling business. Why, I’ve heard that she’s growing rich on the proceeds.’

  ‘But . . . she still lays three eggs a day.’

  ‘Oh, yes, eggs that have been infested with one of the many diseases in that hideous hen run. I mean, I’ve warned Farmer Morton about eating them, but he takes no notice. One of these days he’ll get a particularly bad egg and that will be the end of him . . .’ There was a long pause, ‘Now don’t forget, I’ve told you these things in confidence. Whatever you do, don’t go telling anybody else about this.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t,’ said Sally unconvincingly. ‘No, no, nothing could be further from my mind.’ There was a pause and then she spoke: ‘Anyway, look, I must get moving. So much to do. I’ll speak to you again.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Lovely chatting with you.’

  Ralph heard Sally’s feet drumming as she hurried off to tell her news to the first creatures she encountered. Then Ralph crept out from cover and came around the side of the crag. Kurt looked up in surprise as Ralph advanced on him.

  ‘Oh, hello, Ralph. How long have you been hiding back there?’

  ‘Long enough,’ snarled Ralph. ‘So that was your reason for coming up here, was it? To spread lies about the chickens.’

  Kurt affected a look of outraged innocence. ‘Whatever do you mean? I’m just telling it like it is.’

  ‘How you think it is, you mean! How dare you say such things about Henrietta? I’ve told you before, you couldn’t wish to meet a kinder, more decent creature on the whole of Morton’s Farm.’

  ‘Yes, well that just shows you how convincing she is. She’s pulled the feathers over your eyes, that’s for sure.’

  ‘She has done nothing of the sort! If I hear you telling any more lies about her, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .’

  ‘You’ll what, Ralph?’ Kurt took a step closer. ‘What will you do? Aren’t you forgetting that my brothers and sisters are waiting back at the farm? It would only take a word from me and they’d leap to my defence. You’ve learned that much already, haven’t you?’

  Ralph stared at Kurt in disbelief. ‘But . . . how can you say such things? Henrietta has never done you one bit of harm. Why would you seek to spread such terrible stories about her?’

  Kurt shook his head. ‘Poor Ralph,’ he said. ‘So trusting. You can’t see what’s going on right under your nose, can you? You must understand, I only want the very best for Farmer Morton and the farm . . . and I will not sit by and watch as those evil chickens rob him blind.’ He turned away and started to stroll back in the direction of the farm. ‘Well, I think I’ve done enough work for today,’ he said. ‘I need to get back to the farm and have a bit of a rest.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to expose you for the liar you are!’ Ralph shouted after him.

  Kurt glanced back at him and his expression was as cold as ice. ‘Just try it,’ he said. ‘And see what happens.’ With that, he ran away and was soon lost to sight.

  Ralph went on with his job, herding the sheep, and after a little while he caught sight of Sally, talking excitedly to a couple of her friends from the herd. They were listening intently and Ralph knew exactly what was going on.

  ‘Sally!’ he barked. ‘A word in your ear, please. I hope you didn’t take any notice of what Kurt was saying before.’

  Sally looked at him blankly. ‘Of course not,’ she said, and then she winked. ‘Don’t worry, I’m only telling those I can trust.’

  ‘But it’s not true,’ protested Ralph. ‘It’s all nonsense. Do you really think that a chicken could do the kind of things that Kurt claims they’re doing?’

  ‘I must admit, it did seem a bit far-fetched,’ agreed Sally. She lowered her voice, ‘Until I heard that Henrietta was the ringleader. After all, it would take a pretty special chicken to mastermind something like that.’

  ‘But. . . Henrietta wouldn’t . . .’

  It was too late. Sally and her two companions started trotting back in the direction of the high pasture and Ralph could do nothing but carry on with his duties. However, when he and Farmer Morton were walking back to the farm, he realised that he would have to say something. He knew that by the time the sheep came down to the fold that evening, Kurt’s lies would have been spread to every sheep in the flock.

  ‘Farmer Morton, could I have a word with you about something?’ he asked.

  Farmer Morton looked down and smiled. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘It’s about Kurt,’ said Ralph and instantly, a wary expression came to the Farmer’s face.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s been talking to the sheep.’

  Farmer Morton smiled. ‘Has he now?’ He shook his head. ‘He’s fond of his own voice, that one, I’ll say that for him.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s been spreading lies about the chickens.’

  Farmer Morton’s smile faded. ‘What’s he been saying?’ he asked.

  ‘Some nonsense about the egg yield being down.’

  ‘That’s not nonsense, Ralph. It has gone down over the last few months. By almost fifty percent.’

  ‘Oh. . .’ This threw Ralph a little. He had assumed there was no truth in Kurt’s tales. ‘Yes, all right, but he claims the chickens are . . .’

  ‘And if you ask me, it’s all due to those diseases they carry.’

  Ralph stopped talking. He looked up at Farmer Morton in dismay.

  ‘Diseases?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. There’s no end of problems they suffer from. Avian influenza, lice, fowl pox, gapeworm, you name it! Costs me a fortune it does, in vets bills.’ Farmer Morton looked thoughtful. ‘Actually, Kurt makes a lot of sense. He’s been suggesting alternative ideas for the chickens and I have to say, I think they’re good ones. It would mean a bit of investment up front, but in the end it’ll pay me. The first thing, of course, is to keep the chickens locked up in their run. Why, when I think of the way they’ve been allowed to go wherever they please, it fair makes my skin crawl.’ He looked down at Ralph again. ‘So, what were you saying about Kurt?’

  ‘Only . . . that he makes things up. I heard him telling the sheep that . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That the reason there’s less eggs is because the chickens are hoarding them and selling them to other farmers.’

  Farmer Morton looked at Ralph in silence for a few moments and then he laughed delightedly. ‘That’s a new one!’ he said. ‘I haven’t heard that one before!’ He laughed again and then became se
rious. ‘You don’t want to worry about what Kurt says,’ he said. ‘He’s dancing to a different drum than you and me.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘It means that Kurt is special. I’ve never met a dog like him. He has intelligence beyond his years. You and me, Ralph, we’re just simple creatures. But Kurt, he’s got it all figured out. And if he’s spreading stories about the chickens, he’s doing it for a reason.’

  ‘Yes, but you can’t seriously . . .’

  ‘Ralph!’ said Farmer Morton, and he sounded suddenly rather stern. ‘I don’t think it’s nice of you to be criticising your brother in such a way.’

  ‘My . . . brother? He’s not –’

  ‘More than a brother in fact! Almost a son. Why, when he and his brothers and sisters were tiny pups, you were the closest thing to a parent any of them had. You were the only one looking out for ‘em. And now here you are, spreading stories behind his back.’

  ‘I . . . I’m spreading stories? ’ Ralph was speechless at this. Surely it was Kurt who was making things up, not him? He looked up at Farmer Morton but he was striding along, his gaze fixed on the way ahead and it was clear that he was not prepared to discuss the matter any further. They walked home in silence, and that evening Ralph watched as the chickens wandered back to their enclosure and were locked in for the night. He began to have a bad feeling about all this, wondering what would happen when the chickens realised they were not going to be allowed out again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Changes

  When Ralph came down from the meadows the following day he was painfully aware that the chickens were still locked up in their enclosure and he felt he really had to go and talk to Henrietta. He found her pecking in the dirt beside the high wire fence. He could sense the anxiety coming from the chickens around her, but she at least seemed calm. She saw Ralph approaching and moved closer to the fence to talk to him.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. There seems to have been some mistake this morning. When Mrs Morton came in to collect the eggs, she forgot to leave the gates open. We’ve been cooped up in here all day.’

  Ralph shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it’s no mistake, Henrietta,’ he said. ‘Farmer Morton has decided to keep all of you locked up in there.’

  Henrietta considered this information for a moment. ‘But why?’ she said. ‘We always go where we please. I have lots of creatures to visit. I promised to drop in on Marmaduke today and have a look at those new piglets of his.’

  Ralph didn’t say anything for a moment. He could hardly tell Henrietta the truth – that Farmer Morton was worried about her and the rest of the flock spreading diseases. So he decided to make up a white lie.

  ‘It’s for your own safety,’ he said. ‘Farmer Morton is worried about the . . . the foxes coming after you.’

  Henrietta jerked her head forwards and backwards a few times. ‘The foxes?’ she cried. ‘In the daytime? Why, I never heard of such a thing. Foxes come at night, everyone knows that.’

  ‘These are very bold foxes,’ Ralph told her. ‘It was a hard winter and they didn’t have very much to feed their cubs on, so now they’re hunting in the daytime.’

  Henrietta didn’t seem convinced by this. She pecked at the ground a bit more. ‘This hasn’t got anything to do with the Dobermans, has it?’ she asked.

  Ralph flinched. He had hoped that Henrietta had no knowledge of what Kurt and his siblings had been up to, but clearly she suspected something.

  ‘Why do you ask that?’ he said, trying to affect an innocent air.

  ‘I’ve heard that Kurt has been telling tales about us,’ said Henrietta. ‘Jonah told me he’d overheard some nonsense about our eggs.’

  ‘I really couldn’t say,’ said Ralph. He hated having to lie to her like this, but just couldn’t bring himself to admit that he knew all about it.

  Henrietta gave a cluck of resignation. ‘I don’t know what it is about Kurt,’ she said. ‘Ever since that silly incident in the coop, he’s seemed so unfriendly towards me . . . in fact, towards us chickens in general. He worries me.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about. Kurt does tend to talk too much, but nobody takes any notice of him.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Henrietta. ‘For one thing, he spends a lot of time talking to Farmer Morton, and everyone knows that man’s been mad about those dogs ever since they were born. Why, I remember when he told Agnes that he was going to get rid of them once they were full grown, but it doesn’t seem to have happened, does it?’

  ‘No,’ agreed Ralph. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Henrietta fixed him with a beady-eyed look. ‘And then there’s what happened to poor old Fred. Did you hear anything about that before Farmer Morton came for him?’

  Ralph shook his head. ‘It was a complete surprise to me,’ he said. This wasn’t entirely true but once again, he didn’t want to let on that he had known something bad was going to happen. That would make it seem as though he had been involved.

  Henrietta gave a sad cluck. ‘Poor old Fred. Such a good dog in his day. Such a hard-working fellow. He was gentle and forthright and honest and you can’t say that about many creatures, can you? After all his years of hard work, I honestly believed that Farmer Morton would leave him to die naturally.’

  ‘He was in terrible pain,’ said Ralph and then realised that this sounded as though he was making excuses for Farmer Morton’s behaviour. ‘But he didn’t deserve to end his days like that. I shall miss him terribly,’ he added.

  ‘Me too. He was a grumpy old thing, but I did so love talking to him. And I expect there was no wiser dog in the whole county than him.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Remember when he called that meeting and told us all about the dream he’d had? He seemed to think it was important . . . something about change coming.’ She looked around at the crowded enclosure. ‘I’m starting to think he was right,’ she said. There was a long pause before she spoke again. ‘Ralph. If there was any reason for me and the other chickens to be worried . . . you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ralph and he felt terrible lying to her, but he knew that he couldn’t give her the real reason why she and the rest of the flock were being locked away. So he changed the subject and started nattering on about the various things that were happening around the farm. Henrietta joined in, but as they spoke, he was aware of her looking hopefully towards the gate, perhaps expecting to see Mrs Morton coming out to unlatch it. There was no sign of her. After a while, Ralph began to feel uncomfortable so he made an excuse, saying that he had a few jobs to do.

  As he walked away from the chicken run, he was horribly aware of Henrietta gazing after him and he found himself thinking wild thoughts. Perhaps he should enlist Jonah’s help and the two of them could creep out there at night and open the gates, let the chickens go wherever they wanted to, but he quickly realised that this was a silly plan. There really were foxes out there in the dark, awaiting their chance to grab themselves a nice chicken supper. So for the moment, he told himself, he could do nothing but wait and see what happened.

  That evening, when Ralph and Farmer Morton brought the sheep down to the lower pasture, they headed for the house and the warmth of the kitchen. It was a cold spring night. Ralph had been planning to stretch himself out on his nice snug bed and catch up on some sleep, but he found that the bed was already occupied. Kurt was lying in it and the other Dobermans were stretched out in various places around the kitchen.

  This was unusual. Before, the Dobermans had never been allowed to stay in the house. They had slept in various straw-filled stalls in the old barn. Agnes had always insisted that there were simply too many of them to occupy such a small space. Something must have changed, for now here they all were, looking as though they had every intention of spending the night inside. Agnes was over at the stove making the evening meal and she didn’t take her eyes off the pot she was stirring. Farmer Morton, having settle
d himself in his favourite rocking chair, was lighting up his pipe and taking a look at the newspaper.

  Ralph walked over to the bed, expecting Kurt to vacate it. Kurt made no attempt to do so and just lay there, looking at Ralph with some amusement.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Why, what have you done?’ asked Kurt and his brothers and sisters exchanged sniggers, as though it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

  ‘It’s just that you’re lying in my bed,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Your bed?’ Kurt gave him a puzzled look. ‘Since when has it been your bed?’

  ‘For ages,’ said Ralph. ‘Ever since I took over from Fred.’

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Fritz, who was lying a short distance away, ‘that it’s now Kurt’s bed. And if I was lying in it, it would be my bed. And if Eva was lying in it, it would be hers.’

  There were nods of agreement from the other Dobermans.

  ‘But that’s silly,’ said Ralph. ‘Everyone knows it’s mine.’

  Kurt shook his head. ‘You see,’ he said, looking at the other Dobermans. ‘This is exactly what’s wrong with this farm. No sense of brotherhood. No sense of sharing. Or perhaps Ralph thinks he’s a special case. Perhaps he thinks he’s better than us.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Ralph assured him. He looked hopefully towards Farmer Morton but he was pretending to be engrossed in the newspaper. ‘It’s just that . . . well, I’ve grown used to sleeping there, by the stove. It’s my favourite spot.’

  ‘And very nice it is too,’ said Kurt. ‘I thank you for being so generous as to allow me to enjoy it for the night.’

  Ralph stood where he was for a moment, aware that all the other Dobermans were watching him intently. He knew that if he tried to challenge Kurt’s decision, the whole pack would be on him in seconds. He turned away.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said. He found a vacant spot on the tiled floor, next to Anna. But no sooner had he settled himself down, than she directed a challenging look at him.