At Our Village Poultry Show

Our local Temperance Hall has frequently resounded to joyful hymns, it knows “well the persuasive voice of the auctioneer and the tap of his hammer, but never has it known such a a contest of voices as arose yesterday when we held our first Poultry Show. There was no need of the notice outside, the rival cocks could be heard well down the road. Though I, know nothing of fowls, except their cooking. I could not resist looking in, and was at once caught by a friendly Woman Secretary, who conducted  me on a tour of admiration around the pens. Every cock present considered himself the champion, strutted and preened himself crowing deafeningly. We halted before a speckled Ancona, brilliant in black, white and bottle-green. 

 "Isn't hé a beautiful bird?" said the Secretary, admiringly, then dropped her voice and she whispered: "He cost three guineas only three months ago." 

"Oh” said I, impressed, remembering that he would only fetch 5s dead. The Ancona turned and regarded me with a red eye of scorn, pivoting on his heels and displaying his burnished feathers. He knew that it was a ridiculously low price for a champion like himself, and said so emphatically. 

He was answered by the neighbouring Rhode Island Red, and the challenge being taken-up by other voices, I was saved the necessity of a more intelligent reply. Leaving the self- conscious cocks, we turned down the adjoining aisle. Here, among the hens, the atmosphere was one of bored tolerance. Fat Wyandottes, for all the world like comfortable matrons stepped ponderously up and down their pens, searching for the few bits corn and emitting soft clucks of impatient comment.  

It was the slack time, before the evening rush and, as the hall grew quiet, except for their accustomed farmyard noises, the fat hens, one by one, settled down among their feathers with a purposeful eye, One, rising to her feat, proudly displayed an egg, which the Secretary collected, 

"This isn't the first," she replied, in answer to my question, and together we went to lay it in a basket already half-full of varying coloured eggs. We had reached the main door by this time, and with polite thanks I began to back out, rejoicing that I had so successfully hidden my colossal ignorance of birds. But the Secretary had a parting shot for me.

 “Which do you think is the best bird in the show?" she asked winningly, Desperately I ran my mind over the exhibits - the three-guinea Ancona, the Rhode Island Red, whose cage was spotted with prize Cards, the Leghorn who was billed as “best male." If I chose, I must give a reason, and this was beyond me. My eye came to rest on 2 White Wyandotte hens and, wilfully misunderstanding, I replied: 

"I think the hens are the funniest. While the cocks are just loving - every minute of it, they are simply bored and getting on with the day's work," 

The Secretary noded : “But isn't that just like a woman?" said she, somewhat cryptically, and she and I and the White Wyandotte exchanged tolerant smiles as the Speckled Ancona rose again on his toes and crowed his challenge,