That Could Not Be It
Henpecker was the most handsome cock in the barnyard.
He had known this since he was a baby because his mother told him.
She had built him up, stroked his ego, admired his beauty.
I am the best, the most, the quintessential rooster, he thought.
The hens made fun of him behind his back; he was pompous.
He was arrogant, and the farmer did not have any eggs now.
The farmer could not imagine what had happened.
Since the old rooster died, the hens stopped laying.
He went in and gave himself a look in the mirror.
“You’ve still got it,” he said to himself. His wife rolled her eyes.
“Maybe that cock is too stuck up for the hens,” She suggested.
“That couldn’t be it,” the farmer said, winking at his reflection.
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