By your command, Annie. Listen all, to the story of the great chicken liberation. Ah-ha, as I was called by everyone but my mother, is now five. Blessed with an innocent appearance that would have put Shirley Temple to shame, I,was enthralled by the stories of Canadian history with which my patriotic mother filled my head. The persecution of the United Empire Loyalists filled me with rage. One child's traitor is another's heroine. I determined to strike a blow(almost two hundred years late) for my beleaguered people. (two relatives). Anyway after an extensive recon. I was convinced that the next door neighbour, an American known throughout the village for his dislike of children, was secretly harbouring imprisoned Loyalist children's chained and beaten in his hen house. It was my duty to rescue them no matter the cost. Through massive manipulation, wide eyed innocence, and lies, I convinced two of my First Nation buddies to help me. Stripped naked, except for moccasins, and woven basket camoflage, we set out to liberate our tortured brothers and sisters. Flat on our tummies, we slipped under the fence, and belly-walked our way through the grass to the chicken run. Covered in mud, and goop, we carefully checked for the presence of the Enemy. Nowhere to be seen. Time to attack, uttering blood curdling screams, we forced our way inside!(by opening the door). Searching everywhere, and bolstering our courage with war chants, we set about the rescue. Sadly, the children were gone, no doubt murdered before we could save them. Alas, we were too late. Our blood was up, and we did the only thing we could, we liberated the imprisoned Loyalist chickens. All thirty of them. It was glorious!!
