by Sara J. Petersen

Created on: November 13, 2009

Tony's breathing would not settle as he hid behind the large stump. His feathers itched, but he dared not move. The farmer's footsteps grew closer with each second that passed. Suddenly, Tony heard a growl off to his left. The farmer's trusted dog Duke leaped from behind a bush.

"You knew we would catch you. Why do you keep up these charades?" Dukes voice resonated with arrogance and cruelty. He was a large hound bred, built, and trained from birth for the hunt.

"I will never be a thanksgiving dinner," Tony pledged. "My mother gave her life to protect me, and I will not let her sacrifice be in vain!" The farmer was now standing to Tony's right holding the cage that would once again carry the determined turkey home.

"Good boy Duke. You tracked the cheeky little varmint down again," the farmer said patting Duke's shoulder.

Duke grinned with smug satisfaction. "Just know this little birdie. If you run too long, you'll get tough and gamey. The farmer will not end your life swiftly for the sake of a dinner. No, he let me rip you to shreds, and you'll meet the same fate your precious mother met."

Tony squawked in rage. He jumped forward, pecking the dog in the face. Duke snarled, and pinned him to the ground with giant paws. "You ever try that again, and I won't wait for the farmer's permission."

"Gentle Duke. There's still a month to thanksgiving." The farmer scooped Tony into the metal cage and carried him back to the farm house.

* * * * * * * * * *

Back in the coop, Tony's loneliness began to set in. There were six chickens he shared the coop with. Their antics were entertaining to watch, but they were more of the brainless sort. They would wobble around cackling and gossiping. It was a lot like watching the farmer's wife after she'd snuck a few drinks from the moonshine barrel.

Gailya the President of the Giggling Gossip Club clucked for everyone's attention. "Girls, girls! You'll never guess what news Chatty the chipmunk brought. Duke the dog is now licking a wound inflicted by our own Tony this morning. The hens roared with applause and laughter. Many turned to Tony, patted him on the back and cheered his name.

"So, I did get him. That's why he lost his cool." Tony thought to himself, a small chuckle escaping his beak.

* * * * * * * * * *

Tony's eyes opened suddenly. Dim light crept through the cracks of the coop walls as the dawn slowly approached. Had he just been dreaming?

No, there was the sound again. "psssst! over here." a voice whispered in the dark. Looking

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