A Whistling Girl and a Crowing Hen

By Elton Camp
We keep thet big flock o chickens fer eggs and meat, Milas, my grandfather,
explained to his niece Elvira visiting from the city. We git tired of so much pork an we
dont have t feed them much. They partly make their own livin from eatin bugs an
whut they kin scratch out o th ground.
That one looks like its eating little rocks, remarked the adolescent visitor with a
puzzled look.
Hit ez. They need thet t holp grind up stuff they eat. Some o hits pretty hard
an theys got a gizzard t cut hit t little pieces.
Damp chicken manure made for unpleasant walking, especially for bare feet.
Dont brang thet mess n th house, Howard, Miranda ordered her young son, my future
father. Clean yore feet. I wont have them drappins on my floors. The youngster
sought grass beyond the limits of the bare soil of the yard and rubbed away the offensive
material as best he could.
Kin I feed th chickns now, Paw? Albert asked.
The mildly retarded teenager rushed to the corncrib and collected several cobs
with dried grains attached. He liked the feel and smell of the corn as he rubbed it from the
cob with the palm of his hand. Soon, he had a fistful of the seeds. They felt hard and
clean.
Here, chicky, chicky, he coaxed. Albert used a pitch higher than his normal
voice.
The chickens crowded in front of him in anticipation of a nutritious meal. Watch
whut happens when I throw th corn on th ground, he told his younger brother who
stood beside him. I like t throw hit all amongst em n watch em fight over hit.
Theys greedy thangs n cant seem t git enough.
Them two ez fightin, remarked Alberts little brother.
Naw, they jest both wanted th same grain. Thet big ole hen ez th boss over th
pullet. She pecks hit away ever time. Hear coms th rooster. What whut happens when
he shows up. There aint never but one rooster cause theyd fight til one wuz dead.
Besides, Paw wont allow but one since he dont lay no eggs.
Shaking his large, red comb, and sporting sharp spurs on his legs, the rooster
strutted around in the yard, scratched and pecked at the ground as did the hens, but

accomplished the task with great dignity, as if he merely condescended to eat. At his
approach, the hens moved aside so he could claim his rightful share of the corn, but they
continued to peck hungrily at what they could reach until it was gone.
Elvira walked over as the feeding was almost completed. To Alberts intense
discomfort, the rooster suddenly raced toward a white hen. She squawked and ran away,
but he easily overtook her, jumped on her back, seized her smaller comb, lowered his
body onto hers, and shook for a few seconds as he fulfilled his conjugal duty.
Albert, what in the world are they doing? Elvira innocently asked. I never saw
chickens do that before.
Her cousin vaguely knew it was something like the bull mounting the cow, but
didnt want to explain that to his cousin or any girl for that matter. Such delicate matters
were never discussed.
I dont know. Maybe he jest wanted a ride, he replied as his face turned
crimson and he quickly walked away.
The now-fertilized hen indignantly shook her ruffled feathers into place, flapped
her wings a couple of times and returned to feeding. The rooster crowed loudly in
seeming celebration of his conquest.
Rarely, a hen would attempt to crow. As Dr. Samuel Johnson, centuries earlier,
remarked about a dog walking on its hind legs, It was not done well, but one was
surprised to see it done at all.
You shore shouldnt have did thet, remonstrated Milas wife as she threw a rock
at the offender. Therell be no mor aigs from you.
A crowing hen alarmed country people as few things could. It seemed contrary to
the natural scheme of things and couldnt be tolerated.
When he learned about the crowing hen, Milas frowned, shook his head, and
vowed, I aint puttin up wif nothin like thet round heer.
Git th axe n go out thar an kill thet brown an white hen, he instructed one of
his sons.
You might as well hesh thet squawking, the teenager said to the hen as she
struggled to escape his grasp. Yore gonna make some mighty fine chicken n
dumplings.
Scientists later discovered that a hen has a bit of rudimentary testis. Under certain
conditions the tissue begins to grow. The resulting hormone outflow begins to persuade

her that she is a he. In those days nobody wouldve cared, even if such an
explanation had existed. They knew just what to do if a hen dared crow.
Ah whistlin girl n ah crowin hen always com t some bad end, repeated
anyone who thought of the well-known rhyme when either occasion arose. It was literally
true in the case of the hen. The girl, with nothing to fear, grinned in disbelief at the old
country saying, but usually stopped whistling just the same. It was better to be safe than
sorry.
Country people of that day had little tolerance for anything that failed to meet
their expectations, particularly as to appropriate gender behavior. That included even a
hapless hen with an identify crisis.

I hope nobody heard me crow!