LUCY KNOWS BEST Wisdom in the Fowl Run

Dominion, Volume 25, Issue 69, 15 December 1931, Page 5 (Supplement)

LUCY KNOWS BEST Wisdom in the Fowl Run

By

Joseph L. Gillon

Drawings by A. S. Paterson

Lucy, the Hen, is one of the most amusing creations of Mr. A. S, Paterson, ‘‘The Dominion" cartoonist. Her exploits have entertained many thousands of readers at intervals during the past year, and the latest example of her zvit and cunning is particularly interesting at this season.

“Cluck! Cluck! Cluck! Look at her! Just look at her, the skinny wretch!” “My dear, she’s a disgrace to any •elf-respecting poultry run!” "Degrading to her sex, I call it.” Gossip was running high in the fowlyard. Subdued cackling was going on la various corners. Beaks clucked at breakneck speeds down at the nests, and heads were tossed in disdain —and all because Lucy, a well-known hen, and a former favourite amorg her companions, had got so terribly thin. During the winter, Lucy had been as plump and well-nourished a hen as one eould wish to see gracing any fowl run. Daintily she minced along, proudly did she cackle. And when

looking for juicy worms she could outscratch every other hen in the run. When it came to stealing a dainty morsel, she had not a rival. Coy, demure, but according to some of her enemies, a tritie fast (there was that story, fortunately unfounded, about her and Ronald, the rooster), she ruled supreme in the roosts. Then, all of a sudden, somewhere about the end of November. slip began to lose weight. "Dieting,” clucked the gossips. “Remorse for some of her past life. ' I snapped Ethel, a rather starved look- I Ing specimen, who for some time past had looked with longing eyes upon Ronald. “Probably old age,” remarked Vivienne, who had heard it rumoured t that Lucy had been living in the run i for more than three years. “Something must be wrong,” was the <

opinion of Ruby, an overfed Orpington, whose one thought in life was food. “She is absolutely off her food. Can you imagine it, girls?” At that moment, the subject of the discussions put in a personal appearance. Foor Lucy, she certainly looked miserable. Gone was her proud strut and-the eager glint in her eyes. She looked ready to collapse at a moment's notice. All the other hens were most solicitous concerning her welfare. No, she didn’t want any wheat, and she had no appetite for a fat worm. Heavens above, had the woman gone off her head. Here were those twolegged humans throwing the choicest of sweetmeats into the run. Why,'only the day before, Ruby had gulped down a cupful of whitebait. True, she swallowed them too quickly, but had she not done so. Myrtle would have got down on them and —well, everyone knew of Myrtle’s extreme greed. The humans really had been wonderfully generous. So much so that Ruby had gone to the extent of calling off the strike down at the nests. There was a bit of the Communist in her makeup. and if things didn’t go quite as she. wanted, she was apt to cause trouble. Somehow or other. Ruby had got wind of the fact that her owner was lending in the egg-laying competition, and she. having had occasion to complain about the food given to the run. had called a mass meeting, and by her eloquence, had caused the hens to decide on a go-slow policy in regard to laying. Now al! that was a thing of the past. Feeling a little sorry for Lucy, Ruby asked her if there was anything wrong? Lucy's reply was a smirk and a “No. my dear, but just you wait and see.” This answer went the rounds of the fowl run, and all the hens thought that if that was how Lucy was going to behave, then the best thing to do would be to leave her entirely alone —which they did Meanwhile. Christmas approached. Lucy got thinner daily, and her companions. thanks to an excess of good food, got fatter. Ruby got positively disgusting to look at. Came Christmas time. There was consternation in the run. Ruby

was seen being enticed out of the place by her owner. Since the enticement took the form of some extremely palatable morsels, Ruby did not give much trouble. A few minutes later loud shrieks and cackles were heard, and Ruby was seen no more. Next day, Myrtle had disappeared, and soon after Yvonne. Viola. Consuela. Vivienne and Ida.

Finally the only hen left in the run was Lucy. She looked so starved that no one bothered about her Anyway, her pedigree was rather doubtful, and she was never admired much by humans. But was Lucy lonely? Not a bit of it She knew she would very soon have company again. She knew a thing or two. Had site not escaped from the run shortly before Christmas a couple of seasons ago, and during her hectic but rather short-lived freedom passed a poulterer’s window, where she saw row upon row of her former companions—fat companions hanging with little price tickets attached to their lifeless forms? Oh, yes, Lucy was no fool. She quickly saw the results of over-eat-ing before Christmas, and, being very fond of life, had decided to hang on ro it.

And so, by dint of dieting and selfdenial, Lucy, for three Christmases, had turned herself into an emaciated specimen, not even worthy of being classed as a “boiler.” For three seasons she

had survived when others had perished. After ail, there was plenty of time to fatten up again during the autumn and winter mouths. And life really was very sweet —and so was Ronald.