Murder at
Morrison’s Potatoe and Lifestock Farm
By Garwyn Linnell
(Please note the spelling mistake is intentional)
It was a hot day over at Morrison’s Potatoe and Lifestock Farm and
intrigue was in the air. The Duck as always, was walking around the farmyard
while whistling his favorite song and smoking his long pipe, a gift from his
good friend Bill The Cow. At the pond there was a commotion, a flock of
chickens frantically waving and screaming at each other. No regular scuffle,
The Duck waddled across the hay littered mud to see at once what was going on.
A brutal scene! the hens, to one side, squawking at a pile of flesh and bones,
a mound of pink pork.
When he reached the bank of the pond he saw his dear friend
Piggie, or what was left of her, all neatly sliced into pork cutlets.
“What ho!” said The Duck
“A terrible
calamity!” said The Chicken
“Murder!
Murder!” said his friend, the other chicken
“What?”
said The Duck, who happened to be a detective.
“MURDER!”
replied the chicken “and no one knows who killed them”
“What,
wait, who was the murderer?!” asked the duck.
“You’ll
never know! Ahahaha!” said the other chicken, or what appeared to be the
chicken, who vanished in a puff of black smoke.
The Duck, in search for a lead on the case, went straight to The
Constable, a gray Labrador by the name of Smokey, who had what seemed to be the
chicken in custody, and was questioning him.
“Citizen
Chicken”, declared Smokey, “so you confess to the crime!”
“No! I
am innocent”, declared the chicken, evidently in a state of flux.
“I am
innocent!” cried the chicken a second time, while the duck observed with a
critical eye all that was present. He noticed that this chicken was the same
chicken who, moments ago, vanished with a cloud of smoke before his very eyes!
“Wait!”
said The Detective Duck, “This chicken was the murderer?”
“Yes!
This chicken cold bloodedly butchered the sow and her babies in their pen, the
dastardly villain.” spat constable Smokey with disgust, “Citizen Chicken!” he
said enumerated once more with force, “you will stand for murder and the
intended oral consumption of Citizen Piggie and her children. Your evil deeds
will not go unanswered.”
“A
terrible crime if you committed it, Chicken”, echoed the duck, “now tell me,
what was the meaning of that strange behavior, moments ago, before you were
apprehended?”
“What
behavior?” he replied, “What do you mean by strange behavior? I was roosting in
my nest, and suddenly these thugs took me and dragged me here for nooooo reason!!”
“That
is strange Citizen Chicken”, The Duck said, “if I am not mistaken, moments ago
you were at the pond, with me! Explain to me what happened!”
“It was
not I!” Said the chicken, “I am innocent!”
“What
proof do you have that this chicken was the killer, Constable?” Asked The Duck.
“Well...Uh...
I dunnuh. He was just there so I picked him up”, replied Smokey.
Seeing that he would get nowhere, the duck left The Constable’s shed, to look for some hard evidence. Before, the duck left the constable's shed; Smokey gave the duck an ominous smile “Good luck Detective Duck”
“Well,
uh, thanks Smokey...” The Duck answered in a rather confused way and left The
Constable’s shed.
“Hmm”, said The Duck, “a strange turn of events”. As he neared the pond, he noticed something strange about the footprints.
“Aha!” Said
the duck, as he took out his trusty magnifying glass”, these are not the
footprints of a chicken, but of a cow”, intoned the duck.
“Yes they are my footprints”, boomed a voice behind him, The Duck jumped forward several feet and drew his trusty semi automatic pistol, locked and loaded, ready to shoot. The Duck saw only Bill The Cow his long time friend and immediately relaxed. Upon seeing his old friend, The Duck couldn’t help but remember fondly the times serving in the Animal Militia Corps with Bill over-lake on Bob’s Cattle Ranch and smile.
“Bill!
You surprised me”, said the duck, startled. I am investigating the murder of
our friend Piggie, tell me what you know about the murder he said. It hurt The
Duck deeply to think that his comrade could possibly be the murderer but in
this business, one must separate all inner feelings from the job.
“Hmm…
there are no footprints here but those of chickens and myself, I too have been
wondering, there is something highly suspicious about the recent events.”
“Yes,
indeed.” replied the duck who couldn’t help but wonder if Bill’s forwardness
was a means of elaborate cover.
“Now,
our friend Piggie did not scream when she was reduced to her current observable
state.” reasoned The Cow, ”it must be concluded therefore that the murderer was
someone in confidence, someone she trusted!”
“Yes! Said
The Duck, “it must be concluded.”
“And
seeing that the only footprints leading to and leaving from the crime scene are
chicken, duck and cow prints, it must be concluded that among these was the
perpetrator of our crime.”
“Yes!”
said The Duck, “I must concur.”
“As we
know it was neither you nor I”, said the cow, the duck shot him another glance
of suspicion, the cow continued, “the murderer must be one of the chickens”
“I
believe so”, said the duck, believing him less and less
“Lets
go to the chicken pen to see what the other hens have to say, they’re always
clucking about.”
As Bill and The Duck walked into the Chicken Barn, a heated
dispute had broken out among the chickens, for there had been a Halloween party
the night before, and suspicion over the neutrality of the judges during the
costume contest.
“Bok
bok bok bok!” said several chickens on the right side of the barn.
“Bok
bok bok boooook!” retorted the chickens seated directly opposed to them.
“Eliza’s
costume was better!” cried a chicken on the left, “Judge Goose!” “Bought and
Sold” “Yes! Yes!” Cried all the chickens on the left.
“No!
No!” screamed the chickens on the right, “Bessie’s costume was the best by far!”
The chickens were growing hysterical and threatened mob violence if something
wasn’t done. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed.
“Chill
your beans”, said Bill The Cow, with a suave of which was only possible in
cologne ads and James Bond films.
Immediately
all the chickens settled, cowed by the presence of a cow with such command and
self-assurance.
“Well
ladies”, tut tutted the cow “, our friend Piggie has been murdered, and you are
debating the merits of your outfits?”
“Taste”,
chimed in the duck, “Is relative” always ready to share the fruits of his
intellectual labour.
“We
were all mighty jealous of Piggie’s dashing outfit at the party last night! She
looked stunnin’. All of us hens wished we could have been a looker like her at
the party.”, blurted one of the chickens.
“Bok
Bok BOK!”
“Ladies,
ladies”, said the cow again, in an unbearably sleazy tone, but continued in a
serious manner. “We want to know, did anyone leave behind this bacon making
manual behind?” said the cow, while producing a hefty volume of agricultural
manufacturing treatise on pork production.
“NO”
said each of the chickens in turn. “Don’t eat bacon, eat bugs!” said one
particular chicken.
“Yes,
well, just wondering”, said The Cow.
~~
The day grew long but the investigation was still inconclusive.
“We
must bring our findings to The Constable”, thought The Duck.
“You’re
right”, answered Bill The Cow, “perhaps he has some new information”.
As the pair walked towards The Constable’s shed, the duck pondered
all that he had learnt that day. As he lit his pipe, his consternation grew;
surely it was not Bill, for some evidence must have appeared by now, his
performance would had to have been too perfect. But where did he get that
manual? And a motive? Could the chickens have been so jealous as to kill over a
costume contest? Detective duck was unsure of his reasoning, but there was
something else - why were the remains prepared in such a way to be eaten?
The constable opened the door; behind the bars were several
chickens, evidently held for questioning. “Well my compadres, it seems our case
is closed, all these chickens have testified, albeit some discrepancies in
their stories, but we’ll hammer those chinks out in no time for sure!”
“Good
Work Constable Smokey,” said the duck wearily, the hard investigative work had
taken its toll on him, and he was ready to call it a day. “We found this” said
Bill, handing over the hefty volume of bacon making lore.
“Ah, this uh... vile piece of literature... um, where did you find it?”
“By the
crime scene!” said Bill proudly, “The criminal must have left it behind!”
“Well
uh… it must be impounded as evidence!” said Smokey, chucking the book
nonchalantly into a box labeled ‘ye old box of secrets’ which contained among
other things, a large but very convincing chicken costume and a quart of
vegetable oil.
“Rightly
so.” said the duck,
“Well,
a days work well done” Bill said, as he started to make his exit.” However, a
growing discomfort was weighing on Bill’s mind, he dismissed it, chalking it up
to the fatigue and the heat of the day, “well shall we?”
As the
pair prepared to leave the shed, a curious smell made itself apparent to Bill,
one that he had not known for some time since the days of Farmer Jim’s cruel
reign.
“Could
it be?” thought Bill, suddenly, and as he turned around a malicious smile once
again appeared on Smokey’s face. The smell of fried chicken suddenly engulfed
the room.
“Detective
Duck!” cried bill, but it was too late.
Now my dear reader you must understand that dogs are very fast,
but not very large, and as they are faster than ducks, but smaller than a cow,
a duck, however armed with .22 semi automatic pistol, has webbed feet, and as
you can imagine, it is difficult to aim and fire one of these things without
independent digits whilst standing on one foot.
And so, Detective Duck fired, and missed, and this was not enough
to stall the at once surprising and vicious onslaught by a hungry and vicious
dog, we will let you imagine the rest. We can inform you, however, that Bill
escaped (barely) and fled back to the cattle ranch where he spent the rest of
his unhappy days grazing and bitter about the plight of his old friend.
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