It wasn’t a stressful life, being a chicken at the Johnson’s farm. Mrs. Johnson only kept them for their eggs and never took one for the family table. In fact, her “girls,” as she called them, all had names. There was Penny and Jenny, and many others.
But everything changed, one ominous night when a large bull snake squeezed through the chicken wire and slithered into the coop. The brute came to eat eggs, not chickens, but the hens still put up a noisy fuss. Mr. Johnson came quickly with his hoe and killed the sneaky serpent, but most of the gals kept cackling until daylight, panic-stricken.
Over the next few days, Mrs. Johnson noticed that her chickens weren’t laying nearly as many eggs as before. She knew something was terribly wrong, as the girls were wary–even of her. The hens even refused to eat live June bugs the grandchildren pulled off the window screens and saved for them. And these were a favorite treat.
The following Sunday at church, Mrs. Johnson told her lady friends about what happened, asking for their advice. “You need a rooster,” suggested Mrs. Turner. “A big male chicken will guard the coop and help make your hens feel safe.” Another friend, Mrs. Olsen, quickly piped in, “But the chickens are already so frightened they’ve almost stopped laying eggs. She needs a special super-duper rooster–a ‘laughing’ one.”
“A laughing rooster? Is that really a thing?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “Yes, it is,” said Mrs. Olson, “and they are proven to not only protect the flock but cheer them up as well.”
Early the next morning, with their chickens still despondent, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson drove clear across the county to a meet a man who bred and sold laughing roosters. They had Googled it the night before and discovered that it’s true: there actually is a breed of chicken, from Indonesia, whose rooster’s crow sounds like a person laughing.
“Fifty dollars, for one rooster!?” exclaimed a shocked Mrs. Johnson. “Yes, maam, that’s the going rate,” answered the unwavering breeder. The Johnson’s had never spent more than five dollars for a chicken, but they were desperate to bring their gals back from the brink.
Once back at the farm, Mrs. Johnson put the colorful big bird into the chicken yard. But for two days and nights, nothing changed. The hens were still restless, and the high-priced rooster seemed to have no effect.
However, on the third morning at dawn, the entire family was roused, not by a “cock-a-doodle-doo,” but with a “cock-a-doodle-ha, ha, ha, ha, haaa!” Mrs. Johnson put on her robe and rubber boots and went out to open the coop.
The huge rooster proudly strutted out the door, with a harem of hens right behind him. And when Mrs. Johnson sprinkled out some chicken feed, the girls began to merrily bok bok, and scratch and peck at the hard dirt, just like they had before. And, within a few days, egg laying was back to normal as well.
“We should name the new rooster ‘Happy’,” suggested one of the grandchildren, “because he cheered up the rest of the chickens.” “Sounds good to me,” said Grandma Johnson, “And tonight you can collect June bugs to give to the girls in the morning.”
The family soon realized that owning a laughing rooster is not for the faint of heart. His morning crows are loud enough to wake up the cows in the pasture nearby, not to mention the entire Johnson household! Everyone takes it in stride, though. Most mornings, when Happy lets loose, Mrs. Johnson sits straight up in bed, and says an appropriate Bible verse:
A merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones.
Proverbs 17:22 (NKJV)
Thank you for reading. 🙏❤️ prayers and love.
Note: this fictional short story is dedicated to the real Colorado chickens who live with Sister Super-C, at God Still Speaks.
©️2025, by David Duncan. All Rights Reserved.
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