One of the first things I did after having started to work as a veterinary surgeon was to buy myself a horse, so I was introduced by a work colleague to a knowledgeable horseman called Ned who found me a French Trotting horse and I became its proud owner. I kept it at livery at his yard, and felt very at home there.
Ned used to complain that life could never have been described as a “walk in the park”. He had been through miserable times but had also eaten in the most famous restaurants in Europe; he had been round the world and he had given much and requested little. He had lived life to the full.
Nevertheless, during that crazy lifestyle, he always maintained a true love of horses. The first time he could dedicate himself to them was after living for some time out on the wharves of Marseilles, he managed to get a job working as a English teacher in a rural part of France, where riding lessons were of a very high quality. He learned a great deal and became a qualified riding teacher before leaving everything and returning home.
He opened a riding stable which were on a high mountain ridge, where he had to survive in an inhospitable atmosphere. The wind howled. It was cold and muddy and he had to water the horses one by one with a bucket. But it was possible to survive and even thrive in that environment, surrounded by a hardy group of horses and their owners.
"The non-human fauna" of the place consisted of the horses, the rodents (that constantly tried to steal the horse food), two dogs and an ugly little black hen with bowed legs and a dull crest.
The idea of using her as a culinary offering having been discarded, Ned considered that if she were a female, she should pay her own way by laying eggs. In other words, she looked like small devil and its aspect caused ironic commentaries like: "with those legs it will be easy to ride a horse" or "You are sure that you are not mixing its eggs with those of a quail?"
Ned, our riding teacher, rebelled against the humorous suggestions, but in the end he relented. It would not take long for him to regret it. After the first barbed comments, he brooded his revenge. "How many eggs did she lay today?" we would ask.
He must have been completely fed up because one afternoon he appeared with a small white egg in his hand, radiating satisfaction. "Didn’t I say that the poor hen only needed to get some food in her." he said. “Are you sure that it isn’t a dove’s egg?” enquired my friend Charles, who loved to torment Ned, exiting swiftly before Ned chased him with his whip.
The following week a truce was settled which was then threatened when the little animal laid another egg. Hostilities were on the verge of exploding again when Ned appeared, holding between his hands another egg of the same size. To his surprise there were no comments on the matter, so he probably it enjoyed eating his omelette even more.
Then yet another egg was collected from the nest. This time, strangely enough, it was big and brown, and the next day another, and then another, and another. Nobody dared to say anything in the stables. Who would dream of criticising the honourable Ned? The venerable riding teacher became paternal towards the little hen "There, you are, I was right! This little animal only needed some food ", he declared frequently. He had no doubts about his protegé’s virtues, but one day he was surprised because in the nest there were two eggs of different sizes. How could this be? He decided to condescend to asking me. "Probably the answer is that she laid an egg late yesterday and another one today". I answered without pausing.
In spite of this explanation, and the professional tone in which it was emitted, Ned decided to consult with the colleague who took care of his ill horses. My professional friend, who had eaten lunch with me that day, corroborated my words, adding that it is normal to have inequality of size in eggs laid by animals of high production. This of course convinced the man, who watched over his little hen with ever more tenderness. It was the awaited moment and he began to observe our faces. Were we laughing at her? “She is a chicken supreme!" he would shout without anyone answering his triumphant commentaries.
The hen appeared to accelerate her rate of laying. One could say that in the space of three weeks she had already laid her own weight in eggs. Every three or four days, her owner would show us two eggs with a satisfied and ironic smile, which systematically caused lowered discreet heads of the riders, especially Charles.
But one day Ned did not say anything. He was quiet until late afternoon when the blacksmith who worked at the stables arrived. A few moments afterwards, Charles, who had been hanging around outside the stables, came in. Later I saw Ned take the blacksmith aside. They were speaking a little while and it seemed quite a little tête-à-tête, after which Ned appeared to be somewhat relieved.
On the following day, the other blacksmith who shod some of the horses at the stables came to work. Although he and Charles entered into the stables together, Charles, having horses to tack up, then left him quite alone to shoe. Seeing him solitary may have been why Ned approached him openly, "Can a hen lay three eggs in a day?" Ned asked incredulously. The blacksmith slowly and deliberately straightened up, as if giving the matter serious consideration looked into Ned’s eyes and replied, "Well, I know that about twelve years ago there were comments about a hen that did just that". This full affirmation, in front of everybody relaxed our teacher. "Of course Ned, what you have is an ace" pontificated the expert blacksmith.
From then onwards Ned became more and more conceited. The hen laid one, often two and, more or less once a week, three eggs. The beloved hen moved around as she wished during the day and at night slept in a warm cage constructed especially for her. Her owner accorded her the same respect as for champion horses and athletes. The words "ace" and "chicken supreme" abounded often in his vocabulary and the omelettes became more varied.
All the riders maintained a prudential distance from the burly poultry keeper. In particular, Charles was noted for his absence. For this reason it was surprising when he returned, as, soon after entering the stables that day, he began to tease in typical style "and our dear “chicken supreme”, how many eggs has she laid today may I ask???". Ned quietly watched condescendingly over the top of his glasses "With the amount she lays, you could have cosmetic surgery paid for" he glowered. The eyelids of the teacher tightened slightly, "You should breed her. However to do so, you would at least have to bring the Cock of Saint Peter" suggested Charles.
Ned had had enough “Say what you like, little one. Meanwhile I am going to have fried eggs for tea. For sure there will be a couple of them in the nest", he said, leaving the tack room. He went out to the small hen house and returned triumphantly "Did I not tell you, she is a fantastic layer, you Doubting Thomas.”
He went euphorically to the covered space that served for a kitchen. Three children and I observed the manoeuvre from the front row. Ned lit the gas ring and greased a frying pan with plenty of oil. While it was warming up he looked for a tin of sausages to go with the eggs. He tried a sausage and appeared pleased with it. I looked at Charles who had discreetly retired behind the door. The chef took the biggest egg, looked at it in a satisfied way and, with the air of an expert, cracked it. Instead of the yolk going in the pan, he found two solid pieces, one in each hand. With incredible speed he cracked the other two eggs. They were also hard boiled. He looked outside. Three children smiled timidly.
Charles and I had disappeared.
Thomas Haig
3:31
FranCCø
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