There were many hens, all peacefully sitting in their places laying eggs.
Three nice big roosters that looked like turkeys were pecking away at maize like there was no tomorrow. Their combs stood on end like weathercocks and every time an egg popped out, they would sing at the top of their voices, almost as if they were counting them.
There were as many hens as there were eggs plopping out, as there was squawking from the roosters!
Who knows why the farmer had kept them there for all these years, maybe he had made a vow of some sort. They had been filling the whole farmyard with discordant music for years, deafening everyone, including the neighbours.
One day the enraged farmer charged into the poultry-yard with a huge knife, grabbed the three nasty beasts by the neck and screamed: “What is it? What is it? You don’t lay eggs, and that’s ok! You eat so much as to impoverish me, and that’s ok! But the hens lay the eggs and your bottoms burn so much that you have to shout at the top of your voices like this?”
The hens, all sitting peacefully in their places, continued laying eggs. From then on a peaceful stillness came over the farm and the poultry-yard.