Tunde lived on Thames Street with his parents who were teachers. They owned a primary school at the end of the street. Tunde had learnt so much from his parents. His father taught him how to ride a bicycle. While his mother made sure he could wash dishes and dirty clothes.
Tunde had a brown hen and his father made him a cage. Every morning, Tunde fed the hen with corn and water. There was always sugar in the water and the hen loved it. Feeding the hen was good. The boy made sure it was well fed before he leaves for school. The young master was truly generous. But if feeding alone could make one larger than life, the hen could have been the largest land animal.
However, there was a problem. The hen could not lay eggs. But Tunde’s father thought the eggs were stolen. He could be right. The world is a small place. A thief could invade the cage once everyone had gone to school.
The hen’s fondness of his master seemed to have earned her freedom, because every morning the boy leaves the cage open once he was set for school. So the hen had the luxury of roaming Thames Street while his master was away. Only to return to the cage once the sun had begun to retire from the scheme of things. This was a habit that only death could stop.
Other hens that roam the street have rewarded their owners with eggs. The street gives you everything including the good, bad and ugly. Feeding on the street could sometimes be like a party. The hens are at liberty to dig into the earth for the finest meal they can ever imagine.
Every hen knows that the party was never complete without the cockerels. They walk side by side until the hens could lay eggs. Such had always been like an extra feather to the cap.
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