We got lazy with the hens
and didn’t lock them in their pens.
For a time, there was no harm.
Then, the girls raised the alarm.
One buff chick was in the cage,
pacing back and forth in rage.
She gave an angry shout
when we finally came out.
We heard rustles, angry cries.
Puffy feathers, beady eyes.
Then, we saw the little punk…
a big, striped, stinky skunk!
***Originally published at A Pinch of Homestead
