The Coop Coup
This work of fiction earned 2nd place in Round 2 of the 2021 NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. I had 3 days to write a 2,000-word story, with the surprise assigned topics of political satire, damage control, and an insider. Top 5 stories selected by a panel of judges moved on to Round 3. About this story, one of the judges said, “I LOVED this story. It’s like Animal Farm meets Chicken Run…This was not only political satire, it was also a cautionary tale PLUS it was truly funny.”
The Coop Coup
by Meghan Robins
Betsy was a beautiful Lavender Orphington who proudly ruled the Coop. Thanks to her, all hens had clean water, daily dust baths, private roosts (on the east and west side), and automated feeders depositing hefty portions of food into their allotted accounts. They spent their days congregating in the house discussing the Coop’s problems. Under Betsy’s rule, for the first time in Coop history, Lavender Orphingtons and Red Why-Nots agreed that they were perfectly capable of self-regulation.
Despite Betsy’s amazing laying power, hens still vied for the top, trying to disrupt the pecking order. All her good work was risked whenever a new hen came along. She was not proud of the things she did, but top hen was an ugly job. It was not for everyone. Betsy did what she had to do. And everything she did was for the Citizens of the Coop. It was Betsy’s idea, after all, to tax the hard-working mice, who freeloaded under the floorboards, to better fill their coffers. Under this system, hens were getting fat, laying more eggs, and everyone was happy.
Her trouble started when Sunny was caught colluding with a neighboring coop, exchanging eggs for better feed, and was later found pecked to death in the corner near a pile of rocks.
When Betsy snuck out of the chain-link fence, Rafa was waiting. “Hens are asking questions,” Betsy clucked.
“Relax,” said the racoon. “I made it look like an accident.”
“You made it look like chicken’s work.” Betsy flapped her wings. She hated engaging in this kind of business, but such was the cost of maintaining the pecking order. To keep hens from thinking too much about Sunny’s demise, Betsy devised a plan. The best damage control, after all, was a good distraction.
“The feeders are not as full as they ought to be,” Betsy reminded everyone the next afternoon.
And just like that, debate was sparked. Where’s it going? Who’s to blame? For days, hens squawked about who to tax for additional grains. The Why-Nots rejected any idea resembling redistribution of wealth, and the Orphingtons insisted higher rates would further deplete food stores. It was Betsy who reminded them that mice–that lazy, ungrateful workforce–had access to outside storehouses.
“For years, they’ve been smuggling grain in and out of neighboring coops, sneaking across fence lines, through cracks in walls,” Betsy clucked, and a rare moment of silence quieted the house. “They beg for crumbs, yet refuse to claim just how much grain they’ve earned. And doesn’t each hen, who already sacrifices so much for the mice living in her section of the Coop, deserve to be told the truth? Don’t we, too, deserve to have our bowls filled?”
Hens cackled in agreement.
“Then we clamp down, regulate every crumb that enters and exits the Coop. If mice want to live in harmony, if they want equality for the working class, then let’s hold every Citizen of the Coop accountable!”
An uproar of caws rang throughout the house.
***
Gareth knew he shouldn’t risk it, but all the hens were inside and even in broad daylight he could scurry to the main feeder, grab some oats, and be out before anyone was the wiser. He regretted it the moment Betsy poked her head out. She stomped on him so quickly, her cracked claw nearly crushed him into the ground.
“Always lurking when you should be working,” Betsy squawked and all the chickens gathered. “For every mouse we see, there are five more waiting in the shadows. Let one grain slip and here come the beggars. Didn’t I tell you?” She glared at Gareth with her orange eyeball. “Do you like living in the Coop?”
“Yes,” squeaked Gareth.
“And who protects you from marauding raccoons and hungry hens?”
“You,” gasped Gareth.
“Yet you’re stealing. No matter how much we give, mice just always want more. Why?”
“I’m just trying to save enough grains for tomorrow.”
“You know the rules. Every grain gets taxed into the main feeder. That way we know it’s safe.”
“But what about all this wasted grain right here?”
“Silence!” Betsy squawked. “Any mouse caught stealing will be pecked as punishment.” To prove her point, Betsy pecked Gareth so hard his ear began to bleed.
***
Below the floorboards, Gareth’s wife tended his wound. “You could’ve been killed,” Janet cried.
Gareth, a large gray mouse who burrowed in the backside of the coop, was outraged. Like many, he had hit hard times and was struggling to feed his family. But no matter how careful, diligent, and hardworking a mouse was these days, there were always glue-boards, traps, hawks, cats, raccoons, rainy days that flooded your nest, and a million other oppressive obstacles that kept him from making ends meet. He believed the hens ate more than their fair share, but who could stop them? For years, he tried to make an honest living, but lately had resorted to scavenging around the feeder, hoping for scraps of grain the hens carelessly flicked out.
“We have it hard enough,” Gareth squeaked. But his wife was already asleep, breathing deeply after another long swing shift. Gareth could not sleep. He could not stop thinking about life’s inequities. Every single thing about his existence felt unfair. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how honest he came by it, he would never get out from under these chickens’ floorboards. The realization was so infuriating he ran outside, and just when he was about to scream, he heard voices.
***
“You’re behind, Betsy,” said the raccoon.
“I’m laying as fast as I can. Rafa, please, I need more feed.”
“I thought that’s what the mice were for.”
“You left her right out in the open!” Betsy clucked.
Rafa picked his teeth. “Disposing of hens is not easy, you know. Coverups aren’t cheap.”
Betsy ruffled her feathers. “You think you can bail me out once and I owe you forever? I already paid you a dozen eggs. I know you’re making deals with every henhouse in this neighborhood. You keep more food than anyone offsite in the Community Gardens. If the Citizens of the Coop knew how much grain you stored, how little taxes you paid to the commonwealth, they’d be quite upset, don’t you think?”
Rafa laughed. “And who gives me that grain? You need me to do your dirty work so you don’t have to. You, who cluck in that house all day long, know nothing of the real world, of what I do, or even what those hard-working mice do. You collect your grain and claim that everything you stand for is ‘By the Coop, For the Coop.’ Maybe they deserve to know the truth.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You’ve been paying me to take care of problem hens since you got to this coop. Without me, you’d never have reached top of the pecking order.”
Betsy flapped her wings. No raccoon could ever understand the complexities of being top hen, no matter how she got there.
Rafa stepped into the moonlight. “At least I’m transparent. Every mouse knows I’m in business for the profits. When they trade with me, they know what they’re getting. You, on the other hand, with your charming slogans and false promises, your job is to serve the Citizens of the Coop. Yet you’re dirtier than me tenfold. And I spent most of my youth in trash cans!” Rafa laughed and slunk around the hedge. Before disappearing, he said, “From now on, make it two eggs a day. Or I start eating hens.”
***
Gareth snuck back to his burrow. “Darling, wake up. I just overheard something I was not supposed to hear.”
But Janet was fast asleep, so Gareth spent the night alone devising his plan. In the morning when all the hens hopped into the yard, Gareth stood protected under the floorboards and waved his overworked pink paws. One mouse by the door waved back.
“Fellow mice,” Gareth piped, “For too long, we have lived under these floorboards waiting for chickens to acknowledge our value. For too long, we have been in servitude to them, and for what?”
Tiny mouse voices squeaked out answers: Because they’re bigger. They control the food. They might eat us. They outsource cats.
Gareth took a deep breath. Every mouse had an opinion and each opinion was valid, but it made consensus impossible.
“Fellow Citizens of the Coop,” he squeaked. “I’ve called us together because I’ve discovered information that will change our lives forever. Janet, aren’t you tired of sending our children into the workforce without any opportunity to improve? Aren’t you tired for being punished for even having kids, who only increase that workforce?”
Janet smiled, too overworked to answer.
“The point is, being a mouse is hard. Those chickens spend all day talking about us, claiming they’re governing the Coop on our behalf. They say they’ll listen, that we should speak up and our voices will be heard. But who among us has a chicken who understands what we go through? Well, I’ve learned something. These chickens aren’t protecting us. They’re threatening us. Step out of line and you’re pecked to death. But I’ve learned a secret that will end their reign of terror. The top hen, Betsy, is paying a raccoon to kill anyone who stands in her way. She’s been buying her way to the top using grains we pay as taxes! But what if Betsy’s the problem hen? She claims she keeps us safe, but all this time it’s been the raccoon!”
Squeals rattled the floorboards. “What should we do?”
Gareth looked out across dozens of hopeful black eyes. “I say, we partner with the raccoons.”
***
It was not easy for a mouse to flag down a raccoon. But finally, Gareth’s message reached Rafa himself and they met in the safest common ground Gareth could think of: the trash cans.
“So you want to be top hen,” Rafa said.
“No, it’s just… Those of us under the floorboards no longer want to be controlled by chickens, who eat our grain and squawk whenever we ask for more. We want to cut out the middle-hen.”
“What’s in it for me?” Rafa said, trying not to show all his teeth when smiling.
“Instead of paying them, we’ll pay you direct. But we demand the same protection.”
“Sure,” Rafa said.
***
The moment Gareth stepped back into the coop, Betsy was on him. “You foolish mouse! What have you done?”
Gareth squirmed away, “You’ve made our lives miserable! And now, your reign of terror is over.”
Betsy guffawed. “I’ve sacrificed everything for you. I’ve done things you couldn’t imagine. Do you think being top hen is easy? I know secrets that would ruin even the most modest mouse. Every coop needs someone like me, a leader who can handle control.”
Gareth hid behind an egg. “You think it’s easy to be a mouse in this coop?” he squeaked. “I can’t feed my family because you demand to see every last crumb. Why don’t you let us live our lives? Stop pretending like you care about us.”
Betsy’s orange eyes were ablaze. “I’m the best top hen you’ve ever have. You have no idea the damage you’ve done. Without me, there is no order. Without me, there is no Coop!”
Gareth shrugged. “It’s too late. The deal is done.”
***
The day Betsy’s body was found in the corner by the pile of rocks, Gareth felt anything but relief. He had not foreseen the rapid disintegration of the pecking order. What a fool he’d been, just as Betsy said. The Why-Nots and Orphingtons squabbled until the last grain in the feeder was gone, then the entire coop was forced under the tyranny of raccoons.
As Gareth piled the last of his grains beside a still-warm egg, a new raccoon appeared at the fence.
“Where’s Rafa?” Gareth said, feeling the last drop of hope fall from his brow.
“Don’t worry,” the raccoon said. “He’s just over there, watching.”
***
Author’s note: The chicken pictured above is our actual top hen named Jelly, about whom this story is loosely based.