I stole a hen. Not a nice hen. Oh no! Not a cute hen, not a posh hen. A pure useless brown hen. Scrawny. Ugly. Scraggly.
And now he’s staring at me—balefully. I didn’t know hens could stare balefully. I didn’t know what balefully meant until the hen started staring at me.
Balefully. I’d read the word somewhere. It’s a Good Word. I looked it up on the Google. He has been staring at me balefully for the last fifteen minutes.
I know, he’s not a he, he’s a she. Hens are s...