***
A couple of hours later, Betsy roared into the yard and backed toward the hen house. From beneath an orange plastic tarp covering the pickup box came loud, indignant squawking.
I went out, George trotting at my heels. "Are they in there loose?"
"Didn't seem worth the trouble to build crates." Ben untied one corner of the tarp. "Now, you hold the tarp down so they don't get out. I'll reach in and grab them one at a time and put them in the hen house."
Ben stuck his hands into the box, yelped and jumped back. Startled, I let the tarp go slack and a pure white Leghorn rooster with a great plumed curving tail and murder in his eye squeezed out and hit the ground running. He headed straight for George.
After a split second of wide-eyed shock, George streaked for the back door, the rooster within inches of his tail, and dove through the cat flap, which swung back and smacked the rooster in the beak.
I couldn't help laughing. "Finally! A sure-fire way of getting George to use the cat door."
The rooster turned and came at me. I let go the tarp and ran to the other side of the pickup. At once a flurry of white and rusty-red hens scrambled out of the box and flapped in all directions, squawking hysterically. The rooster lost interest in me and started rounding them up.
Ben alternately sucked his bleeding finger and swore. "Now they'll be all over the country. Why did you let go of the tarp? The rooster wouldn't have hurt you."
"Oh, really? Then why are you bleeding?" He had sense enough not to answer that.
"I got a dozen white Leghorns and a dozen Rhode Island Reds, plus Mister High and Mighty there." By this time Mr. Mighty had subdued most of his flock. "Looks like he's good for something besides keeping George humble." Ben headed for the small shed beside the chicken house. "I'll put food and water inside so they'll know where to roost tonight."
"I've got some scraps for them." When I came out carrying a tin of Kitty's Divine Gourmet Sea Feast, Ben looked astonished.
"You're not going to give them that, are you? It costs an arm and a leg."
"I'm going to feed it to somebody," I said in a firm voice. "If you don't want to volunteer, it'll put some meat on Mr. Mighty's bones."
"Just leave the stuff in George's dish. When he gets hungry enough, he'll eat it."
"Sure, and those hens are going to lay golden eggs."