Henrietta

Henrietta the Hen considered herself a journalist of the highest order.
The others called it “gossiping.” She preferred “field reporting.”

Every morning, Henrietta hops onto her fence post, the farm’s unofficial newsroom, and scans the yard with intense hen focus.

Her biggest story broke on a Tuesday when she spotted the goats standing unusually close together. “They are forming a committee,” she whispered. “Possibly a rebellion. Possibly a poetry club. The danger is very real.” They were, in fact, just arguing about a stubborn horse called Rocco.

By midday, Henrietta had reported three scandals, two conspiracies, and a “very suspicious silence” from the sheep (who were asleep). By sunset, the farm buzzed with stories that had started as nothing and ended as Urban Legends.

Henrietta settled onto her perch, feathers fluffed with satisfaction. Another great day of journalism.