Being a hen wasn’t easy for Mrs. Polly Pickensfield, especially when she had the heart of a pianist. Farmer Pickensfield bought the Polly as a chick for his daughter Abby. Abby loved the chicken and when it came time to practice the piano, she often sat Polly by her side, and pounded the keys. Polly loved the piano, the strong, sweeping emotion Abby poured into the keys. When Abby’s mother discovered the hen sitting by her daughter, she became angry and Polly went outside. It didn’t matter to Polly, if her eggs needed to be sat on or her chicks were getting into trouble, she would sit at the open window and listen to Abby’s music.
Her farm mates thought the matter to be ridiculous and poked fun of her except for her true friend, Hannah the horse.
At the three o’clock, Abby started playing. Hannah joined Polly at the window.
“She is amazing,” Hannah started, “I heard from the farmer that she has been offered a full music scholarship at the university. They say she is talented.”
“Aye. I wish only I could play the piano at all. The music is so beautiful. I wish that could touch people the way Abby does. I suppose I will have to settle for listening. I don’t know what I’ll do when she leaves,” Polly said.
“Have you tried?”
“No, her mother is always in the house. How am I to get in there and try?”
“I don’t know, maybe you and I could build something like a piano for you to try on.”
This idea made Polly smile, “why that is a wonderful idea. Let’s try something.”
The following day, Hannah brought some wood pieces to the main barn. She asked Polly what else they needed to build a piano. Polly remembered keys and some wire. After a few days of scavenging, they found what they thought they needed. Their pile of stuff consisted some battered down wood, some pieces of wire and some plastic Hannah broke into smaller bits for the keys. The other animals laughed and laughed as they tried constructing a make shift piano. Polly and Hannah toiled away night after night.
Weeks went by and the horse and hen felt satisfied with their creation. The box which held the wires was slightly askew and the “keys” were mosaic against the wood frame.
“Okay Polly, let’s give this thing a whirl,” Hannah told her friend.
Polly heard the music in her heart and in her head. She looked down at the keyboard and imagined a real piano in front of her. The barn faded into a glamourous concert hall filled with plush red velvet carpets and rope and crystal chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling. She began. In her mind she played Beethoven as Abby did, pounding the keys with her beak. The music if that what it could be called, woke the animals in the barn with bone jarring cacophonies.
Matilda, the dairy cow, came over to the piano playing chicken, “please stop that racket. That is not music. You can’t play music. You are chicken. Your job is to make eggs and baby chicks and one day when you don’t make any eggs then you will be someone’s dinner.”
“Matilda, no one asked you. You have no idea what someone is capable of when they put their mind to it,” Hannah scolded.
Nonetheless, Polly stopped playing her piano and with a heavy heart went to the coop and slept. The following day, on a sultry spring day, Polly waited by the window. Abby appeared and waved to the hen then walked to the window and scooped the bird up.
“My number one fan. Mom isn’t home so you can sit beside me and listen if you want.” Abby placed Polly on the bench beside her. “What will you do my Polly, when I go away to school this fall? You know I will miss playing for you.” She patted the hen’s head and began. Polly closed her eyes and dreamed of the music. After years of listening to Abby she had every note memorized. After playing, Abby carried the chicken outside, “I’ll see you later, Polly.”
The horrid news flooded through the barn, Abby died in a car accident. Many of the animals adored Abby since she always treated them well and brought treats whenever she came to the barn. No one took it harder than Polly. They shared a special bond. At the three o’clock, Polly sat by the window and even though she knew Abby was gone she just had to sit there.
Staring at the piano, she remembered the first time she heard Abby play. The music filled her soul with purpose. Who would bring the music now? Polly wondered. She hoped Abby would still be able to play the piano wherever she was now.
The day of the funeral was sunny and hot, inappropriate for the day. Polly watched as her parents walked to the truck and pulled down the lane. She found herself by the open window and wished for Abby to be home again. Time slipped by and the sun started to descend when Polly had an urge to go inside the house and touch the beautiful ivory keys of the piano. She looked around and saw no one coming up the dusty lane then hopped inside the home.
She sat at the bench and looked at the black white keys before her. Her dream of a concert hall appeared in her head and Abby was there. Polly touched a key with her beak and then another. Soon Polly transported herself beside Abby in the concert hall and they played together, immersing themselves in the music. The animals heard the melody coming from the open window and went to investigate and saw Polly dancing on the keys.
They were amazed at the sight and said nothing nor did they jeer because they believed Polly could play the piano. Abby’s parents arrived home with friends and family for the wake and also heard the music. The farmer rushed in with his wife behind him and watched the chicken play the piano. The others filed in, with agape mouths. No one stopped the piano playing poultry.
Polly finished her song with Abby. The concert hall dissipated in the midst of applause. But the applause was still heard. She opened her eyes and saw all of Abby’s friends and family applauding her.
Abby’s mother picked up the hen and hugged her. From that day on, Polly played the piano every day at three o’clock and occasionally at the fair until she rejoined Abby at the piano.
A special thanks to Vintage Gent at VintageGent’s Menswear Daily for help with this story!!
