The Chicken That Gobbled with Jealousy: A Thanksgiving Tale

The Chicken That Gobbled with Jealousy: A Thanksgiving Tale

Once upon a farm, nestled near a cozy farmhouse, there lived a rather opinionated chicken named Charlie. Charlie was a handsome bird, with feathers so glossy they shimmered in the sunlight. Despite his good looks and clucky charm, Charlie had one glaring flaw: he couldn’t stand Thanksgiving. Why, you ask? Because every single year, it was all about the turkey.

“You’re so plump, Tom,” the humans would say to the turkey, their eyes practically twinkling as they ogled the bird. “What a majestic wattle!” they’d exclaim. And Tom, oh-so-proud of his seasonal spotlight, would puff out his chest and strut around the barnyard as if he owned the place.

Charlie would glare from his perch on the fence.
“Big deal,” he muttered one crisp November morning. “All he does is sit there, gobble some corn, and bam—centerpiece of the feast. Nobody writes songs about chickens, do they? No one says, ‘Pass the chicken gravy!’ Nooo, it’s all turkey, turkey, turkey.”

The other animals tried to cheer him up. The pigs suggested he embrace his role as the barnyard comedian. The cows reminded him that chickens get year-round love through chicken nuggets and wings (though that wasn’t entirely comforting). But nothing could shake Charlie’s bitterness.

As Thanksgiving Day approached, Charlie couldn’t resist a little mischief. While Tom the Turkey preened in front of a flock of admiring hens, Charlie decided to “help” with some farmyard redecorating. He scattered leaves all over Tom’s roost and painted his favorite perch with mud.
“Let’s see how majestic you look now,” Charlie cackled.

But his antics backfired. Instead of sulking, Tom laughed it off. “Oh, Charlie, you rascal! I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

Charlie squawked. “Bigger things? What could be bigger than my masterpiece sabotage?”

Tom sighed, his feathers drooping. “Charlie, don’t you get it? Thanksgiving may sound like my big day, but it’s also my last day.”

Charlie blinked. “Wait… What?”

“Yeah,” Tom said quietly. “I’m the star of the show, but, uh… not in the way you’d think. Let’s just say the humans’ affection has a, um, deadline.”

Suddenly, everything clicked. While Charlie had been stewing in envy, Tom had been waddling toward an inevitable fate. The turkey’s gobbling bravado wasn’t pride—it was bravery.

Feeling a pang of guilt (and relief that chickens weren’t on the Thanksgiving menu), Charlie decided to make amends. On the big day, he led the barnyard in a heartfelt farewell parade for Tom, complete with clucking, mooing, and a goat attempting to play the harmonica.

Tom was touched. “Thanks, Charlie. You’re a good egg.”

And as the humans carried Tom off to the kitchen, Charlie perched back on his fence, a little wiser and a lot less jealous. Sure, he wasn’t the star of Thanksgiving, but he was thankful for his place in the pecking order.

That night, he whispered to himself: “Better to be a chicken in the barnyard than the turkey on the table.”

And from that day on, Charlie strutted with gratitude, not envy. Though he did still dream about having his own holiday. National Chicken Day, perhaps?

The end. Or… should we say, “The eggcellent end.” 🐔🦃