Chords in the Barnyard

Farmer Fred was halfway into his sock when he heard it — an oink in perfect pitch.

Not just one. A chorus. In harmony.

He dropped the sock. “Nope,” he muttered.

Outside, pigs stood in neat rows beside the barn, swaying gently. Their snouts lifted as they sang through something that sounded suspiciously like a lullaby. Chickens leapt beside them in graceful arcs, landing with little flutters and clucks that matched the rhythm.

Fred’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “That’s... not normal.”

The rooster strutted by with a daisy on his head, clucking in time with the beat. A piglet squealed a high note that made the fence tremble.

Fred turned on his heel and marched inside. He scribbled a note in crooked pencil, rolled it tight, and tucked it into a tiny leather satchel.

“Hank!” he called.

A sleepy mouse peeked from a mailbox nailed to the beam above the door.

“Delivery. Paw and Claw.”

Hank groaned, tightened his scarf, and took off at a scamper.