Here was my effort:
Henrietta de Lacey-Bonnington looked around narrowly. These newcomers needed to understand the pecking order around here. They were asleep just now, feathers puffed up and eyelids relaxed. If she had anything to do with it that wouldn't last long. Henrietta cast her eye along the perch, remembering all the names: Carla Orpington, Delilah Tracey, she couldn't recall the next two, they weren't much of anything. Finally she got to Celia and clucked angrily to herself. There was no denying she was a spring chicken. Her white fluffy feathers moved gently in the air from the ventilation. Her feet were clean and smart, her comb erect and bright pink. Henrietta's mind whirred. There was no way she could allow the great and handsome Sir Gordon Bantham-Jones to meet this young upstart. There would have to be some feathers ruffled. Some good solid hen-pecking should knock her down a peg or two. Henrietta sniffed, she must remain top of the coop.
photo from raising-happy-chickens.com |
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