5.30 AM
First Squawk. Olive is getting very good at it.
5.45 AM
Semaphore practice. Olive spells R-O-O-S-T-E-R.
7.30 AM
Olive is cooking breakfast. I hop up onto the counter to watch, and she says, ‘Took me a while to find your egg yesterday, Clara. I wish you’d lay them in the same place every day.’
She collected my egg? Olive is the rat thief?
I stare at the pan of water with the beautiful yellow and white thing bubbling away in the middle.
Could this be mine?
I look around frantically for Olive’s phone, but it’s nowhere to be seen.
I raise my wings and spell out M-I-N-E? Then I point my toe at the pan of water.
Olive frowns. She copies my wing movements with her arms. ‘That’s an M, right? Is that an N? And an E?’
Her face clears. ‘Mine! That’s what you’re asking? You mean the egg? Yes, of course it’s yours. You lay the best eggs I’ve ever tasted, Clara. Look at the colour. Isn’t it beautiful?’
I stand on tiptoes. I flap my wings. ‘Hello, egg,’ I squawk. ‘Hello, beautiful egg. Hello, MY beautiful egg.’
7.35 AM
Constable Dad eats my egg. On toast. I watch every bite.
‘Olive,’ says Constable Dad, with his fork halfway to his mouth, ‘why is Clara looking at me like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Olive. ‘She’s a chook of mystery, and she has her own reasons.’
I fluff out my feathers. I murmur the words to myself so I won’t forget them. ‘I am a chook of mystery and I have my own reasons.’
Then I go back to watching Constable Dad.
8.30 AM
Olive goes to school, and I am left alone. At first, I am happy. The sun is shining, I lay beautiful eggs, and the rooster network is almost complete.
But then the worry starts to creep in. This afternoon we’re going to the farm. This afternoon, I must face Rufus and Grandmother Polly.
Just the thought of them is enough to make me lose a couple of feathers. I’m sure Rufus is much bigger and fiercer than any of the other roosters we’ve visited. And Grandmother Polly is even worse.
Perhaps we don’t need to go to my old home at all. Perhaps we could leave it out.
11.00 AM
Even the earwigs in the compost heap are not enough to occupy me today. I find a sunny spot for Dust Bath, and try to comfort myself with thoughts of my beautiful egg.
It doesn’t work.
3.30 PM
Olive comes home. I’m trying to be brave, so I don’t tell her about my fears. The official police bicycle leaves the station, heading for the McAllister’s farm and then Digby’s.
4.30 PM
Digby’s rooster is called Matey, and he gets the second-best badge, which is for a Barbie astronaut.
We’re about to slip away when Digby arrives home. ‘Hi Olive,’ he says. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Taking Clara sightseeing,’ says Olive.
Digby laughs. ‘You are so weird sometimes. In a good way. Can I come?’
‘I suppose so,’ says Olive. ‘We’re going to your nan’s farm next.’
5.00 PM
As we head for my old home, I tell myself not to be nervous. After all, I am not alone. When I face my tormentors, I will have my trusty driver at my back.
But when we glide into the yard, the Boss is there, with Rufus and the other chooks pecking around her feet.
‘Olive!’ she says. ‘And Digby and Clara! My three favourite people. Come in, come in, I’ve just made pikelets, and I’ve got some of last year’s strawberry jam to go with them.’
Olive looks at me uncertainly. I want to go inside with her and Digby, and eat pikelets. I want to stay as far away from Rufus and Grandmother Polly as I can.
But I’m here on a mission, and I must not fail. So I let Olive and Digby go into the house without me.
Olive runs back out to whisper, ‘Will you be all right by yourself?’
I raise my wings and signal, Y-E-S.
‘Good luck,’ says Olive, giving me the last badge. And she disappears again.
I turn back to the yard – and realise that every single chook is staring at me.
The muttering starts. ‘It’s Clara.’
‘Ugly Clara.’
‘Ugly Clara who tells lies.’ That’s Rufus.
‘Ugly Clara who lays ugly eggs.’ Grandmother Polly.
‘What will we do with her?’
‘Peck her.’
‘Peck her.’
‘Peck her.’
‘PECK HER!’
I almost turn tail and run, as I have done so many times before.
But I know now that my eggs are not ugly. They are beautiful. I am not beautiful, but I have a kind heart. What’s more, I am a Chook of Mystery. I am a detective. And I am on a very important case.
So instead of running away, I march towards them. My legs tremble and my comb wobbles nervously, but I keep going. I let the police badge fall across my chest. I squawk, just as I did at the school, ‘Who’s in charge here?’
That stops them in their tracks.
‘What do you mean?’ demands Rufus. His neck feathers are still standing up; I’m not out of danger yet. ‘I’m in charge, and you know it.’
‘So am I,’ squawks Grandmother Polly.
I pretend to ignore them. ‘I am working with the police to catch a dangerous gang of chook thieves.’
That sends everyone into a fluster. The hens squawk. Rufus bounces from foot to foot, crying, ‘Where are they? Let me at them! Where are they?’
When the noise dies down a little, I say, ‘That’s the problem, we don’t know where they are. So we are looking for a brave rooster to act as our local sheriff. He would have to wear this.’
I let the Barbie sheriff badge fall to the ground. It glints in the sun, and Rufus is transfixed. So are the hens. But this could still go either way.
‘Of course if I cannot find such a rooster here,’ I say, ‘I will have to try somewhere else.’ And with that, I pick up the sheriff badge, turn my back on Rufus and march towards the gate.
Everyone comes tearing after me. ‘Wait wait wait!’ cries Rufus, lowering his neck feathers to a more friendly position. ‘No need to go elsewhere. I’ll help. What do I have to do?’
‘He’ll help,’ squawks Grandmother Polly.
‘Don’t go away, Clara. He’ll help.’
I explain about the night watch, and Rufus agrees to everything. Any time he hesitates, Grandmother Polly agrees on his behalf.
I hold up the badge so he can slip his head through the ribbon. The sheriff badge falls into place on his red feathers.
It looks very fine.
Rufus thinks so too. He preens. He struts. He crows loudly and proudly.
I stroll to the back door of the house, accompanied by my aunts, sisters and cousins, who are all squawking at once.
‘What’s it like working with the police?’
‘Where can we get a badge like yours?’
‘When are you coming to visit us again?’
I slip into the house without answering a single question.