Through the kitchen window, Mary, the farmer’s wife, spotted her son Billy trudging home from school across the field. From the look on his face, you’d think he’d just been sentenced to a lifetime without cartoons. His backpack hung low, his eyebrows hung lower, and he stomped across the field like a boy on a mission to flatten every blade of grass.
As he passed the pigsty, he gave one of the pigs a swift kick.
Mary gasped. “Oh no, he didn’t.”
A few paces later, he passed the cow pasture—and gave a cow a disgruntled boot on the leg. The cow looked mildly offended and went back to chewing.
Mary dried her hands on a dish towel, muttering, “That boy’s got another thing coming.”
When Billy finally dragged himself through the kitchen door, she stood with her hands on her hips like a sheriff about to deliver farm justice.
“Billy! I saw what you did. Kicking the pig, then the cow?”
He mumbled, “They were in my way.”
Mary crossed her arms. “Well, since you’re in such a kicking mood, let me tell you the new house rules. You kicked the pig? No bacon for breakfast tomorrow. You kicked the cow? No milk with your cereal. Understood?”
Billy’s eyes widened. “That’s not fair!”
“It’s farm law,” she said firmly. “Actions have consequences.”
Just then, Billy’s dad walked into the kitchen. As he took off his boots, he grumbled loudly, “Stupid chicken pecked my ankle again!” And with that, he gave a tiny frustrated kick toward the hen pecking around his feet.
Billy grinned.
Mary turned slowly, like a judge delivering a life sentence. “Well, well. No eggs for you tomorrow, dear.”
Billy nearly fell off his chair laughing. “Farm law, Dad. Actions have consequences!”
The farmer sighed and looked at the chicken, which seemed to strut away victoriously.
The moral of the story? On a farm—and in life—don’t go kicking others just because you’ve had a bad day. Especially if your breakfast depends on them.
