There is a fat and big old hen in my hometown. She has a red comb like a hill on her head, a pair of bright eyes, and gray-black nuts can reflect people's shadows. Its whole body is like a fire, with many feathers and a sharp yellow mouth. Its broom-like tail and fat wings make it more interesting and particularly pleasing to sweep the floor.
In winter, old hens like to hatch chicks in their nests. It often puts its fat wings on the eggs in the house and dances its small tail. Sometimes I close my eyes and shake from time to time, as if I were frozen, frozen. At this time, it seemed to say to me, "Little master, I am so cold."
I put the eggs under it and covered the old hen with a blanket. He woke up angrily and gave me a good peck. No, I'm more angry. I put a blanket on the hen and broke an egg with my hand. It seems to regret saying, "My little master, I was wrong. Please forgive me. I never dare again. "
I had to put down the eggs and blankets and look at it affectionately. Old hens like chicken feed best. As soon as they came to the feed, they ate it with relish, and sometimes they looked up at me as if to say, "It's delicious, it's delicious." Full, he lay motionless in the haystack to rest. Although the old hen in my hometown is naughty, I still like it.