There are hundreds of battles going on in a community garden. Hundreds each day. Usually between glitchen, fighting for plots, and to harvest crops, and all that other boring stuff. Sometimes there are tree wars--that is, if the garden has trees. (A herb garden does not, for we have heard that rookswort likes to wrap its tendrils around tree trunks sometimes...Glitchen, do not plant rookswort near your trees.)
Yet most are unaware of the greatest battle of all, in every community garden: the battle between the chickens and the piggies.
A little bit of introduction first:
We have three animals in every garden: CHICKENS, PIGGIES, and BUTTERFLIES. BUTTERFLIES can fly. CHICKENS can fly one-quarter the time. PIGGIES cannot fly. BUTTERFLIES cannot land. CHICKENS are on the ground three-quarters of the time. PIGGIES are always on the ground.
Anyway, each community garden, be it herb or crop, has a pen. The butterflies care not for such things: they can just fly out. Chickens, however, even when they fly, are pulled back in, strangely enough, by the magical influence of the pen that also keeps the piggies in. Perhaps it is because they are three-quarters ground dwellers. Alas, poor chickens! If they had learned to fly more than one-half of the time, perhaps they would be out of their prison! But now the only way out is a youth potion, administered by a kind Glitchen, or by turning into a puff of smoke and going into the huge forest in the sky.
There are often many animals crammed into a pen, especially piggies. This is solely the fault of Glitchen. There is little room for more. Unfortunately, there is more. Let us just say that relations between the piggies and the chickens are strained. Tense. Whatever. Just put it that way.
Well, one day the chickens in Middle Arbor were tired of being pushed around by the piggies, being forced into the magical pen barrier.
They revolted.
The leader of the chickens was named Sir Squawkaloo. He was an angry chicken. Filled with rage, the others would say. Rage at the sky, at the trees, at the walls of the pen. Rage at the ripe red tomatoes and the earthy brown potatoes and the carrots that lay under the bed. This rage may be due to his ridiculous name. However it came to be, Sir Squawkaloo was filled with anger. Which made him very useful for getting rid of the piggies.
They got rid of the piggies.
We're not really sure how. Look, the title of this story is The Battle of Middle Arbor, but we honestly have no idea how the actual battle went. The chickens could have pecked the piggies into piles of meat, or somehow conveyed a message to Glitchen--Get rid of the piggies!--via a complicated code of squawking and foot-tapping, or simply refused to incubate piggy eggs. Or maybe they pecked the piggy eggs into piles of whatever piggy eggs are made of, and then squawked and tapped to say to the Glitchen, Ha ha ha ha ha. Whatever. They did it somehow.
Sir Squawkaloo was no longer filled with rage. Instead, he was filled with pride. And a really big ego. We're not sure whether or not that's worse. But don't use him to incubate (he can't incubate anyway, we're not sure where you came up with that idea!). He might just peck your egg into bits of egg-pieces out of sheer self-satisfaction.
The end!