Rebellion at McFreeland’s Farm

by Becky Ross Michael

“Time for sleep, little one,” said Mama Llama. “Your father and I have friends visiting our oak grove this evening. The talk is for adults only.”

“Can’t I stay up a while longer, Mama?” begged Little Llama.

“You heard your mother,” Papa Llama warned with a loving growl.

Little Llama obeyed, lying in the grass with her legs curled underneath. She closed her long-lashed eyelids. But she did not sleep. Instead, Little Llama listened as her parents greeted the animals from McFreeland’s Farm. She heard chickens, rabbits, and goats entering the grove of trees. Mama and Papa also welcomed critters from the forest beyond the farm. The sounds of beavers, deer, raccoons, and birds soon mixed with the others.

Little Llama peeked at the scene. She saw Lone Coyote, who seemed to keep an eye on the white house across the field. Ribald the Feral Hog had taken up residence there. And this gathering of animals did not want to attract his attention.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Mama Llama began. “And to our brave friend, Coyote, for the security detail.”

All the animals made friendly noises. But they seemed eager to move along with the topic in question.

“I want you to know I’m not angry with anyone about being voted out as your leader,” said Mama Llama. “I’m still willing to help in any way I can.”

“But you were a fair and well-loved leader, my dear,” said Papa Llama. “We find it hard to believe that Ribald could have won the election.”

“That’s right,” huffed a buck, swinging his large antlers. “Even if all the muskrats, feral hogs, and nutria rats voted for him, the totals of the bark ballots cast for you and Ribald should have been much closer.”

“I agree,” chittered a raccoon, thinking about the chunks of bark used for voting. “And I believe I know what happened. My pals and I were looking for food one night, as we often do. We saw a group of muskrats sneaking around the ballot baskets. They were obviously up to no good! The next day, Ribald declared himself the winner and kicked you out of the white house.”

Animals snuffled, hummed, and twittered. They were upset about the recent vote. The critters also thought about kind Farmer McFreeland. He had lived in the big white farmhouse for a long time. Sadly, he had died a while back. Afterward, his grown son came to check on the farm and hired a caretaker. But the person he hired never came around. He did not take care of the property. He did not feed the farm animals. Those who remained were now on their own, living off the land. And that was not an easy task.

Farm animals had joined many wild critters in the forest beyond to elect a leader. They would be stronger working together. Mama Llama accepted the position. She and her family lived in the white house for many sunsets. They always made room for visitors in the main house and outbuildings. Mama Llama and the others faced enormous challenges together. Climate change was causing hotter summers, less rain, more forest fires, and scarce food. Mama Llama had ensured everyone was safe and reasonably happy with her strong leadership skills.

“But we have no way to prove the muskrats did anything wrong,” sighed Mama Llama. “Ribald would never admit if he had commanded them to tamper with the ballots. And maybe he really did get more votes. In his speeches, Ribald promised animals who voted for him tons of food, safe shelter, fire protection, and big, beautiful water. None of that has happened, of course. Ribald only takes care of himself.”

“Naturally,” sniffed a rabbit, wiggling its whiskers. “Not only is Ribald a rude grump, but he lies. The only thing he’s done is capture starving animals who try to enter our farm and forest from other areas.”

“Exa-a-a-ctly,” bleated a goat. “Ribald is using the old farm pens to keep them locked up. Sa-a-ays he doesn’t want to share our resources with them.”

“This is all terrible,” chirped a bird from an overhead branch. “Ribald and the muskrats, wild hogs, and nutria rats don’t seem to realize they’re hurting all the animals!”

“I don’t think they care,” said a doe, sadly blinking her big brown eyes. “And Ribald is a BULLY. I don’t imagine his helpers all agree with him. But they fear he’ll hurt them if they don’t go along with his ideas.”

“What can we do?” asked a beaver, thumping the ground impatiently with its tail. “Our work on the dam and our lodges was going so well. But now, Ribald has closed everything down to a standstill.”

“We probably can’t come up with all the answers right now,” suggested Mama Llama. She twitched her right ear thoughtfully. “Let’s think about our options and meet again tomorrow night. Then, we’ll put our ideas together into an action plan.”

“I agree,” said Papa Llama. “We’ll see you right here tomorrow evening after sunset. Until then, be safe, our friends.”

The animals ambled away, deep in thought. Little Llama heard Lone Coyote wail at the moon.

 If only Little Llama had kept her eyes open during the meeting. She might have seen what Coyote missed. A small muskrat skulked around the edge of the grove. When the animals left, the muskrat scurried back to the white house.

Meanwhile, Ribald the Feral Hog feasted on a plate of earthworms, berries, and nuts. The other wild hogs, orange-toothed nutria, and sneaky muskrats looked on. They wished their leader would offer them something to eat. But they were too afraid to ask. Ribald’s long tusks moved up and down as he ate and slobbered. He snorted when the muskrat spy returned to inform him of the animals’ discussion.

“Those traitors are trying to throw me out of the white house,” squealed Ribald, scaring even his loyal aides. “This is what I need you to do…” And he screamed his dastardly plan into the shocked faces of his horrible helpers.  

***

The next morning, Little Llama awoke to Mama nuzzling her side. “Time to wake up, my sleepyhead,” she hummed. “Papa has gone looking for breakfast. Let’s find a morning drink of water.” After watering, they returned to the shade of the grove. Still no Papa.

Mama Llama felt a niggle of worry. She believed staying put with Little Llama was the best choice. But when the sun climbed high, and Papa had not returned, Mama knew something was wrong. She called out in alarm for any critter friends nearby. The first to arrive on the scene was a chickadee. After hearing about the Llama Family’s troubles, the bird flew away quickly in search of Papa.

Chickadee flapped and glided in loops around McFreeland’s Farm. Nothing seemed amiss. Should I broaden my search? wondered the bird. Just then, a commotion sounded from a pen between the old barn and the chicken house. In a short burst of speed, the chickadee flew in that direction. The bird landed and perched on a cracked roof tile. Could it be? Yes, it was Papa Llama!

The agitated captives milled around in their close quarters. Papa spotted the chickadee and groaned in alarm. “Mwa! Please help! Ribald’s horrible helpers have captured and imprisoned us. I must get back to my family!”

The gate of the pen was fastened tightly. Animals bumped against the rails, but nothing worked to free them. I’m not strong enough to lift that latch, thought the bird. But I can get help. Hoping Papa Llama could hear amid the ruckus, the bird called to him. “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee! I-will-get-you-free!”

At that moment, a muskrat skittered around the corner of the barn and overheard the bird’s promise. “That’s what you think,” it sneered, running off to alert Ribald’s minions.

Flap, flap, glide! Chickadee flew back quickly to Mama Llama. Just as the bird landed and shared the frightening news, an army of nutria rats surrounded the grove.

“You’re going nowhere!” said one, baring its evil orange teeth.

“But Papa will be worried about m-e-e-e,” bleated Mama. “Just let me go and tell him I’m a-a-all right,” she pleaded.

“Forget it,” said another. It nipped savagely at Mama’s leg when she tried to move away.

Luckily, with the ugly nutria focused on Mama, they didn’t see who was resting nearby under an oak. The chickadee landed on Little Llama’s head and chirruped a message to be quiet and follow. The pair silently slipped into the forest as the sun dipped below the trees. Mama was relieved to spot them from the corner of her eye. She moved again as if to escape, keeping the nutria rats busy as they nipped and scratched at her long legs.

When Mama believed Little Llama was safe with the bird, she lay in the beaten-down grass, pretending to give up. Mama knew help was on the way.

Meanwhile, Little Llama and the chickadee gathered all the loyal animal friends they could find. In hushed tones, they made a plan. They would sneak to the pen and free Papa Llama when night fell.

***

“A-whooo is ready?” murmured Lone Coyote, careful not to use a full howl. The sky was dark except for a slice of moon and a sprinkle of stars.

“Let’s go!” the anxious menagerie of animals all agreed. They quietly crept toward the pens of McFreeland’s Farm.

On their approach, the animals passed one feral hog, snoring with a wide-open mouth. “Not much of a guard,” whispered Little Llama with a relieved smile. They avoided the ugly beast and continued on their way.

The friends finally reached the pen where Papa Llama was being held. He saw them right away and rose from the ground with perked ears. “Shhh,” he warned the other prisoners. They must not raise an alarm for Ribald and his horrid helpers.

Lone Coyote stood guard as the rest eyed the latch. Set high on the gatepost, it presented quite a challenge. The rabbit’s leap was not quite lofty enough. A goat tried kicking the gate with no success. The chicken’s flapping and a short burst of flight did not carry her far enough. A deer’s antlers were tall, but he moved too awkwardly to lift the latch. The beaver’s wild jump was impressive, except it missed the mark. And the raccoons with their nimble toes were busy digging through Ribald’s trash for discarded bark ballots.

“Ummm,” hummed Little Llama. “I’m almost grown. And my neck is long. Maybe I can reach the latch?”

In surprise, all the animals turned and stared. “Give it a try!” said Papa Llama from the other side of the fence.

And that’s exactly what she did. Moving close, Little Llama stood on the tips of her toes. She stretched her neck even longer. Bringing her chin up toward the latch, she lifted it with her nose.

“Good work!” said Papa Llama. He was the first to exit the pen. The other captive forest animals soon followed. Little Llama moved to open another pen, holding even more animals. With so many critters celebrating their release, things got a little noisy.

With a snort, the feral hog awoke and jumped up. “Stop right there! Halt!” he screamed. His squeals soon brought the nutria guards from the grove, giving Mama Llama her freedom.

The friendly farm and forest animals had formed an army too big and strong to defeat. The rebellion was on! They charged toward the white house.

Cowardly muskrats and nutria wasted no time and headed for the river. But Ribald and his slobbering band of feral hogs barricaded themselves in the white house. The rebels stood and chanted outside the front door. “NO MORE BULLIES! NO MORE BULLIES!”

In fear, the spineless hogs and their leader nearly trampled each other, escaping out the back door. They ran away and scattered, screaming and squealing, never to be seen again.

Mama Llama joined her family with a relieved smile. “Our brave daughter saved the day,” Papa proudly told her.

“With a LOT of help from our friends,” said Little Llama.

“Let’s restore order to our place,” Mama Llama said, gazing at the mess Ribald had left behind. All the animals helped, even the raccoons, who had returned with a sack full of votes for Mama Llama that Ribald had dumped.

From that day on, compassion and happiness continued to spread. It stretched from the welcoming white farmhouse to the fields and forests beyond!