The coop was buzzing. In three days, our leader, Miss Chocolate, was going to be four years old, the oldest any hen who lived in the coop has been. We decided to prepare a surprise party for her. Henrietta, the White Rock, gave us jobs to do. We were going to cook the food ahead of time. The whole coop was working to make Chocolate's party the best it could be.

We cooked stews, pies, and a special Corncob Casserole. The older hens (Henrietta, Rock It Hen, Plymouth, and me) were in charge of the birthday cake. It was white trimmed with edible lace. I carefully traced "Happy Fourth Birthday Miss Chocolate" in thick pink letters. When we were finished, we set the cake in a white box, taped it shut, put it in the refrigerator, and went to the roosts.

When we got up in the morning, little Genevieve came running towards us.

"I'm sorry to upset you, Gertrude, but...the cake is gone," she squeaked.

Henrietta looked like someone had hit her. "Gone?" she repeated.

"Well...not exactly gone. Come and see," Genevieve said.

We followed her to the refrigerator. There it was, lying there, smashed to ruins. I wondered who did it: I pulled out my trusty spyglass and took a closer look. There was my clue: a black and white feather in the ruins. The only birds that had black on white were the young Ameraucanas. I asked them, most answered indignantly, "Do I look the type to do such a thing?" Then they would ruffle their feathers and walk off.

Someone was not answering truthfully. After we baked and frosted another cake, I set up a camera. I put a thin wooden plank in front of the fridge.

If the criminal stepped on the plank, the camera would take a picture. I would find out who it was.

When I woke up, I went to check the plank. It had a little dirt on it. The cake was sitting in the refrigerator, untouched. I took down the camera and looked at the picture. There was Vanilla, one of the Ameraucanas.

I found Vanilla and said, "You have been smashing Miss Chocolate's birthday cake."

"How do you know?" she asked in her low voice.

I showed her the camera with her picture in it.

"That's what that flash was," she mumbled.

"That's right," I said. "Promise you won't do it again."

I walked off to join the other chickens at the party. Miss Chocolate looked happier than she had in years.

"It was very kind of you to do this for me. I really appreciate it," she said in her clucky voice.

Then she pulled me aside. "I heard about Vanilla. Thank you for your help and time."

"No problem. Just call me, and I'll be happy to help."

Note: All these chickens really exist and live in my flock. Miss Chocolate is the oldest hen in our flock, and Vanilla really does cause trouble!