Horrid Henry's Chicken

Horrid Henry's Chicken Oh joy! Oh rapture! It was the last day of school before the Easter break. Henry had been counting down the weeks. Then the days. The hours. The minutes. No more school. No more Miss Battle-Axe. No more homework. Hello telly. Hello crisps. Hello pyjamas all day.

And hello April Fool's day soon. Henry had great plans. Salt in the sugar bowl. Moving all the clocks forward. Mixing shampoo with grass and making Peter think Fat Fluffy had thrown up. A few pop-pop snapper-crackers on the loo seat. Hanging Peter's underpants on his overhead light. Yippee! Nothing could spoil his happiness. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Not even if Mum insisted he play with Peter every single day. Not even if-

Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Horrid Henry scowled. And then he beamed. The holidays meant he wouldn't have to hear that horrible chicken cackle for two whole weeks. AAAAARRRGGHHH! Why couldn't his class have a rabbit, or a guinea pig, or a goldfish as a class pet? Instead, they had a chicken. Not just any chicken. A horrible chicken. A huge, horrible, EVIL chicken. Her name was Dolores. Ugh. Henry trembled just thinking about her mean chickeny eyes and her pointy chickeny feet and her fiery chickeny breath.

Horrid Henry was afraid of nothing (except injections). The biggest snake? Phooey. The hairiest spider? Bah. But Horrid Henry was terrified of-shhhh -chickens. This was Henry's deepest, darkest secret. Who's scared of a chicken? Who was so chicken they were scared of a chicken? Even Anxious Andrew happily fed Dolores.

But Horrid Henry was sure Dolores was out to get him. Whenever he walked past her coop she glared. Henry had nightmares about her chasing him with her jabbing stabbing peck peck pecking beak. EEEEEEK! Henry shuddered and poked Ralph. “ I dare you to burp, " whispered Henry. “ Stop burping, Ralph! ” snapped Miss Battle-Axe. " I have an important announcement, " she added, fixing them with her Medusa glare, “ Sad as I know you all are not to be in school for such a long time . . . ” As if, thought Horrid Henry. " I'm happy to tell you that one lucky person will be having Dolores for the holidays. ” “ I want her, ” screamed Moody Margaret.