We Free Range Chickens pride ourselves on our open society.  Our Bill of Fowl Rights guarantees us the Freedom to Squawk, if we don't like the way the Big Cock is running things.  Anyway, we elect him, and we can unelect him, too!  So, you can imagine our dismay, when ...
    Actually, it was last May when we had the last Big Cock Up.  We call the election the Big Cock Up because it elevates one rooster to be head of the flock.  In any case, we elected Forkbeak to be Big Cock by a feather.  Almost immediately, we started noticing peculiarities in Forkbeak's leadership style.  Somehow, his close associates seemed to be getting the turkey's share of the corn.  And then came the hawks.  Forkbeak said the hawks were to protect us from foxes and weasels and other predators.  That made a lot of us chickens feel safer.  But a hen named Gladys had a question:
    "Who's supposed to protect us from the hawks?"
    Gladys was carried off by a large, hook-beaked bird shortly afterwards.  We started looking suspiciously at Forkbeak's hawk friends, but Forkbeak had a quick reply.
    "Boy, this proves that we need our hawk friends to protect us," said Forkbeak. "If we'd had enough hawks, that fox could never have snuck in and nabbed poor Gladys."
    "But it was a bird," objected Sadie. "We saw wings and talons and a large, hooked beak.  It looked like a ha..."
    "Ah, clever creatures, those foxes," Forkbeak cut in. "Their reputation for deception is well deserved."
    We were beginning to understand where Forkbeak got his unusual name.  Sadie disappeared by morning.
    Finally, a bunch of us decided to approach Forkbeak together and demand an explanation.  When we approached his residence, the Big Coop, we were stopped by a cordon of hawks.
    "How can I help you ladies?" oozed the head hawk with a hungry grin.
    "We demand to speak to the Big Cock!" we squawked as one.
    "No one talks to da Big Cock wit'out we give 'em permission," said a thuggish-looking hawk at the head hawk's right wing.
    "Nonsense!" I clucked. "As citizens of the Free Range Chicken Republic, we have the Freedom to Squawk."
    "Of course you do," leered the head hawk. "The Free Squawking Zone is right over there.  We'll be happy to escort you."
    "Loyal chickens don't need no free squawkin'," said the hawk thug.
    "Zone?" squawked Maude. "What, that pen over there?"
    "It has a fence around it!" protested Gertrude.
    "For your protection," smiled the head hawk. "You can squawk all you want in there."
    "But the Big Cock won't be able to hear a thing we say!" I objected.
    "Good," said the head hawk. "You understand."
    They were herding us toward the pen.
    "We don't want to go in there!" screamed Maude.
    "Loyal chickens agree wit' da Big Cock," said the hawk thug. "Only traitors want free squawkin'.  Traitors need ta be watched!"
    "Yes," smiled the head hawk. "Segregated and watched.  So, what's it going to be?  Free squawking or free walking?"
    "Free squawking is a basic chicken right!" clucked Gertrude.
    "Actually, we all know that 'Free Squawking' is a euphemism for subversion," said the head hawk, slamming the gate on the Free Squawking Zone.
  
    Time in this place is not marked by the rising and setting of the sun.  It's marked by the circling of the hawks.  The circling and the diving and the shrill squawk of another late dissenter.  It's about 10 past Maude now, and perhaps a quarter till me.  And how long till you?