Mystery Deepens: Who Are the Chookhouse Four?

By Roderick (Whiskers ) McNibble, Chief Investigative Correspondent, Author of " Do Rats Dream? " , currently no 7 on the NY Ratty Times Best Seller List. 

Dusty Gulch residents are once again peering nervously through their curtains following the sudden arrival of four highly organised chickens who have taken up residence in what locals are already calling "The Chookhouse."

The newcomers have become known simply as The Chookhouse Four.

Their arrival comes only weeks after the tragic disappearance of the infamous Dusty Nine, the flock of ducks whose unfortunate encounter with the Werewolves of Dusty Gulch has become the subject of songs, rumours and at least three highly inaccurate documentaries narrated by Lord Squawk Squawk.

What has everyone scratching their heads, however, is not the chickens themselves.

It is their bodyguard.

Standing outside the chookhouse from dawn until well after dark is an enormous black rooster with a scar across his beak, steel-grey feathers and a stare capable of curdling fresh milk at twenty paces.

He rarely speaks.

He doesn't blink.

He appears to have been in several fights - and won every one of them.

Children have nicknamed him "Colonel Cluck."

No one has yet been brave enough to ask whether that is actually his name.

Speculation has spread through Dusty Gulch faster than Mrs McFookit's blackberry jam when it failed to set.

One theory suggests the Chookhouse Four are secret agents sent by the ever-scheming Prentis Penjani to establish a new avian foothold after the catastrophic failure of the Dusty Nine.

Another insists they have quietly allied themselves with the Feline Five, who remain committed to ensuring no werewolf ever again terrorises the district.

Supporters of this theory point out that sensible chickens have every reason to employ a terrifying rooster after recent events.

"Werewolves don't exactly ask permission," observed Trevor the Wallaby while reinforcing his titanium knees.

Others remain unconvinced.

Mayor Dusty McFookit has refused to speculate publicly.

"We're watching the situation," he said while polishing his famous sink spanner, modelled loosely on that made famous by Dracula the Vampire Emu. 

"If they're decent neighbours, welcome aboard.

"If they're working for Penjani...

"...well...

"...the CWA still has plenty of marmalade and the lamington guns are on stand by. ."

Meanwhile, the mysterious rooster continues his silent patrol.

He has been seen glaring suspiciously at passing foxes.

He has glared at the crows.

He has glared at the postman.

Yesterday he spent nearly fifteen minutes glaring at his own reflection in a puddle before apparently deciding it was suitably intimidating.

The Feline Five have declined to comment.

Prentis Penjani has denied absolutely everything while simultaneously claiming complete credit for alerting us to his presence.

Digital Dingo reports that satellite imagery shows absolutely nothing suspicious whatsoever - which, according to him, is itself "deeply suspicious."

For now, the Chookhouse Four remain an enigma.

Whether they are allies...

Agents...

Double agents...

Or simply four sensible hens who decided that hiring the toughest rooster in Australia was good insurance...

...only time will tell.

Ratty News will continue to monitor the situation.

Preferably from a safe distance.

Later that night, after thirty-six cups of coffee, two lamingtons, a gingernut and far too much thinking about suspicious poultry, I finally collapsed across my desk and drifted into a most extraordinary dream...

Update (As Experienced in a Dream)

Is Colonel Cluck Protecting an American Intelligence Asset?

Just when residents thought the Chookhouse Four couldn't become any more mysterious, my dream insisted that one of the hens was not Australian at all.

Mysterious voices (which sounded suspiciously like Trevor hiding behind a wheelbarrow) whispered that one resident answered only to the name...

"Chook."

According to my sleeping subconscious, Chook had migrated from the frozen wilderness of Alaska after spending years in Wyoming before unexpectedly appearing in Dusty Gulch carrying an alarming knowledge of vegemite, lamington construction, American constitutional history and military logistics.

Naturally, dream logic took over.

Some dream characters insisted he was merely an American friend enjoying a holiday in warmer weather.

Others believed he was an undercover observer quietly reporting Dusty Gulch developments back to Washington.

Mayor Dusty McFookit dismissed the claims.

"If the Americans wanted to spy on us," he declared, "they'd send someone less conspicuous than a six-foot rooster and four hens."

Digital Dingo disagreed.

"Exactly what they'd want you to think."

Prentis Penjani denied any involvement while simultaneously accusing the CIA, the FBI, the CWA and three magpies of running a joint operation.

The Feline Five issued a brief statement.

"If Chook is one of ours, nobody remembered to tell us."

Meanwhile, Colonel Cluck remained unnervingly silent.

When I asked whether he possessed security clearance, he simply stared at me for forty-three uncomfortable dream-seconds.

No further questions were asked.

By now, Colonel Cluck stood rigidly outside the chookhouse.

One of the hens casually read a newspaper upside down.

Inside, barely visible through the lace curtains, sat Chook with a steaming mug of coffee, wearing a battered Trump 2028 cap while calmly typing:

TOP SECRET

Weekly Dusty Gulch Situation Report

Threat Level: Moderate

Marmalade Supply: Concerningly High

Trevor's Camouflage: Still Not Working

Mrs McFookit's Scones: Worth Protecting at All Costs

I briefly pointed out that Colonel Cluck appeared to be standing guard outside while simultaneously typing the report inside.

Nobody seemed remotely concerned.

"Similtaneous Shapeshifter," one of the hens explained.

"Ah," I replied, making a note in my notebook.

On reflection, that satisfactorily resolved the matter.

I therefore continued the investigation without asking any further silly questions.

Editor's Note: Several readers have questioned how Colonel Cluck could simultaneously guard the chookhouse and write reports inside it. Ratty News can confirm that this is one of the least remarkable events recorded in Dusty Gulch this month.

At that precise moment, a gigantic sheriff rooster descended from the clouds and fixed me with one enormous eye.

He leaned forward and rumbled:

"Roderick... the truth is not hidden in the henhouse. It is hidden in the feathers you have not yet ruffled." 

 

I awoke with a start.

My notebook lay open on the desk.

Across the top of the page, in handwriting I did not remember writing, were the words:

THE CHOOKHOUSE FOUR: FRIENDS, FOES... OR FOWL PLAY?

I have absolutely no recollection of writing it.

Then again...

I also have no explanation for the feather I found in my coffee.

This is Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble signing out after what has unquestionably been a most peculiar week in Dusty Gulch.

Local emu chicks and young wombats are now yelling "Dang!" wherever they go, while every rooster in town appears to have abandoned "Cock-a-Doodle-Doo" in favour of an enthusiastic "Howdy Doody Dang!"

This is Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble signing out until next time. Stay twitchy out there.