This is a short story in my collection of Children Fiction Books. It is a true story but I have included this into my fiction book because the dialogue and details are fiction, right out of my imagination.

When Farmer Brown went to Roberta’s chicken coop to collect eggs for the morning, his favorite hen, Roberta, didn’t greet him at the door.

“Roberta, where are you?” Farmer Brown called out.

Roberta tried to cluck but she could barely manage a soft cccluck. She was so tired. Farmer Brown took a quick survey of the chicken coop and spied Roberta in the darkest corner.

“There you are! I miss my girl! What do we have here?” Farmer Brown was elated to discover the biggest chicken egg he had ever laid his eyes on. Farmer Brown’s eyes grew as wide as saucers but they didn’t grow to be as big as Roberta’s egg.

“Goodness, gracious, me! What a big egg you have laid Roberta! This deserves a celebration. You can have her all to yourself. I’m not collecting this egg for the kitchen table.”

“Let’s see … We’ll call her Little Roberta!” So Farmer Brown christened the egg, Little Roberta.

Little Roberta was more than twice the size of a conventional egg. Farmer Brown called it Little Roberta to name her after her mother. Anyway, he assumed the egg would hatch into a female chick. That would make it perfectly alright to name the egg Roberta.

Farmer Brown didn’t remove Roberta’s egg but allowed her to nestle close to it. The egg was so huge that Roberta could not sit properly on it to incubate it. Instead, Roberta sat close to her egg and leaned on it a bit to provide some body warmth for her fruit of labor.

Roberta was totally exhausted after exerting herself laying the 138 g egg. A normal egg usually weighed between 35 g to 77 g. Roberta’s egg was 138 g and about double the size of an average egg.

Little Roberta dwarfed the other eggs in the chicken coop. Her Mama, Roberta, had a tough delivery but she was determined to give her egg her best shot. It took every last ounce of Roberta’s strength to give birth to her giant egg. She feared she would not live to see her baby.

Roberta mustered every last bit of her strength to inch herself closer to her child and whispered, “Darling, Mama’s got to go. Take care of yourself. We’ll meet again some day.” With that, Roberta breathed her last and her head drooped on her chest.

When Farmer Brown went to collect fresh eggs the next morning, he was sad to see that Roberta did not greet him at the door, like she always did. Farmer Brown found her unresponsive, close to her egg.

Very gently, Farmer removed Little Roberta and brought her indoors to his incubator. He returned to the chicken coop for Roberta. Farmer Brown brought her outside and gave her a burial behind the coop. He fashioned a simple cross by tying two twigs together.

“Poor dear! I’ll get you a proper tombstone soon.” Farmer Brown tried hard not to feel too sad as he walked back to his farm house.

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