Morning sunlight poured over the small countryside yard where Lala, the cheeky little monkey, was already up to her usual antics. Her golden fur glistened in the light, and her big curious eyes darted around, full of energy and mischief. The day seemed peaceful at first — birds chirped, the wind brushed through the banana trees, and the chickens pecked quietly near the coop. But peace and quiet rarely lasted long where Lala was concerned.
She had been eyeing those chickens for days, fascinated by their feathery flapping, their pecking dance, and their constant chatter. Today, she decided it was time to join their game — whether the chickens liked it or not!
Lala hopped down from her wooden perch and tiptoed toward the coop, her tiny tail swaying like a pendulum behind her. She crouched low, pretending to be a hunter. The chickens, busy scratching the dirt for breakfast, didn’t notice her approach. Lala grinned wide, showing her tiny teeth. “Hehe, gotcha!” she squeaked, leaping forward.
The scene exploded into chaos. Chickens squawked and flapped in all directions, their wings beating wildly. Feathers filled the air like white confetti. Lala, delighted by the mayhem, clapped her hands and began chasing them one by one. “Cluck cluck! Run, run!” she giggled, running in circles as the chickens scattered.
The old rooster, named Captain, was not amused. He puffed up his chest and stomped toward her, his red comb standing tall like a crown. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” he cried furiously, as if shouting, ‘This is MY yard!’
But Lala didn’t back down. She stood tall, putting her hands on her hips like a tiny warrior. “Ooh ooh! Come on then!” she challenged, jumping side to side like a boxer. Captain lunged, flapping his wings furiously. Lala shrieked in surprise and bolted behind a tree, peeking out with wide eyes. The chickens, now feeling brave, gathered behind Captain, forming a tiny feathery army.
It was an all-out showdown — Monkey vs. Chickens.
Lala, of course, couldn’t resist turning it into a game. She grabbed a nearby stick and waved it like a sword. The chickens charged forward, flapping and squawking. She squealed and ran around the yard, laughing so hard her belly ached. She jumped onto a barrel, then onto the fence, narrowly avoiding the rooster’s pecks. But in her excitement, she slipped — and plop! — landed right into a muddy puddle.
“Oh noooo!” she cried, sitting in the muck, her fur now splattered brown. The chickens surrounded her, clucking triumphantly as if celebrating their victory. Lala blinked, wiped the mud off her face, and tried to look serious — but the chickens’ proud struts made her burst into laughter again.
From inside the house, Grandma Cheby heard the commotion. She came out holding a broom, calling out, “Lala! What are you doing this time?”
Lala froze mid-laugh. She knew that tone — the one that meant trouble was coming. She stood up quickly, trying to look innocent. “Ooh ooh! Just playing,” she said, pointing at the chickens as if they were the ones to blame.
But Grandma Cheby wasn’t fooled. She looked around — feathers everywhere, a muddy monkey, terrified chickens — and sighed deeply. “You little rascal,” she said, shaking her head. “You scared them half to death!”
Lala hung her head, pouting, and shuffled her muddy feet. The rooster, proud as ever, strutted behind Grandma like he had won the battle. Grandma chuckled softly at the sight. She couldn’t stay mad for long. “Alright, come here,” she said kindly, fetching a small bucket of water.
She washed the mud off Lala while the little monkey sulked quietly. But as soon as she was clean, Lala’s mischievous grin returned. “No more chicken chasing, okay?” Grandma warned, wagging her finger.
Lala nodded — though her sparkling eyes hinted she was already planning her next move.
After lunch, when Grandma went to hang the laundry, Lala wandered back toward the chicken coop. The hens were resting under the shade, cooing softly. She wanted to make peace — or so she told herself. She picked a few corn kernels from a basket and tiptoed closer, holding them out gently. “Here, friends,” she whispered.
The chickens eyed her suspiciously but couldn’t resist the corn. Slowly, they came closer, pecking softly from her hand. Lala smiled, staying perfectly still. This time, she didn’t chase them — she just watched, fascinated. She stroked one hen gently, feeling its soft feathers. “Nice chicken,” she murmured.
For a while, everything went smoothly. Peace had been restored. But then, one curious hen decided to peck at Lala’s tail. Lala squeaked, jumped, and reflexively tossed the corn into the air. Chickens scrambled again, clucking and fighting over the flying kernels. Lala panicked, trying to collect the corn — and accidentally tipped over the water bowl.
Water spilled everywhere, soaking the ground and turning the area into slippery mud. The chickens began slipping and sliding, wings flapping wildly. Lala tried to help, but ended up sliding too, spinning like a little muddy tornado. She crashed gently into the side of the coop, her tail sticking up and covered in straw.
“Lala!” Grandma’s voice rang out again. “What now?!”
When Grandma came running, she couldn’t help but laugh this time. The sight was too ridiculous — muddy Lala surrounded by equally muddy, bewildered chickens. “You really are something else,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
Lala blinked up at her, embarrassed but also proud. “Ooh ooh… fun?” she asked hopefully.
Grandma shook her head, smiling. “You and your fun,” she said fondly. “Come on, let’s get everyone cleaned up again.”
So the rest of the afternoon turned into bath time — for both Lala and the chickens. Grandma filled a tub with warm water and gently washed each hen while Lala splashed nearby, humming happily. The chickens eventually calmed down, and even the proud Captain seemed to forgive her, standing beside the tub like a watchful guard.
As the sun began to set, the yard glowed golden again. The air smelled of soap and wet feathers. Lala sat on the porch steps, wrapped in a towel, watching the chickens settle for the night. They clucked softly, and one brave hen came over, pecking gently at her knee — a small sign of truce.
Lala smiled, scratching the hen’s head softly. “Good chicken,” she said. “No more trouble.”
But deep inside, her playful spirit still sparkled. Tomorrow, who knew what new adventure she’d stir up — maybe the ducks, or the goat, or even Grandma’s laundry line! Wherever Lala went, laughter and a little chaos always followed.
For now, though, she rested quietly, watching the stars begin to twinkle. Grandma Cheby brought her a small banana, placing it in her tiny hands. “You did make a mess,” Grandma said, smiling, “but at least you tried to be kind afterward.”
Lala nodded, munching her banana happily. The chickens cooed softly nearby, all forgiven.
And as the moon rose over the peaceful farm, one could almost hear a faint giggle — the sound of a mischievous little monkey dreaming of tomorrow’s adventures, where fun and trouble would surely meet again.
— The End —
