Once upon a time, nestled in a cozy little barnyard, lived a diligent Little Red Hen and her companions: a lazy Cow, a sleepy Horse, and a nonchalant Cat. As spring painted the world with blossoms and farmers busied themselves sowing seeds, the Little Red Hen stumbled upon some precious wheat seeds. Eagerly, she rushed home, her heart brimming with anticipation, to share her discovery with her friends.
“Who will help me plant these wheat seeds?” chirped the Little Red Hen, her eyes bright with hope.
“Moooo, not I,” responded the Cow, with a dismissive flick of her tail, continuing her leisurely chewing.
“Neigh, not I,” yawned the Horse, barely opening an eye, too comfortable in his slumber to be bothered.
“Meow, not I,” purred the Cat, stretching languidly in a sunbeam, completely uninterested in any form of labor.
Undeterred by their lack of enthusiasm, the Little Red Hen declared, “Then I shall plant them myself!” And with unwavering determination, she diligently planted each tiny seed into the fertile earth.
Summer arrived in a blaze of glory, the sun showering warmth upon the land. Fields and gardens flourished, bursting with vibrant life. The wheat, nurtured by the Little Red Hen’s initial efforts, grew tall and golden, swaying gracefully in the gentle breeze. Seeing the ripened wheat, the Little Red Hen approached her friends once more.
“Who will help me cut this wheat?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of weariness but still hopeful.
“Moooo, not I,” the Cow repeated, seemingly glued to her patch of grass.
“Neigh, not I,” the Horse whinnied softly, turning his back as if the question was an unwelcome intrusion.
“Meow, not I,” the Cat echoed, now meticulously grooming his fur, finding even less time for work than before.
With a sigh, but no less resolve, the Little Red Hen stated, “Very well, I will cut it myself!” And so, under the warm summer sun, she tirelessly harvested the wheat stalks.
Autumn’s arrival brought cooler days and a breathtaking transformation of the leaves into a tapestry of reds, oranges, golds, and browns. The harvest season was in full swing, and the Little Red Hen, having gathered her wheat, sought help again.
“Who will help me take the wheat to the mill?” she inquired, her voice a little more subdued, but still persistent.
“Moooo, not I,” came the predictable reply from the Cow.
“Neigh, not I,” the Horse mumbled, seemingly lost in his own world.
“Meow, not I,” said the cat, now observing a butterfly with intense focus, anything to avoid work.
“Then I will take it to the mill myself,” the Little Red Hen affirmed, her spirit unbroken. She single-handedly transported the heavy wheat to the miller, who ground it into fine flour. Carrying the heavy bags of flour, she returned home, her small body weary but accomplished.
Winter descended, blanketing the land in snow and bringing short, cold days. The aroma of freshly milled flour filled the Little Red Hen’s cozy home, and she approached her friends for the final step.
“Who will help me bake the bread?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of anticipation for the reward of her labor.
“Moooo, not I,” the Cow droned, shivering slightly in the winter chill, but not enough to offer help.
“Neigh, not I,” the Horse grumbled, stamping a hoof impatiently, wanting only to stay warm and undisturbed.
“Meow, not I,” declared the cat, now curled up snugly by the fireplace, utterly content in his inaction.
“As expected, I will bake the bread myself!” declared the Little Red Hen, a touch of irony in her tone. She diligently mixed the flour, kneaded the dough, and placed it in the warm oven. Soon, a heavenly scent of baking bread wafted through the barnyard, an irresistible aroma that even reached the Cow, the Horse, and the Cat. Drawn by the tantalizing smell of fresh bread, they came running.
As the Little Red Hen pulled out a perfectly golden-brown loaf from the oven, she posed one final question, “Who will help me eat this bread?”
“Moooo, I will!” bellowed the Cow, her earlier laziness forgotten in the face of delicious food.
“Neigh, I will!” neighed the Horse, suddenly energized and eager to partake.
“Meow, I will!” purred the Cat, rubbing against the Little Red Hen, his eyes wide with desire for a taste.
But the Little Red Hen stood firm, holding the warm loaf close. “Oh no, no, no,” she said, shaking her head gently. “I planted the seeds, I cut the wheat, I took it to the mill, I brought home the flour, and I baked the bread – all by myself. Therefore, I shall eat it – all by myself!” And with that, she enjoyed the fruits of her labor, savoring every delicious bite of the bread she had earned.
