BarnYard Heroes: A Half-Baked Origin Story

Being a flightless bird annoyed me far more than my lack of a superpower. What’s the point of wings if you can’t fly? Have you ever tried holding a paintbrush with a wing? It doesn’t work. I had to paint my Dog Playing Chess masterpiece with the brush in my beak. This required focus, which got thrown out the window when Dr. Browns received an incoming video call. I didn’t care that it happened to be his first call in over a hundred years. He could have taken the call from the privacy of his office. Instead, he put the call on the big screen, disturbing our quiet time.

Dr. Browns said his goodbyes. The big screen went blank. I readied my brush.

“Wow. Did you hear that?” asked Dr. Browns, to nobody in particular.

I put my brush down. Apparently, the doctor wanted to talk about the call, and continue to interrupt our precious free time from his training and experimentation.

“Yethh thhir, we heard the entire conversation,” said the cow, as she glanced up from the game of chess she played with the dog.

Dr. Hash Browns usually cringed at the cow’s lisp and muttered about how the lisp’s inconsistency made it a difficult problem to fix. Instead, he continued to gaze at the big screen, which had returned to scrolling serene landscape photos.

“A Senior Vice President called me. Can you believe it? And he’s coming here! He’ll be here in two days.”

“That’thh great, thhir,” said the cow, though a cockeyed scrunch of her mouth implied a contradiction to her statement.

“He’s um… he’s coming, coming here?” asked the dog.

“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?” said Dr. Browns.

“I don’t know, I mean, he ah, he ah, he scares me.”

The dog gets scared watching a sponge absorb water, but in this case, he had a point. On the surface, the caller resembled Dr. Browns. He had the same purple alien skin, a head too large for his neck, and four skinny arms. But the Senior Vice President’s beady black eyes gave off an aura of sinisterism.

“You’re just being silly. He seemed quite nice to me,” said Dr. Browns.

“Oh, come off it, man. That guy is a big fat jerk.” The rabbit said it, but we were all thinking it. “He didn’t even know your name. He kept calling you Mr. Smash Frowns.”

“Dude, I don’t like him,” said the duck, never taking his eyes off the video game he and the rabbit played.

The pig menacingly mashed his front hooves together and said, “He fills me with the urge to rip his face off.”

“No, no, no. You mustn’t say such things about Mr. Steak&Eggs. He’s the Senior Vice President of Enhanced Intelligence Research and Development.” The doctor beamed as he surveyed the laboratory. “He’ll be here in two days. I can’t believe it. The corporation has finally realized the brilliance of my work. Oh, glory days!”

The cat stretched her way out of her pillow bed. “Doctor, there are many plausible explanations why a Senior Vice President of Enhanced Intelligence Research and Development would come to visit us. The conclusion that his visit be for the sole purpose of praising the brilliance of your work is presumptuous.”

We all tuned out the cat when she rambled on about logic and reasoning, but Dr. Browns took this to a new level. He appeared to not even realize she spoke at all as he scurried about the laboratory, picking up random items.

“So much to do. This place is a mess. Sanitation droids, begin a thorough cleaning of the space station from top to bottom.”

None of the 150 rat-like sanitation droids acknowledged his command, because they were already busy cleaning the space station from top to bottom. That was their job. They didn’t need a special order to do it.

“Based upon the Senior Vice President’s tone and demeanor, a more logical assumption for his pending arrival, would be for a routine inspection or an in-person project status update,” said the cat, unabated by Dr. Browns’ disregard of her previous statement.

“The guest rooms need to be prepared. Meals. We need fancy gourmet meals.”

“Doctor! Have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

Dr. Browns’ lack of response answered the cat’s question.

The fish, who swam through the air like it was a pool of water, stopped in front of the doctor. “What the cat is trying to say is, we applaud your enthusiasm over the upcoming visit, and although it is wonderful to hope for the best, it is wise to prepare for the worst.”

By this time, we had all gathered behind Dr. Browns, except the rabbit and duck, who continued playing their video game. The doctor stood by the centerpiece of his lab, the Mambomatic 5000. He stared into the machine’s giant tube. All of us animals had endured numerous conveyor belt rides through the tube. Never a pleasant experience, but we came out the other end with new abilities, like rational thought, language, and the occasional superpower.

“Thhir, have you not been listening to uthh?” The cow’s booming voice could not be ignored.

Dr. Browns turned to face us. “Yes, of course I heard you all. Why are you all so worried? My day of glory and honor has arrived. Dog, come here.”

With his tail between his legs, the dog shuffled forward.

“Calm down. You have done nothing wrong. I just want you to gaze into the future. Now sit.”

“OK. OK.” The dog sat up straight, right in front of Dr. Browns.

“Very good. Now, close your eyes and relax. Deep breath in.” Dr. Browns paused.
“Exhale slowly.” He paused again before continuing in his soothing voice. “Put yourself in your happy place. Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out. Picture your happy place. Feel the peace rush over you. You are safe and happy and calm.”

The dog looked to be asleep, and I felt drowsy myself. Then the dog shivered and quivered. His head swung from side to side. He let out three muffled barks, followed by more quivering, a whimper, and a few more muffled barks. He ended with a long wolf-like howl and opened his eyes.

“Soooo, what did your vision reveal?” asked the doctor.

The dog lowered his head and scanned the room. I sensed his reluctance to speak. “What it, what it always does. I witness you receiving…, um, you receiving the prestigious Raisin Bran Award for excellence in scientific research. You are, you are preparing to deliver your, your acceptance speech in front of a vast crowd of distinguished scientists, entrepreneurs, and socialites. A gigantic picture of you decorates the stage behind you. Everyone rises to their, to their feet as you take the stage. The applause last for several minutes.”

“Dude, what’s the Raisin Bran Award?” asked the duck, from halfway across the lab. He impressed me with his ability to follow the conversation while playing the video game.

“It’s the most coveted award a Cheddarian scientist can receive, named in honor of Professor Raisin Bran, the greatest famous inventor, scientist, and mathematician the planet Cheddar has ever seen.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” said the rabbit, maintaining his video game concentration.

“I have failed to teach you basic Cheddarian history. The point is, the dog’s vision is about to come true. Isn’t that clear?”

“Yethh, thhir,” said the cow, though her tone and eye roll suggested anything but affirmation of the doctor’s statement.

“Good, because we need to intensify your training. You all need to be ready to display your talents.” Dr. Browns looked down at me as if he’d forgotten I existed. “Chicken. I need to give you a superpower. You’ll be the new centerpiece of accomplishments. I need to get started right away. I’ve only got two days!”

The doctor grabbed a clip board, laptop, and tablet, before scurrying out of the lab.

“No need to panic,” said the cow. “We’ve got two daythh to get ready.”

“That doesn’t sound like enough time to give me a superpower,” I said.

The fish levitated into a position above us that resembled a professor ready to start their lecture. “You forget that time is relative. The length of a day is relative. For example, a day on Jupiter is only nine hours and fifty-five minutes. Imagine that. The giant planet of Jupiter spinning a complete rotation every ten hours.”

“That, that, that sounds horrifying,” said the dog. “It reminds me of the time these…, these kids put me on this circley platform thing and spun me around and around, until I threw up. I bet living on Jupiter feels like that. I’m never going there.” The memory had the dog shaking.

“Forget about Jupiter,” said the fish. “Let’s discuss Venus. One day on Venus equals 243 Earth-days, yet a year on Venus is only 225 Earth-days.”

“That, that, makes no sense.” The dog stopped shaking as he processed the information. “A day on Venus is…, is longer than a year? How do you create a calendar for that planet?”

“Fish, I don’t get the point of all of this,” I said.

“In a very roundabout way,” said the cow, “he is pointing out that a day to Dr. Hash Browns does not equal an Earth-day. One day on Dr. Browns’ home planet of Cheddar equals ninety Earth-days. Thho, two daythh, is 180 daythh or about six months.”

I got a case of the shivers. Six months gave the doctor plenty of time to repeatedly run me through the Mambomatic 5000.

###

The doctor’s only sleep over the six-months consisted of power naps, and he insisted us animals continue training through those. I had no time for art. He became obsessed with giving me a superpower. I lost count of my rides through the Mambomatic 5000. Each trip was a unique experience. Sometimes it would be a simple scan and the next a horrifying laser show that vibrated every cell in my body into new formations. But with the Senior Vice President’s visit only hours away, I remained a flightless chicken without an observable superpower. Dr. Browns insisted he enhanced me with a hyperspeed power, but I had no clue how to activate it. The doctor said I just needed to phase shift into hyperspeed, as if diving into water. I didn’t know what that meant.

We assembled in the space station’s auditorium for a dry run of the demo. Dr. Browns still planned to showcase me as his latest creation and expected me to demo the hyperspeed power. I paced backstage awaiting my turn. I visualized diving into a pool, which provided no help on how to activate hyperspeed.

The pig stretched his enormous muscles and strutted on stage to demo his super strength. He walked on his hind legs and because of this, he was the only one of us who wore clothes. We were all thankful for this. In his pair of athletic boxer shorts, he stared at the bar of weights in the middle of the stage. “There’s 35,000 pounds on that bar! That’s over twice my maximum lift.”

“I engineered you to lift five times that amount,” said Dr. Browns. “You should max out your talent, not settle for a mere tenth of your potential. You’re no better than those humans using only ten percent of their brain.”

“Dude, they disproved that,” said the duck from backstage.

“It was a myth, man. Humans use their full brain,” said the rabbit, sitting next to the duck.

The pig walked to the front of the stage. “Doc, the human record for a deadlift is 1,104.5 pounds. I’m lifting fifteen times that amount. And what’s the record for your species, Doc? With those skinny arms of yours, I’m betting you’d be lucky to deadlift over 100 pounds.”

“Your comparison to other beings is irrelevant. I created you to be more than human. More than Cheddarian. I built you to be a god.”

The pig pointed his hoof at the doctor. “Doc, a deadlift of 15,000 pounds will blow this pencil-neck executive away. Unless you want to make a fool out of yourself and me, set the bar to 15,000.”

“Fine. If limiting your abilities satisfies you, so be it. Crew, set the bar to 15,000.”

Tiny robots rolled onto the stage, removed weights, and zoomed off with them.

After performing his deadlift, the pig let the barbell drop. It bounced on the stage floor, giving me a jolt.

Dr. Browns grumbled as the pig exited the stage.

The exchange between the pig and doctor had tightened my stomach into a knot. My turn would come soon. The dog joined my pacing. He didn’t say a word. He knew his silent show of support was what I needed.

“Cat, you’re up next,” said Dr. Browns from his seat in the front row.

The cat sauntered to center stage and stretched before settling into her traditional regal sitting pose. “Dr. Browns, I assumed we would demonstrate my tornado generation ability inside the safety of the wind tunnel. Unleashing a tornado, no matter how small, inside the confines of this auditorium would result in irrevocable damage and endanger the lives of all contained within.”

“It won’t be a problem when you control it’s every move,” said the doctor, who had gotten up and walked up to the stage.

The cat settled herself with a heavy sigh. “With all due respect, your ill-conceived and misguided insistence that tornados can be controlled has grown quite tiresome. You showed pure genius in providing me the ability to manifest tornados, but your delusion that I can control said tornados shows a complete lack of understanding of the fundamentals of physics.”

Dr. Browns stomped up the steps. He loomed over the cat, who reacted by casually licking her paw. “I built my career on achievements people said could not be done. And how dare you lecture me on the fundamentals of physics? I taught you everything you know.”

The cat put her paw down and returned to her regal cat sitting pose. “It’s impossible. Tornados cannot be controlled.”

“It’s your attitude that makes it impossible. What is wrong with you all? A Senior Vice President will be here in two hours. This is our last dress rehearsal and all I’m getting is whining and complaining. That weight is too heavy. Tornados are dangerous. Come on. This is our moment. This is our chance to shine.”

“If you want to destroy this auditorium and murder the Senior Vice President, then be my guest and have me conjure a deadly tornado.”

“What insubordination. Get off my stage.”

As the cat strolled off the stage, the cow clomped on.

“You’re out of line, Dr. Brownthh. Why in these final hours are you pushing everyone to do thingthh they’ve never done before? That’thh not how a dress rehearsal workthh.”

The cow relished her role as our mother and protector. I had never been more grateful of this.

“Complain, complain, complain. Whine, whine, whine. That’s all I’m hearing,” said the doctor.

“Thhir, you can’t raise the bar thithh high in the final minutes. If you want this demo to be a success, you need to listen to uthh and dial it back to what we’ve practiced.”

“It’s time to strut your stuff. Is nobody with me?” asked the doctor.

“We’re with you, dude,” said the duck, as he flew onto the stage, with the rabbit bouncing in behind him.

“We’re ready to take it to the next level, man. How about you have us flying real spaceships instead of the simulator?”

“As the best pilot,” said the cat from backstage, “It is logical I pilot the real spaceship for the demo.”

“In your dreams, dude,” said the duck.

“Yeah, man, you’re the worst,” said the rabbit.

I attended several of the trio’s flight simulation training sessions, and the rabbit and duck never spoke truer words.

“No. None of you are flying our only escape pod,” said Dr. Browns. “You two are far too reckless, and the cat is a terrible pilot. You two will stick to your ninja warrior demo.”

“We can dial that to the max, dude,” said the duck.

“Like, we could wrestle a lion?” said the rabbit. “I’ll tear him apart with my vampire fangs.” The rabbit opened wide to show his fangs emerging.

“Dude, I could demo Atomic Quack?” said the duck.

The doctor did a face palm. “What have I told you about Atomic Quack?”

The duck dropped his head and poked his web foot at the stage floor. “Never under any circumstances unleash your Atomic Quack. It is far too dangerous.”

“Good. There will be no demoing of Atomic Quack,” said Dr. Browns.

“Dude, why did you equip me with Atomic Quack if it’s that dangerous?”

“I went through a dark spell after the divorce. We will speak of this no further. Now, where’s the fish? Time for him to demo his hypnotism.”

“I haven’t seen him for hourthh, thhir,” said the cow.

“He better not have swum out of the space station again,” said Dr. Brown.

Besides the ability to swim in the air, the fish passed through solid objects as easy as a regular fish swimming in the ocean. But when inside a wall, he couldn’t see and on more than one occasion, he swam through the outer walls of the space station into outer space, where he wiggles and flops, but never moves.

“Cow, go find him,” said Dr. Browns.

“Yethh, thhir.” The cow plodded down the stage steps and out of the auditorium.

Dr. Browns returned to his seat in the front row. “Chicken! Time to demo hyperspeed.”

Without the cow’s protection, I feared my failure to demonstrate hyperspeed would result in the full wrath of the doctor’s anger. The dog patted my back as I shuffled out from behind the curtain.