One Chicken a Day – A Tale of Rats, Mystery, and a Village Legend

One chicken a day—it might not sound like much, but after a whole month, more than half of Grandma Hanh’s once-thriving chicken coop had vanished.

Every morning, just as the sun peeked over the horizon, Grandma Hanh would head out to check on her chickens. And every morning, like a sad refrain, one chicken was missing—exactly one. At first, she thought it was theft. Though the countryside was peaceful, hard times had made petty criminals less rare. She stayed up late to watch, reinforced the coop with extra locks, and even asked little Ti from next door to stay up at night and keep guard.

But strangely, the chickens kept disappearing—without a trace, without a sound.

Soon, whispers began to spread around the village. Some said Grandma Hanh was cursed, others suspected a shape-shifting weasel spirit was sneaking in at night. But Grandma Hanh, never one to believe in superstition, just shook her head in frustration.

One chicken a day might not seem like much, but after a whole month, her full coop had been cut in half. So she reported it to the local commune police.

Officer Tam, the village police chief, came by to investigate, but besides shaking his head and scribbling a few lines into his notebook, he found nothing—no clue, no solution.

Then, one morning, something strange happened.

Little Ti came running to Grandma Hanh’s house, panting breathlessly:
“Grandma! Come to the village pond! Chickens! The pond’s full of chickens!”

Half-believing, half-doubting, she hurried after him. And sure enough—the sight before her eyes left her speechless.

Dozens of chickens, feathers of all colors, were paddling around in the pond, flapping and squawking as if they were ducks, not chickens. The villagers flocked to the scene, eyes wide in disbelief.

Where had the chickens come from? How could they swim? And most importantly—what did they have to do with Grandma Hanh’s missing chickens?

Despite her shock, Grandma Hanh recognized some of them. The red-feathered rooster. The spotted white hen. These were hers! But why were there so many—more than the ones she’d lost?

The villagers began to speculate wildly. Some claimed the pond had been cursed, turning dead chickens into water spirits. Others suspected someone had dumped chickens into the pond to cover up the theft.

As the crowd debated, Grandma Hanh observed in silence. She noticed something strange—the pond water was unusually murky and had a smell… like chicken droppings. She called Officer Tam over and insisted he send someone to dive down and check the pond.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

And then the truth surfaced.

At the bottom of the pond, they found a small tunnel—running from the edge of the pond all the way to… Grandma Hanh’s chicken coop!

So, the culprit wasn’t a thief. It wasn’t a ghost, either.

It was a colony of giant rats, living in burrows beneath the pond. They had dug a tunnel, sneaking into her coop every night, dragging the chickens back to their lair. But the twist? They didn’t eat all the chickens.

Instead, they kept them alive—to lay eggs—and over time, the number of chickens grew. Some of them, following instinct, made their way back up the tunnel and swam to the pond’s surface in search of food, creating the bizarre scene the villagers had witnessed.

The entire village burst into laughter once the truth came out.

Even Grandma Hanh, despite losing so many chickens, couldn’t help but laugh.
“I thought it was a thief,” she said, shaking her head. “Turns out those rats were smarter than people!”

After that, she stopped raising chickens and switched to ducks instead. And the village pond, after being cleaned out, became a spot where the story of “the rats that raised chickens” was retold to children each night.