"I don't care about its spurs or tail. I tell you it is a
hen. Why, look at it."
The argument went on in the fields the whole
morning. At noon, we went to eat lunch. We argued
about it on the way home. When we arrived at our
house, Kiko tethered the chicken to a peg. The chick-
en flapped its wings-and then crowed.
"There! Did you hear that?" my brother exclaimed
triumphantly. "I suppose you are going to tell me now
that hens crow and carabaos fly."
"I don't care if it crows or not," I said. "That
chicken is a hen."
We went in the house, and the discussion contin-
ued during lunch.
"It is not a hen," Kiko said. "It is a rooster."
"It is a hen," I said.
"It is not."
"It is."
"Now, now," Mother interrupted. “How many
What did the Mother
times must Father tell you boys not to argue during tell the boys? What
lunch? What is the argument about this time?
"
We told Mother, and she went out to look at the
chicken.
"The chicken," she said, "is a binabae. It is a roost-
er that looks like a hen."
That should have ended the argument. But Father
also went out to see the chicken, and he said
:
value must we observe
when eating?
"No. You are wrong, Mother. That chicken is a bi- Did Father and
nalake, a hen that looks like a rooster."
"Have you been drinking again?" Mother asked.
"No," Father answered.
"Then what makes you say that rooster is a hen?
Have you ever seen a hen with feathers
like that?"
"Listen. I have handled fighting roosters since I
and you cannot tell me that that thing is a
boy,
was a
rooster.
"
Mother agree? Why?
Why not?