There was once a young son of a farmer. His name was Willy.

Willy was a good kid. He always said please and yes ma’am. Made his bed every morning. He was even dutiful to remember to close the lid on the toilet after peeing.

But then, disaster struck.

Nobody could explain how it happened. But one day, Willy sort of lost his mind.

Namely, because Willy walked into the kitchen and declared that he was a chicken. Not a proverbial chicken, mind you. But literal poultry. The kind that go bawk-bawk, cock-a-doodle-doo, and all such manner of clucking.

Willy also announced that he would no longer go to school because—in case you haven’t noticed—chickens don’t do long division. Neither would he continue wearing clothes.

And so it was, Willy stripped, right there in the kitchen, until he was wearing nothing but his socks and the Joy of the Lord.

Willy’s mother had to be revived with cold water.

Then, he quit speaking, started making chicken noises, crawling around, and pecking the floor.

“Willy!” shouted his father. “Stop this madness!”

But it was no use. Willy TRULY believed he was a chicken.

So Willy’s father called the doctor. Doc Brown said it was probably a problem with Willy’s glands. They chased Willy around the house, trying to forcefeed him medicine. But Willy escaped and perched atop the barn.

The next expert was a famous psychologist with a fancy German accent and an official-sounding last name. Doctor Von-Something-Or-Other.

The doc suggested Willy’s problem could be cured with a spanking, then sending Willy to bed without supper.

That didn’t work either. After the doctor tried to spank Willy, the physician left with a black eye. Also, his German accent had disappeared.

Willy’s parents consulted every expert in the state, but nobody could cure him.

Finally, on old woman in town offered to help, but Willy’s dad said not to bother. It was pointless. The doctors had already pronounced Willy incurable.

But Granny never did like being told what to do. One afternoon, she found Willy hiding beneath the porch. She joined him there.

Granny crawled under the house and began pecking for crumbs beside Willy. She made gentle clucking sounds, too. Granny made a very good chicken.

“I see that you are a chicken,” said Granny. “But you know you can be a chicken and still wear clothes.”

“I can?” replied Willy.

“Of course,” said Granny. “Just look at me.”

So, Granny helped the boy get dressed. Then, together they went outside and perched on the fence, flapping their wings, clucking in unison.

They spent all night there. The next morning, Willy and his the old woman crowed at the sunrise. It was very fun.

“You know,” said Granny. “You can still be a chicken and speak English.”

“I can?” said the boy.

“Of course,” said Granny. “Just look at me.”

So the boy started speaking again.

Next, Granny told Willy that he could still be a chicken and eat with a fork and knife.

And it wasn’t long before Willy was back to normal, wearing clothes, going to school, and doing all the things he used to.

Even so, Willy’s father couldn’t understand how Granny did it. “Please tell me,” Willy’s father pleaded. “How did you fix him?”

“I didn’t,” the old woman said. “Love did.”