Vardiello and the Hen

Once upon a time, there lived a woman with excellent common sense. Her name was Grannonia. The same can’t be said, however, for her son Vardiello. He was the biggest fool and simpleton around, but she didn’t mind. She doted on him like he was the finest son in the world.

Grannonia had a hen and the hen had a nestful of eggs. She had big hopes for those eggs - she planned on them all hatching, growing and creating a good brood of chickens she could sell for a good profit. It was her dream, anyway.

One day, she called out to Vardiello: “Pretty son of your own mother, listen to me closely. I have to go out, so I want you to watch that hen of mine. If she gets up off of her nest, make her go back. We can’t let the eggs get cold, now, can we? After all, no eggs - no chickens!”

“Leave it to me,” he said importantly. “You’re not speaking to deaf ears! I understand.”

“Oh, and one more thing blessed son,” she told him as she tied a colorful scarf around her head. “In that cupboard,” she pointed, “is a pot full of poisoned things! Don’t get any ideas about touching it, much less eating it. It would knock you down -” she slapped the table “- dead as a doornail.”

“Heaven forbid, mother!” he exclaimed. “Of course I won’t be tempted. I’m glad you told me because I might have eaten it up!”

With that, Grannonia went out. Vardiello was bored, so he decided to go to the back garden and dig some holes. He dug one, laid some branches and then laid some dirt to hide the hole. “That should catch any of those little thieves…