"Cluck, cluck," she said. "I think I found a grain of wheat." The small chicks gathered round, amazed at what their mother found. "No, no, don't peck it Little Leroy," the mother warned one of her pips. "We are going to plant it."

"Yo ho, who will help me plant this grain of wheat?" The other residents of the barn were not amused. They were into their own tasks and early morning routine. The sun was rising gloriously. It will be a beautiful day. The other occupants of the farmer's barn could have cared less about the hen finding a grain of wheat and wanting to plant it.

"What for?" asked the horse.

"Big deal, a grain of wheat. I have trod upon entire fields of blooming wheat," mooed the Holstein.

So, with shovel in hand, the Red Hen planted the grain of wheat by herself. A couple of weeks later, the wheat has now sprouted into a gangling wheat stalk. "Who is going to help me water the stalk of wheat?" asked the little Red Hen. She got no response. The barn was empty. The duck was wading the stream with her ducklings. The goats were playing with their kids.

So, with pail of water in hand, the little Red Hen assiduously watered the stalk of wheat. Not long afterwards, the first sign of a frond of wheat came out. Grain! The little Red Hen waited a couple more months and then when it was time for harvest again called out, "Who would like to help me harvest the wheat?" No reply came from the barn. The occupants were sunbathing, frolicking in the meadow in the thick clover. So the little Red Hen, with scythe in hand, harvested the stalk of wheat and took it into the barn.

"Who is going to help me mill the wheat into flour?" asked the little Red Hen. She might have as well been talking to the wooden walls of the barn. No reply came. So the little Red Hen, with mortar and pestle in hand, threshed the wheat, separated the chaff from the grain and milled the wheat into flour.

"I need some help mixing the bread dough, who would like to help me mix the dough?" Again the little Red Hen heard barely any reply except for a snooty remark issued forth from the cat perched atop the fence, "Meow, meow, I eat only the best tuna. Who cares about bread?"

The little Red Hen mixed the dough and allowed it to rise. Popping it into the oven, the dough began to bake. It baked and rose into a beautiful looking golden brown piece of art. The aroma from the steaming baked bread was irresistible.

Slowly and gradually, amazing things began to happen. The other animals who remained oblivious to the little Red Hen's cries for help, who offered all sorts of excuses for their non-participation were assembling around the cooling rack licking their chops.

What could these uninvolved creatures possibly expect? For the little Red Hen to invite them to help eat the bread?