Another invention that arose from the unique collaboration of the chickens and peoples of the British Isles was feather dusters.

It is not surprising, given the key role chickens have played in English history, that they were honored, even hallowed. Treated like honored guests, hens were free to roost anywhere they chose, and could often be found nesting indoors. It is said that even King Arthur's throne hatched more than one clutch of cluckers.

While still much larger than the chicken of today, by the time of King Arthur, the true Giant Chicken was rare. The average chicken by that time was probably closer to the size of a Newfoundland dog.

(Paleontologists speculate that the evolutionary downsizing was probably due to the fact the mammoths were at last extinct and the great size of the original British chicken then became a liability. Natural selection by then favored smaller chickens. Myself, I believe housewives began selective breeding for smaller sized chickens. More later on that interesting topic.)

The glorious days of the Amazonian warrior princesses of the Picts had long passed. The main task of women was to care for hearth and home. In those far off days there was no air conditioning. In fact, it is unlikely there was glass in the windows. A woman could dust from daylight until dark, only to find that the surfaces where she began that morning were covered again in dust by the time she finished that night. These smart and observant women noticed when chickens moved across the benches and tables, that dust free trails were left in their wake. But who would dare pluck a sacred chicken?

There was, however, still the problem of bird droppings. A rather significant problem, that. And the bird dropping really bothered the women. The bird droppings infuriated the women. Although they appeared to be meek and mild goodwives, the blood of warriors still ran in their veins. They told stories among themselves of the warrior princesses of old, of how they had mastery over the chickens and rode upon their backs. And the chickens were rumoured to have been much, much larger animals in those olden times.

According the legends of King Arthur's time, one goodwife, one day, errupted in rage at the chicken poop in the soup. Breaking the hundreds of years old taboos, she shot her arm out, grabbed the nearest hen by the neck and snapped it. In a rage, with the chicken neck still firmly clasped in a murderous grip, the goodwife swung the chicken round and round the room in a fiercesome dance. As she swung, the tail feathers of the chicken swept along benches and tabletops, collecting and holding the dust that had coated every flat surface in sight.

Thus, the feather duster was invented.