April 2015

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Never to be Found

Our friend, Rebecca Puddle Duck has not returned yet. Not a sign, a sound, nor a little path. We are all trying to accept the truth. She is gone. She must be dead, but still she has no grave. Drake is deeply worried about her. "I remember she would always interrupt family discussions with her somewhat adorable little squeak." The little chicks attend to their letters and sounds. Greta, a dear friend of Rebecca's wrote on her  paper,

"cat dog duck"
Her book wanted her to write "Robby, Mike, & Me."
Instead, she wrote,

"Rebecca Puddle Duck" 

 The teacher glanced over her shoulder. Greta started erasing it right away. Everybody in town is very very very very very sad. Something is wrong in Chicken Town.

New Citizens

On a beautiful Monday evening, Sally was coming to egg-sit for Frieda, the Norwegian chicken. She was standing beside her, smiling in her usual way. She began to speak, but a little crack interrupted her. "Crack! Peep!Crack!" came from Frieda's nest. "Could it be?" she said in her beautiful Norwegian accent. She jumped up, and out came a little blue and white chick. He had a pattern, a quite elegant one. His back was checkered. The checkers got smaller and smaller as they approached the side. Then came some little six-pointed stars all around his body. Then, little blue waves were created on the chest and on the neck. The neck stopped in an orderly fashion. There was a band at the top of his neck, and at the point of the head, it was completely faded. It got lighter until you could no longer see it. "Sis vun sall be named Hans." Frieda said proudly. Then, the other two hatched. One was orange and white. She had different kinds of flowers on her in a circle type fashion. "Se sall be named," here she hesitated. "Oda!" The other one was just like Frieda, only smaller. "Oh!" she she said softly. "I vill name doo Annelli." And that is how Frieda began her next generation.

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