Chuck the bird was not born sad, even though he knew no mom or dad.
He was always happy, night and day. Chuck loved to waddle, swim, and play.
Chuck was nice to everyone. He was kind and warm, like morning sun.
The other fowl were cold and cruel, but Chuck never lost his happy cool.
They puffed their wings and flapped about with whispered clucks and quacking shouts.
Often loud and rarely nice, the birds jeered him once then jibed him twice.
“You silly bird, you’ve such bad luck. You look just like a chicken duck!”
It was true that Chuck looked strange. But he did not ever wish to change.
His feet were webbed just like a duck and he did say quack instead of cluck.
He swung a sack beneath his bill which should have shook his iron will.
It was ruby red (like a rooster’s sack) and freckled all over in patches of black.
His feathers were white like a grown up chick, but waterproof and kind of thick.
The birds would laugh, then laugh some more, careless in an unkind war.
They kept on going, never done. They never stopped, but never won.
“Words are just words,” Chuck would say, as he made the best of every day.
“They can not hurt me with harmless air. If they’re over here, I’ll play over there.”
They never shook him. Chuck ignored their cries. And all their empty, jealous lies.
The ducks in the pond would not let him play. The chicks in the coup clucked, “go away!”
Chuck raised his bill and quacked, “That’s fine. You have what’s yours, I’ll have mine.
These opposite ends both feel so mean, I will play in the farmland in between.”
The cows were happy, they said “hooray” and “moo” (so were the rest of the animals too).
The pigs said “oink!” and raised their snouts; the sheep baa-baaad with happy shouts.
The whole farm thrilled at its new luck, now that they could play with Chuck.
He was always happy, so much fun. Pleased to play in rain or sun.
He liked Duck Duck Goose and other games with made up rhymes and silly names.
The other birds grew jealous fast. They said, “Hey Chuck, you know, it’s in the past.
We did not mean those things we said. We love your slightly different head.
Come swim with us. Play Hide-N-Seek. You can be our star this week!”
But Chuck was pleased with his new crew. They were nice to him, and funny too.
They never judged or laughed at Chuck. They never called him “Chicken Duck.”
“Thanks, but no,” Chuck said out loud, in a voice that made the barnyard proud.
“You never let me play your games. You laugh at me and called me names.
But I’m the one with all the luck. I really am a special duck.
I have friends who think I’m great. We love to dance and celebrate.
They do not care about my face, or how it seems so out of place.
My friends love me for who I am. Exactly how I feel for them.”
Seasons came and seasons went. Chuck’s good cheer was never spent.
He bounced in the barnyard every day as the birds all watched from far away.
On their own sides, in their own muck, no matter how they quacked and clucked,
Or waddled round and ran amuck, they never got to play with Chuck.
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About Sean Platt
Oh come on now! Chicken? Chicken?? We both know it was pheasant!!
We all are special, all unique
whether we quack or bark or squeak.
Some may feel threatened , they think we're strange
don't understand , think we're deranged.
Our differences are cool, not at all boring
the mean ones just deserve ignoring.
Outof the box is how I live
I feel I have special gifts to give.
My friends are eccentric, there's no doubt
but if you don't get us, just get out!
There's room in the world for all kinds of folk
the biased ones are just blowing smoke!
When people love you for who you are
In your own way you are a star.
We don't get pheasants this side of the pond. Only chickens that aren't even really chickens. We have to deep fry them to fool ourselves.
I don't have the time to rhyme at you back this morning, so I'll just say:
Roses are red
Violets are Blue
It's always fun
Rhyming with you.
Laterz.
How fun! And more so from having raised ducks and chickens and knowing how tough the chicken pecking order can be on those considered 0n the bottom.
Laughed out loud at: “He liked Duck Duck Goose.”
Falcons then? Got any of those?
Anyway, at least where you live you eat chicken. Where BloggerDad comes from they eat lizards. Except I think they call 'em bizards, which must be a cross between a bison and a lizard.
This rhyme is actually slightly old. It's maybe the third or fourth thing I ever wrote, and was written for our preschoolers. Lucky Chuck is based on an actual duck that we would see at a park we regularly visited. He actually did look like a chicken duck.
This is my favorite line: “Thanks, but no,” Chuck said out loud, in a voice that made the barnyard proud.
Don't knock bizards until you try them. I had a bizard burrito once and it was flat out amazing. Much better than chicken.
This is still one of my all time favorites. I will never forget the glee in the preschooler's eyes when you read this little diddy during snack and stories.
Me neither, even if the vocabulary is “too rich for children.” :)
check out http://www.chucktheduck.com
Hello, check out http://www.chucktheduck.com