I think it only only appropriate to explain to you that this story came to me while walking quietly down a country road on a Silent Retreat. As I slowly walked (or meandered-as my husband calls it) the others, all the others, jogged past me in their little jogging shorts and tennis shoes, wristbands, and ear-phones. They were looking straight ahead staring into space, completely oblivious to the beauty all around them. Elbows jutting out, and twisting left to right, they looked like little waddling ducks, following each other down the road. They never looked up at the sky, or off into the woods, and certainly never ventured off the road to see the myriad of treasures nature had to offer. Why was I such an odd duck? I thought. When I returned to my room, I wrote this story.

The Odd Little Duck





 

Once upon a time in a little hollow in the wood, an old owl sat on a stump of a tree. He was very old and tired, and his feathers had already turned grey. The winter was over, and everything was becoming green again. But the old owl's bones were aching, and nothing looked as good as he remembered it.

Not far from the hollow, along a winding dirt road, was a duckyard. In this duckyard a mama duck and her seven baby ducklings were anxiously awaiting the arrival of duckling number eight. But duckling number eight was in no hurry to hatch. Finally Mama Duck put her head down right next to the egg, which already had a small crack in it, and said, "Are you coming out, Little Duck? We're all waiting."

A small voice replied, "I don't know. It's awfully nice in here. It's warm, and cozy, and --"

Before he could say any more, mama duck started fussing.

"Now, look here, little duck. We've waited and waited, but we can't wait any longer. Little ducks have to hatch, they have to eat, and they have to go to the duck pond."

Wanting to be a good little duck, he obediently popped out. Mama duck had already begun feeding the other ducklings. Little duck looked around the duckyard. His eyes took in the bright green grass, the big blue sky, and the brilliant yellow sun shining overhead, and he said, "Oooh, it's so wonderful out here, much nicer than inside my egg."

At this point Mama Duck was trying to feed him, which was difficult since he was more

interested in seeing everything, and not very interested in eating. "As I just told you , little ducks have to hatch, they have to eat , and they have to go to the duck pond," fussed Mama Duck.

Again, wanting to be a good little duck, he obediently ate. Having fed her ducklings, Mama Duck quickly started out for the duck pond. They marched all in a row with mama duck saying, "One, two, three, --one, two, three,-- no dawdling now."

But they hadn't gone very far when duckling number eight saw something that made him stop. "Oooh, Mama Duck, it's so pretty. What is it, Mama Duck?"

Mama Duck turned her head, without stopping her march, and said, "Little Duck, it's a flower, but we have no time for flowers. We have to go to the duck pond. Now, get in line, One, two, three, -- one, two, three." Little duck took one more long look at the pretty flower, it's bright red petals and yellow center swaying in a field of green. Then he ran back in line as quick as his little legs could carry him.

Just as they turned a bend in the road, something else caught his eye, and he stopped. "Oooh, Mama Duck, look! It's lovely, what is it, Mama Duck? Is it a flower?"

Mama duck and the other ducklings were too far ahead to hear, but a tiny voice answered with a giggle. "No-o, I'm a butterfly --kind of like a flower-- but I can fly." Having said this, the butterfly fluttered off into the air a few feet above Little Duck's head.

"Oooh --you're lovely," was all little duck could say, and seeing the other ducks so far away, and Mama Duck's voice echoing in his ears, "One, two, three,-- one, two, three, --"

Little duck made his own feet fly. He quickly caught up with the other marching ducks.

But just then, the little troop of marching ducks were passing right by the hollow where the old owl sat on his stump in the wood. The others marched right on by without even a sidewards glance. But Little Duck stopped short in his tracks.

"Oooh, my!" , said the Little Duck. "Are you a butterfly?"

The old owl opened one eye, and stared at the little duck. "Humph - - a butterfly? Of all the nonsense? A butterfly? Of course I'm not a butterfly. I'm a bird, an owl to be precise, a very wise old owl."

The little duck could only say, "Oooh!" But just as the owl had closed his eyes again, Little Duck asked, "Uh, excuse me, Mr. Bird, but if you are so wise, could I ask you a question?"

The owl slowly opened one eye and then the other, and said, "I guess you may ask me one question."

Little Duck looked down at his feet, trying to think of the right words. After all, he had only hatched this morning. Finally, he said, "Mr. Bird, Mama Duck says little ducks have to hatch, they have to eat, and they have to go to the duck pond."

"Yes, said the owl, trying to be patient, and just what is the question?"

Little Duck thought for a moment, then said, "Am I a bad little duck, because I want to see the wonderful sky, the pretty flowers, the lovely butterflies? And, he added, hanging his head shyly, ... the beautiful birds?"

The wise old owl looked at the little duck, and shook his head sadly. "No, Little Duck, it doesn't make you a bad little duck. But it does make you 'different'. Your mama is right, little ducks do have to hatch, they have to eat, and they have to go to the duck pond. But some creatures are different. They have to have more; they have to have beauty. This is what you see, Little Duck. You see the beauty around you, and it's a precious gift."

Then seeing Mama Duck almost out of sight, the old owl said, "Humph, now you'd better be off as your mama and the others are almost at the duck pond."

Little duck looked over his shoulder and sure enough, he could barely see his mama and the other ducklings. Turning around quickly, he started off after them on his short little legs. Then, he stopped, turned back to the wise old owl, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Bird."

The old owl who had already slumped down on his stump and was almost asleep, opened one eye again and said, "What ? What's that? Thank me for what?"

The little duck replied, "For being beautiful", and hurried on his way.

The old owl, who now had both eyes open, sat there and thoughtfully watched the little duck until he was out of sight. Then he smiled, sat up tall and straight, smoothed his ruffled old feathers, and said to himself, "Thank you, Little Duck, for making me feel beautiful again."

*** THE END ***