“What should we name this one, Jake?”
Jake studied the small chick with a thoughtful expression.
It’s gray feathers stood out in the sea of fuzzy yellow.
“Hmmm,” he murmured. “How about Pecky?”
“That’s a great name for a chicken,” his mom said with a smile.
“Wait,” said Jake. “Look at its legs.”
Jake’s mom peered at the tiny legs and noticed green feathers. “How odd,” she said.
“Her name is Pecky Greenleg!” crowed Jake.
His mom grinned and headed for the kitchen door.
“Are you coming in? It’s about time to eat lunch.”
Jake held the tiny chick in his hands, careful not to squeeze.
“In a little bit, I need to talk to Pecky Greenleg.”
The chick stared up at the little boy, not sure he liked the name he had been given.
I don’t have green legs! And…I am not a hen!
“Not a hen?” said Jake with surprise written on his face.
The chick stared at the boy. The boy stared at the chick.
“Ha,” Jake said with a shake of his head. “I must be imag–”
You can hear me?
Jake gaped, wide-eyed at the chick.
“Y-you can talk?”
Well of course not!
“B-but, I can hear you!”
Jake’s mom peeked out the door. “What was that sweetie?”
Startled, Jake nearly dropped Pecky Greenleg.
His voice was hoarse and shaking. His mom looked at him with concern.
“Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He looked at Pecky and could have sworn the bird shook his head.
“Ha,” he laughed nervously. “No really, I’m ok.”
“Ok, if you’re sure.”
“Yep, I’m fine.”
“Well, why don’t you come in and wash your hands. It’s time to eat. ”
“Ok, be right there.”
When his mom shut the door, he looked back at the chick.
They stared at each other for so long that Jake thought he’d imagined the whole thing.
You’d better go in for lunch.