#1
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
At daybreak, Father Rooster’s crow cut through the still morning air. Chicko rubbed his sleepy eyes and rose from his spot. After shaking the straw from his feathers, he bent down to sip a few drops of water gathered in a hollow patch of the yard. Then, clearing his throat, he began to practice.
“Ahem, ahem . . . cheep! cheep!”
In the kennel nearby, Dozy’s mother cracked one sleepy eye open, then drifted back to sleep. Dozy, the puppy, was Chicko’s good friend.
“My voice still isn’t strong enough,” Chicko muttered. “But one day, I’ll be just like Dad—waking everyone up with my proud morning call! That’s right! Because who am I? I’m a strong little chick! Cheep, cheep!”
“Mom, Chicko’s being noisy again,” grumbled Dozy, wriggling in his mother’s arms. At the sound of the fuss, his mother cracked one eye open once more.
“Oh, did my sweet baby wake up?” his mother said gently. “Come here, darling. I’ll sing you a lullaby. Sleep well, my baby . . .”
Dozy closed his eyes tightly, snuggling deeper into his mother’s warm fur, his face peaceful and content—when suddenly a loud voice rang out:
“Hey! You’re still sleeping?”
“Oh my goodness!”
Startled, Dozy’s mother sprang to her feet, and Dozy scrambled up after her.
“Chicko, dear,” she said kindly but firmly, “it’s rude to sneak up on others and startle them. Dozy still wants to sleep a little longer. Why don’t you come back and play later?”
Chicko pouted, his tiny beak jutting out in protest, and turned away. As he made his way back toward the chicken coop, a sparrow pecking at a few grains of rice on the ground looked up and chirped a greeting.
“Hi there! I’m Chirpy.”
“I’m Chicko,” he replied curtly. “Sorry, I’m busy right now—bye.”
Chicko tried to pass by with a haughty reply, but the sparrow fl uttered closer, his eyes bright with excitement.
“Hey, don’t you think we kind of look alike?”
“What? Not at all!” said Chicko, fluffing up his soft yellow feathers. “My down is bright and silky, but yours is rough and dull!”
“O-oh . . . is that so?” stammered Chirpy.
As Chicko fixed him with a stern look, Chirpy scratched his head in embarrassment. Without another word, Chicko spun around and strutted off, leaving the little sparrow behind.
#2
“Where have you been?” Chicko’s mother asked.
“I went to see Dozy,” said Chicko. “But Dozy’s mom said he’s still sleeping, so I should come back later.”
“Well then,” she said kindly, “next time, wait until the sun is a little higher before visiting. You must be hungry. Come, have some breakfast.”
Just then, Chicko’s father returned from the backyard, carrying a few plump worms for Chicko and his mother. Chicko’s mother kept her wings gently folded around the soon-to-hatch eggs.
“Chicko,” she said softly, “you’ll get to meet your little brothers and sisters very soon.”
“When they hatch, I’ll protect them,” Chicko declared, puffing out his tiny chest. “If anyone tries to hurt them, I’ll peck them hard—with this strong beak of mine!”
His mother chuckled. “How reassuring, Chicko. We’re lucky to have such a brave little chick.”
After a hearty breakfast, Chicko wondered what to do next—then he remembered Grandpa Goat, who lived across the yard in the old barn. The last time they had met, Grandpa Goat had said that, since he was getting on in years, he no longer slept much in the mornings and that Chicko was welcome to visit anytime.
“Grandpa Goat, are you there?” Chicko called.
“Oh, Chicko!” came a gentle bleat. “What brings you here so early?”
“I’m bored,” said Chicko. “And Dozy’s still asleep . . .”
“Well then,” Grandpa Goat said, a twinkle in his eye, “that little rabbit Hopper over there looks bored too. Why don’t you go play together?” He nodded toward the rabbit, who was nibbling at the fresh grass beside the hutch.
“It’s no fun playing with him,” Chicko grumbled. “He only wants to play jumping games—and, of course, he always wins!”
“Ah, I see. So you like games you can win too, hmm?” Grandpa Goat chuckled.
“Of course! I’m a strong chick, you know. My mom says I was so strong I cracked my hard eggshell all by myself when I was born!”
“Is that so? That’s quite something,” Grandpa Goat said with a warm smile.
“Just the day before yesterday,” Chicko continued proudly, “a cat came sneaking by the gate and glared at me—but I spread my wings wide, puff ed myself up, and let out a loud cry. You should’ve seen him run! He scurried away so fast! Ha-ha!”
“Ha-ha! Chicko, you really are a strong little chick!”
Grandpa Goat laughed heartily. He knew perfectly well that the cat hadn’t been scared off by Chicko at all, but by the fierce mother hen standing protectively behind him. Still, he let the proud little chick have his moment of triumph. Watching Chicko strut about, Grandpa Goat kept him company and listened to his stories until the morning dew on the grass began to fade.
#3
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
At his father’s crow, Chicko’s eyes snapped open, his heart fl uttering with excitement. Today was the day his little brothers and sisters would hatch.
“Mom, when will the babies come out?”
“Well,” she said softly, “it looks like they’re almost ready. Let’s wait just a little longer.”
Chicko stayed by the coop instead of running off to play. He didn’t want to miss the moment his little siblings would enter the world. The morning felt unusually lively—the sparrows outside chirped louder than ever.
“Chirp, chirp, chirp!”
“Oh, be quiet already!” grumbled Chicko.
He stomped out of the coop and onto the yard. There were Chirpy and his friends, busily pecking at the grains scattered across the ground.
“Hey, keep it down! My little brothers and sisters are about to hatch!” Chicko snapped.
“Oh, sorry!” Chirpy fl uttered his wings. “Wait—did you say your siblings are hatching?”
“That’s right! They’re getting ready to break out of their eggs any minute now,” Chicko replied.
“Can I come watch?” Chirpy asked.
“Well . . . I guess so,” said Chicko. “Come on, follow me!”
Chicko led the way, with Chirpy close behind. Seeing them, Dozy and Hopper joined in, too. Before long, a small crowd had gathered in front of the coop, as if anticipating a grand spectacle. Chicko and his friends held their breath, waiting eagerly for the baby chicks to hatch.
Just as Dozy began to nod off , one of the eggs wobbled slightly. Then another began to shift. Soon, a tiny, translucent beak poked through a crack, forming a small opening. Bit by bit, the crack widened, and finally the shell split in two, revealing a curled-up chick blinking at the light. One by one, the rest of the chicks followed, filling the coop with bright, cheerful chirps. Hearing the commotion, the farmer’s wife came over.
“One, two, three, four,” she counted. “Just like last time—one egg is taking its time. All right, the rest of you, come with me. You’ll stay here, little one.”
The farmer’s wife carried off the newly hatched chicks, leaving the one remaining egg behind it. It wobbled weakly, but wouldn’t crack open. Then Mother Hen tapped it gently with her beak. Crack!—a tiny hole appeared. Inside, the chick began pecking back, but after a few tries, it grew still, too tired to continue. Mother Hen gave another soft encouraging peck. The little chick stirred once more, wriggling and pushing with all its strength. And finally—at last—it broke free, lifting its tiny, damp head into the world.
“Wow!”
Chicko, Chirpy, Dozy, and Hopper all burst into cheers, their voices ringing across the yard in celebration of the brave little chick that had just hatched.
#4
Chicko gazed at his newly hatched little sibling in wonder. Bursting with excitement, he ran to tell Grandpa Goat the good news. As Chicko chattered away, describing every detail of the hatching, the old goat listened with a gentle, knowing smile.
“The chick that hatched today,” Grandpa Goat said softly, “is just like you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. All the other chicks had already hatched, but you wouldn’t come out, no matter how long we waited. The farmer’s wife decided to leave you beside your mother. She pecked from the outside, and you pecked from within—until, at last, you broke free together. I still remember how moved I was, watching that moment.”
“That’s not true!” Chicko protested. “Mom said I cracked the shell all by myself. She said I was really strong!”
“Well,” said Grandpa Goat gently, “what your mother meant was that she hoped her little one—so small and fragile—would grow up brave and strong. She said that because she loves you.”
Chicko walked home slowly, turning the old goat’s words over and over in his mind. At home, Mother Hen was holding the damp little chick close beneath her wings, keeping it warm. The sight filled the coop with a quiet, peaceful calm. For a moment, as Chicko looked at the tiny newborn, he saw himself reflected in it—just as Grandpa Goat had said.
Then his gaze fell on his mother’s beak. It was scratched and worn. With that beak, she had dug through the earth to find food, cracked hard grains into tiny pieces for her chicks, and swung it fiercely to chase away cats and crows. And with that same weary beak, she had gently tapped on the eggs that could not break on their own—helping him, and now his little sibling, enter the world.
For the first time, Chicko looked closely at those scars, and tears welled up in his eyes. Dozy and Hopper tilted their heads in curiosity, puzzled to see Chicko crying—after all, he had always claimed that strong chicks never cry. But that day, Chicko nestled into his mother’s warm embrace, his little sibling snuggled beside him, and for a long while, he simply stayed there, soaking in the deep warmth of her love.
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