The Story of Chanticleer

Today’s story is indeed old as it appears throughout English folklore in various forms. The original story of Chanticleer and the Fox is comparable to Aesop’s “The Fox and the Crow” and has been retold as a fable for years. Then there was the Nun’s Priest’s Tale from Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales” which retold the story in verse. French author Edmond Rostand (best remembered for “Cyrano de Bergerac”) wrote a play telling a new version of the story which was then translated by a Ms. Florence Yates Hann into a novella for children.

Tragically, the closest thing most people have to an understanding of this fable is the Don Bluth film Rock-A-Doodle which is, let’s face it, pretty much unwatchable and has about as much to do with the real Chanticleer story as the poop of a mouse who shook hands with another mouse who ate a nice piece of cheese in the home of a dentist has to do with dentistry…anyway, here’s how I think the story should go:

The rooster flapped his wings as he lit on the top of the fence. He gazed across at the horizon, waiting for just the right moment. Then, as though he could feel it in his bones, he knew his time had come. He filled his lungs with cool, early morning air and with all his strength he crowed. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” The tiniest glimmer of light danced on the edge of the world. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Faint rays of sunlight shone from the east. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!!!” And just as it had a million times before, and would a million times again, the sun came up. And Chanticleer’s duty was fulfilled for another day.

Yes, Chanticleer was the king of the farmyard. He made sure the hens stayed on their nests, he saw to it that the animals had everything they needed, he kept things running smoothly. Everyone treated him with great respect and reverence. The young cockrels wanted to grow up to be just like him, all the hens wanted him for their husband, even the barnyard dog, Patou, counted himself among the rooster’s loyal subjects. And why was Chanticleer so admired and famous? His voice. For, you see, everyone on the farm, from the dog and the cat all the way down to the chicks and the goslings knew that it was Chanticleer’s crow that told the sun when to come up every morning. Without him, everything would be shrouded in darkness all the time. So it’s no wonder that Chanticleer was the most important and beloved figure in the farmyard…

Though not to everyone.

Some of the animals in the forest just beyond the farm resented Chanticleer for singing his song and waking the sun every day. The bats hunted by night. The mole worked at night, but his eyes were too sensitive for the bright sunlight. Even the barnyard cat preferred to sneak about in the dark and tended to sleep most of the day. And the owls, of course, lived in the darkness, worshipped the darkness. The only thing they didn’t like about nighttime was the moon and the stars, but they preferred that to the bright, piercing, inescapable sunlight. For several nights in a row, these animals would hold meetings in an old hollow tree where they conceived a plan to get rid of Chanticleer and his song once and for all.

They were the ones who sent the fox.

One morning, as Chanticleer was preparing himself for his morning duty he heard a voice calling his name from beyond the fence. He looked down and saw a fox looking up at him.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the fox, “but my name is Reynard, and I am a great admirer of your singing.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Chanticleer. He was proud, as who wouldn’t be, but humble.

“But may I make one suggestion? The best singers always close their eyes before they begin.”

Willing to try anything once, Chanticleer shut his eyes. This proved to be a mistake as the fox leapt up the fence, grabbed Chanticleer in his jaws and ran into the woods. Luckily, Patou saw the whole thing and started barking, waking the farmer, who took his shotgun and, with Patou at his side, chased the fox. A gunshot went off a few feet from Reynard’s path.

“They can’t do that to you!” said Chanticleer to the fleeing fox. “Tell them they’ll regret shooting at you!” The proud fox did so, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Chanticleer slipped out and ran madly for home. The fox cursed himself for his stupidity, then ran into the woods never to be seen again, at least not by anybody in this story.

So, Chanticleer escpaed being eaten by the fox. But, as he returned to the farmyard, he realized something was wrong. He sensed light on the horizon, the first dancing rays of the sun. Chanticleer stared with wide, incredulous eyes as the sun rose…without his having sung a single note.

Poor Chanticleer. He had really believed that it was his singing which woke the sun every morning. Now he saw that it wasn’t true. And to make matters worse, all the other animals in the farmyard starting laughing and mocking him for thinking he made the sun rise (though they had all believed it, too) and began asking, rather loudly, what they even needed him for, anyway.

Defeated, dejected and despondent, Chanticleer hung his head in shame and did what he thought was the only thing he could do and left. He went to the forest, vowing never to return to the farmyard as long as he lived.

Without Chanticleer, things on the farm were going quite smoothly…for the first few days. But running a farmyard is not as easy as Chanticleer made it look. Patou tried running things, but being an old hound dog, he didn’t quite have the strength for command. The hens found the pressure overwhelming and none of the other birds felt up to the challenge, either. Things began to fall apart pretty quickly. But the worst part was the mornings. The sun came up without Chanticleer’s crowing, that much was true, but the sun wasn’t the only thing that needed to rise every morning. The farmer, his sons and the animals all needed waking. And without the encouraging, inspiring song of the rooster, they rose, but did so without any great enthusiasm. It’s like their bodies woke up, but their hearts never did. A general malaise settled over the farm as, one by one, every animal came to realize how much they missed—

“Chanticleer!”

Yes, the rooster had returned and he was welcomed as a hero. They asked him what had happened to him after he left. “I went into the woods,” he said, “where I stayed with a very nice pheasant. At first I wept when I saw the sun rise without my song, but then I came to accept it. I didn’t sing at all anymore. I thought, what was the point? Until I met a nightingale.

“The nightingale knew me and asked, ‘Aren’t you Chanticleer, the rooster with the famous voice?’

“‘Not anymore,’ I said.

“‘Yes, I heard about the incident with the fox. But you can’t let that stop you from singing. Look at me. I know that my singing doesn’t make the moon rise, nor does it make the stars shine. But without my song, the night would seem empty and incomplete. There is more to daybreak than light, just as there is more to nighttime than darkness.’

“And so, this very morning, I crowed with the sunrise. And even though I know I didn’t cause it to rise, I got the same feeling of joy and fulfilment that I always used to. From now on, I’ll sing for the joy of singing and I’ll praise the dawn with my song every morning.”

From that day on, Chanticleer returned to his job on the farm, and every morning he crowed, just as he always had, which is why he, and all the other animals on the farm, lived happily ever after.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, Then, For Pete's Sake, Do NOT Ever See:

• Rock-A-Doodle (1991) I really can't think of enough bad things to say about this movie. It's interesting to note that the Disney Company had worked on this story for years before it was suddenly shot down and abandoned. Don Bluth, the director of this awful movie, worked at Disney during that time. Sadly, the closest thing Disney ever made to an animated version of this story was the Silly Symphony Farmyard Symphony which Walt introduced on TV with a short history of Chanticleer.
• If, however, you are interested in the story as written by Rostand and Yates, it can be read for free right here

NEXT WEEK:

"Don Demonio"

The Adventures of Brer Rabbit

The stories of Brer Rabbit and his friends and enemies were originally written by Joel Chandler Harris, who attributed them to an old slave he invented named "Uncle Remus." Remus lived on a plantation in Georgia during the Post-Reconstruction period, just after the Civil War. He, like many freed slaves at that time, had no place to go after being emancipated, so he stayed on for the rest of his days. He didn't do much work anymore, mostly he would tell the children of the plantation owners stories about the animals he knew from that area to entertain and to teach. Harris drew the inspiration for the Uncle Remus stories from real folktales the slaves brought to America from Africa.

I realize that some of you may view these stories as somewhat controversial. True, there is some content in the Uncle Remus stories that might be construed as insensitive by today’s standards, but at heart they are just entertaining animal fables, and I don't think they should be ignored just because they were born out of a period in our shared history that we're (rightly) ashamed of. In the interest of keeping things pleasant, I have, shall we say, softened them a little and removed a certain word which, while a literal description of a plot element in the story, has since become a fairly horrendous racial slur.

Now, this story takes place once upon a time. Not your time, or my time, or any other time. But once upon a time. Back then, the people were closer to the animals, the animals were closer to each other, and you might say things were better all around. In fact, the animals were so friendly, they called each other “Brother.” “Good morning, brother dog,” they would say. “How do you do, brother cat?” But this story takes place way down south, in the southiest of the southlands, where the people (and the animals) talk in such a way that it comes out more like “Brer.” “G’morning, brer dog.” “How d’ya do, brer cat?” and so on.

There were lots of critters around in those days, but the craftiest, quickest and cleverest of all was Brer Rabbit. He was the slickest critter you’ve ever seen. He could get himself in and out of trouble just as easy as you could fall off a log. And most of that trouble came from a certain mean, nasty critter called Brer Fox, who was determined to catch and eat Brer Rabbit for his dinner.

But Brer Rabbit wasn’t worried about Brer Fox. He knew he’d always find a way to outsmart him. He didn’t even worry when Brer Fox put that fence up around his peanut crop. He just slid under it, helped himself to all the “goobers” he wanted and scurried on home before Brer Fox even knew what hit him. Well, finally, Brer Fox got fed up and laid a little trap for Brer Rabbit. And, sure enough, the very next night when Brer Rabbit came to get more goobers, he stepped in the snare trap and before he knew it, he was trussed up by his legs, hanging between the heaven and the earth. At first, he was scared he was gonna fall…then he was scared he wasn’t gonna fall! Because he knew it would only be a few hours before Brer Fox showed up and then he’d have himself a nice juicy rabbit for a meal!

Now, being small, Brer Rabbit knew it was better to use his head instead of his feet, so he started working on a plan to get himself out of this mess. Just then, who should come along on an evening stroll but Brer Bear. Brer Bear was big and tough, friendly enough, but a little shy on brains…which was perfect for Brer Rabbit.

“Howdy, Brer Bear!” he called out from the tree. “How ya come on?”

“Huh? Oh, howdy Brer Rabbit…what you doin’ way up there?”

“Me? Oh, I’m a scarecrow, Brer Bear. I’m keepin’ the crows outta the garden for Brer Fox. It’s a good job, too. I’m makin’ a dollar a minute!”

“A dollar a minute!” exclaimed Brer Bear. “That means you’re makin’…er…a lotta money!” As I said, not much on brains.

“Yeah, it’s a good job. Say, Brer Bear, would you like this job? I think you’d make a great scarecrow. No, I insist, I’ve got plenty of money already. Just help me down and you can take over for me.”

Well, you can imagine what Brer Fox thought when he came to check his trap the next morning and found Brer Bear hanging by his feet from the tree. And, after patiently explaining to Brer Bear that he was not making a dollar a minute, the two of them decided to team up to teach Brer Rabbit a lesson once and for all. Now, being a bear, Brer Bear had an ample supply of honey at his house. So taking this, a few sticks, an old hat and coat, and buttons for eyes, they shaped the honey into the shape of a little person, and sat it down on a log by the side of the road. Then they hid behind some bushes and waited for Brer Rabbit to come by.

He did, soon enough, and when he saw the "honeychild" sitting by the side of the road, he thought it was a real person, so he called out a friendly, “Howdy!” as he passed…but the honeychild didn’t say anything. Brer Rabbit thought maybe he hadn’t heard, so he said it again: “Howdy!” But the honeychild didn’t say anything. “Hey,” he yelled at the honeychild, starting to get annoyed, “didn’t you hear me? I said ‘Howdy!’” But the honeychild didn’t say anything. “Now look here,” said Brer Rabbit, “don’t you know it ain’t polite not to say ‘howdy’ when someone says ‘howdy?’ Now I’m gonna give you to the count of three, and if I don’t get a ‘howdy,’ I’m gonna punch you right in the mouth! One…two…three! Okay, you asked for it.” Brer Rabbit swung his paw back and punched the honeychild right in the mouth…and, of course, his fist got stuck. So he punched him with the other paw…and that one got stuck. Then he started to punch and kick as hard as he could at every part of the honeychild’s body. But the more he tried to get free the more deeply he got stuck in the honey, until he was so deep in the thick, sticky honey that he could scarecely open his eyes.

The next thing Brer Rabbit heard was laughter as Brer Fox and Brer Bear came out of their hiding place. “We got you, Brer Rabbit!” said Brer Bear. “Yeah, I sure did!” said Brer Fox, who’d been waiting for this moment all his life. “I finally caught you, Brer Rabbit. And now I’m gonna get rid of you once and for all!”

“How we gonna do it?” asked Brer Bear.

“I know!” said Brer Fox after thinking about it for a moment. “Let’s get some rope and hang ‘im! What do you think of that, Brer Rabbit? We’re gonna hang ya! I bet that scares you, doesn’t it?”

But just then, Brer Rabbit got perhaps the best idea of his entire life. “You can hang me up just as high as you like, Brer Fox. As long as you don’t throw me in that Briar Patch, I don’t mind.”

“Say,” said Brer Bear. “He don’t seem to be afraid of being hanged.”

“Yeah, I know. I got it! We won’t hang ‘im…we’ll tie him to a big rock, throw him in the lake and drown ‘im! Now that’s gotta scare you, doesn’t it Brer Rabbit?”

“Drown me just as deep as you like, Brer Fox. I won’t be afraid as long as you don’t throw me in that Briar Patch!”

“No, he’s not afraid of drowning either!” said Brer Bear.

“Okay, okay…” said Brer Fox, and he began to think again. “I got it this time! I’ll take my big, sharp knife…and skin ya alive! Now that has to make you scared, right, Brer Rabbit?”

“Skin me! Hang me! Drown me! Shoot me! Stab me! Roast me! Do whatever you want to me, Brer Fox. But whatever you do, please don’t throw me in that Briar Patch!”

“Oh, this is hopeless!” said Brer Bear. “He ain’t scared of anything!”

“Wait!” said Brer Fox. “I know what he’s scared of! He’s scared of being thrown in the Briar Patch! Well, then…that’s just where he’s gonna go!” So Brer Fox and Brer Bear dragged Brer Rabbit to the edge of a mile wide thicket of sharp, dangerous briars and thorns. All the while, Brer Rabbit was begging for mercy, but they wouldn’t listen. They each took one end of Brer Rabbit and swung him back and forth between them…one…two…three! And they flung Brer Rabbit right into the middle of the Briar Patch!

Brer Fox and Brer Bear pricked up their ears to listen to the agonized, tormented screams of Brer Rabbit…imgaine their surprise when they heard laughter instead! You see, unbeknowst to the fox and the bear, Brer Rabbit had been born and raised in the Briar Patch! He knew every thorn like the back of his own paw. “I surely do appreciate you taking me home, boys!” cried Brer Rabbit playfully to his enemies as he laughed and sang in his comfortable home.

And so ends this adventure of Brer Rabbit, but there are plenty of others. Plenty of other times when Brer Rabbit got himself into trouble with Brer Fox or played a trick on Brer Bear or tried to help Brer Frog or Brer Turtle out of a jam. But no matter how much trouble Brer Rabbit gets himself into, you can be sure of one thing: He’ll get himself out again just as easy as you could fall off a log!

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Song of the South (1946) The only Disney movie to be unofficially “disowned” by the studio,it can still be seen quite easily through video torrents and websites. A live action film about a young white boy befriending Uncle Remus, interspersed with superb Disney animation. Basically the reason it’s not been released on video in this country is because of historical misunderstandings and the use of the word I alluded to earlier and substituted with “honeychild,” which just came to me as I was writing and I thought was pretty clever. Anyway, “Splash Mountain” is based on this movie, the song “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” comes from this movie, and if they can realease their wartime propoganda cartoons with a disclaimer from Leonard Maltin, I don’t see why they can’t do the same for this exceptional, multiple Oscar-winning movie, especially since they're still profiting from it.
• The Adventures of Brer Rabbit (2006) I'm not the only person that thinks these stories need to be preserved. This direct-to-DVD release boasts a voice cast including Nick Cannon, Wayne Brady, Danny Glover, D. L. Hughley and Wanda Sykes.

NEXT WEEK: "The Sleeper Awakened"

The Great Bunny Rabbit Uprising of Somety-Aught Something Or Other: An Epic Poem

The composition of the epic poem is a noble and time-honoured undertaking and is not for the faint of heart. The first and most important step in the writing process is the selection of a suitably historic event worthy of being rhymed. Poems have been composed on historical subjects as diverse as King Arthur and Paul Revere and even some people who didn’t ride horses. But I chose a story with a more local flair. Yes, I speak of none but the Great Bunny Rabbit Uprising of Somety-Aught-Something-Or-Other.

Perhaps the most devastating bunny-related day in Kentucky’s history, it seemed to me to be screaming out from the page. Screaming the way that the lead rabbit did as he led his brethren down that hillside and into the pages of history. I immediately resolved to take on the difficult challenge of composing a suitably epic poem in honor of those bunnies whose lives were lost on that fateful day.

I.

‘Twas long, long ago, give or take a few years

When the good people had to face up to their fears.

I don’t quite recall, because I wasn’t there,

But I’ve heard the tale told and it gave me a scare.

I’ll tell it to you, but I’ll warn from the start:

This story is not for the fainter of heart.

But I’ll tell to you all if you haven’t read up

On the day that the bunnies got good and fed up

On the Flannery farm, things were going okay

And the farmer woke up as he faced the new day.

Then he filled up his lungs with some fresh country air

And he looked out across the farm land in his care.

He looked to the east and examined the corn;

He looked west at the cows in the bright, early morn.

But then came the moment all farmers are ruing

When he said “What in tarnation is that bunny doin’?”

The bunny in question was doing not much:

He was standing there chatting, small-talking and such

With a couple of pigs who he’d known for some time.

Surely talking to friends can’t be thought of as crime.

Now, real rabbit names are a difficult trick.

Just trying to say them makes humans feel sick.

So rather than start when I’ll just have to stop, he

Will heretofore after be known as just “Floppy.”

But the nice conversation would come to close

When Floppy heard something that wiggled his nose.

A gunshot! It rang out not ten feet away

And the farmer, advancing, could be heard to say,

“Gwan! Git outa here, you floppy-eared rat!”

And the shotgun went off with a deafening “blat!”

The time for such pleasantries clearly had passed.

With no word to the pigs, Floppy left that place fast!

He ran and he ran like, well, a rabbit I guess,

Until he was quite far away from distress.

He sat by the roots of an overgrown tree

And he cried. Yes, he cried. Just like you or me.

For poor little Floppy was very confused,

Cuz clearly the farmer had not been amused.

But why should he feel so violent and mad

At a wee little bunny? They can’t be that bad!

It was quite a few hours before he went back

To the warren he lived in with Orville and Mack

And Syvlia and Chauncey and Big Foot McGee

And all of the folks in his large family,

And when his mother saw him, I swear, I’m not lying

It only took seconds to see he’d been crying.

She asked him just why he was looking so grim

And he told her of all that had happened to him.

As he finished his story, the tears came again.

They fell down his cheeks like a cool summer rain.

“I was only just talking,” he cried to his mum

“So why did he treat me like some kind of bum?

“What did I do that could get him so mad?”

“Nothing,” said Mommy. “That man is just bad.

“And I’ll tell your father what happened to you

“And see if he can’t think of something to do.”

Now, maybe your father’s employed at a bank

And he may have worked hard to get up to that rank,

But for Floppy that job would’ve seemed very boring

For his dad was none other than Mayor of the Warren.

His name, as I said, would be tricky to utter

So we’ll call him “Charlie,” which is smoother than butter.

And though leading the rabbits was the pride of his life

He always made time for his son and his wife.

“Yes, dear?” said Charlie, when his wife came around

“What do you need me to—wait, what’s that sound?”

He had heard the faint whimper of small rabbit pup

Sniffling through tears and sucking it up.

Floppy’s mother explained the events of that day

And then Charlie said nothing. What was there to say?

He thought for a moment then said to his son

“I’ll take care of it,” and he left at a run.

“Attention! Attention! Look, everyone zip it!

“We’ve all got a problem and we’re going to nip it

“Right in the bud, now silence, I beg,

“And I’ll tell you how—Bernie, stop shaking your leg!”

Floppy’s Dad Charlie now stood at the head

Of the Rabbit’s High Council, a much honor-ed

Body of bunnies. And once they were silent

He told them a story both shocking and violent.

And when it was over, all their faces were grave

(Even Bernie whose leg at last now ceased to wave).

It was for these rabbits, all sizes, all kinds,

To all come together and make up their minds.

Until, with one voice, they were able to make

A decision on what kind of action to take.

For fully three days the debating wore on.

It ended at last on the following dawn.

And the rabbits, who’d lived their whole lives “in the stew”

Would all band together. They knew just what to do.

II.

The following morning on Flanery’s farm

Nothing had happened to cause him alarm.

The cattle were mooing, the horse saying “nay,”

All in all, things were perfectly pleasant that day.

Until all at once to old Flannery’s ears

Came a sound he’d not heard in quite a few years

Or ever, for that matter, for this scary sound

Was a kind of a rumbling deep underground.

An earthquake? No, no, that’s not possible, is it?

Perhaps someone large has come by for a visit?

Not large, rather numerous; he looked up the hill

And saw such a sight that he dreams of it still:

For out from their holes and descending en masse,

Were about three or four hundred rabbits! Alas!

For the pounding of each tiny paw on the ground

Had been cause of that strange sort of rumbling sound.

Flannery stood there, what else could he do?

As he stared in dumb silence assessing the view

Of hundreds of bunnies now charging his land.

Something had clearly gone well out of hand.

And he looked at the problem and thought, as would you,

“Just what exactly am I s’posed to do?

“My farm’s being charged by a few hundred bunnies;

“This kind of disaster comes straight from the funnies.”

And charge him they did, with all of their speed

(A few of them stopping to graze and to feed),

But most of them running with all of their might

To fight against hate in the soft morning light.

And Charlie himself, and his family too

Were right out in front and leading the crew

Of rabbits whose minds were full up with their goal:

To never again be chased down a hole

To never be treated like vermin or rats

To never be threatened by beagle or cats

To be free! Ah, yes, free! To live as they please

Is the right of all creatures, from camels to fleas.

But something occurred as the charging continued

(To voice any questions right now would hae been rude)

But across every mind of each bunny that day

A question came up they were too scared to say.

As they gradually neared the old Flannery farm

These rabbits had thoughts that caused each one alarm.

“We’re advancing quite nicely. Yes, that much is true

“But once we get down there...just what do we do?”

“We haven’t got fangs or sharp claws like a bear,

“We haven’t got weapons to fire in the air.

“We have greater numbers, this can’t be denied,

“But rabbits aren’t fighters. We’ve not even tried!

“When facing down danger it’s rabbit tradition

“To run for the hills. Now this dangerous mission

“Will surely end badly for me and for you.

“I feel like this plan wasn’t really thought through.”

So the uprising failed; we all knew it would.

At fighting and clawing, rabbits just ain't that good.

But the news is still good from this botched operation,

And that’s why this day is known throughout the nation.

For though he was not so afraid of the bunnies,

He did think the sight of their charge was quite funny.

And Flannery vowed from that day till tomorrow

To stop filling their lives up with grief and with sorrow.

A truce! Yes indeed, a most noble endeavor.

A peace among species to last till forever.

And an honor bestowed upon all rabbit kind.

For if you consider the date, you will find

That the great bunny uprising, so long ago,

Took place on a Sunday I think we all know.

And every year since on this wonderful day

We commemorate rabbits in some special way.

So that’s why a bunny makes each Easter greater.

As for the eggs? Er, well…ask again later!


THE END

Next Week: "The Nine Dancing Princesses"

The Three Little Pigs

The Silly Symphony based on this story is probably the most successful film Walt Disney ever made. At a time when animated shorts ran only a few days, weeks at the most,it ran for months, often times longer than the feature film it was playing with. One theatre owner put fake beards on the pictures of the pigs out front of the theatre to show how long they’d been there! The theme song “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?” was the studio’s first hit song and it made a weary nation laugh in the face of a Great Depression. So successful was this cartoon, that it spawned three sequels: The Big Bad Wolf, Three Little Wolves and Practical Pig. It was while accepting the Academy Award for this cartoon that Walt referred to the statue as an “Oscar.” Before then, it was just an industry nickname for the award. After that, everyone started calling it the Oscar.

O

nce upon a time there was an old sow (that’s a lady pig, kids) who had three sons. The oldest boy was named Hank, and he was lazy and loved to eat. The next oldest was Henry, and he was vain and loved to flirt with girl pigs. The youngest was Huey, and he was smart and kind and hard-working and he loved his family very much.

           

Well, Hank, Henry and Huey lived with their mother for many years. Until finally, they were old enough to go out into the world and make lives for themselves. Hank and Henry resisted, but Huey was enthusiastic. They all set out with a little money they had saved to make their fortunes. Huey suggested they pool their assets and work together, but Hank and Henry wanted to be on their own.

They knew the first thing they would need was someplace to live. And since this is a fairy tale, they couldn’t just find a real estate agent (and, really, why would they want to?), so they had to build their own houses. Hank spent most of his money on food, so by the time he had to buy building material, all he could afford was straw. Henry spent a lot of money on nice clothes to attract girls, so all he could afford were a few bundles of sticks. Huey, however, saved his money diligently, so he was able to buy bricks and mortar.

Hank and Henry built their houses in no time at all and decided to visit their brother to see how he was doing…and to gloat about being so far ahead of him. When they saw that he had only built one wall in the time it took them to build their whole houses, they laughed and teased him. But Huey didn’t care.

“Your houses may have taken less time to build,” he said, “but they won’t last as long. One good windstorm and you’ll both be homeless.” But his brothers ignored his warnings and went out to play in the sun, swim in the lake…and meet girl pigs.

But while they were out in the woods, goofing around and eating, someone was watching them. A pair of eyes that were greedy and hungry. A pair of eyes that longed for a pork dinner. It was a lone wolf who licked his chops at the sight of those plump, juicy pigs. He leapt out of the trees and snarled. Hank and Henry, of course, ran as fast as they could, which wasn’t terribly fast because, let’s face it, they’re pigs. But Hank got to his house fast and locked the door behind him. The Wolf pounded on the straw door with his paw.

“Little pig, little pig!” he said. “Let me come in!”

“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!” said Hank. This was an old pig adage that had been handed down from pig to pig to pig over many generations. It was, of course, completely lost on the wolf which infuriated him. And if you think it's a stupid expression, ask yourself what the heck a "kit and kaboodle" are.

“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!” The Wolf could just as easily have pushed somewhat hard and the house would’ve collapsed just as easily. But, he saw how flimsy the house was and saw an opportunity to get in a cheap joke. So he took a deep breath and blew with all his might. In seconds, the straw house collapsed and Hank was without a home. He ran as fast as he could, wishing he hadn’t had that third liverwurst sandwich, and got to Henry’s house just in time.

And, again, The Wolf knocked on the door.

“Little pigs, little pigs!” he said. “Let me come in!”

“Not by the hair of  our chinny-chin-chins!” said Hank and Henry.

The Wolf groaned at the phrase, still not understanding, but knowing that it probably meant “no.” “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!” This time it took two deep breaths, but the house fell down and Hank and Henry were again exposed. Running even faster than as fast as they could they arrived at Huey’s house just as he was putting on the finishing touch: a horseshoe over the door. But when he saw his brothers running toward him with a wolf on their heels, he opened the door quickly and invited them in and, instead of hanging the horseshoe, he decided to put its luck to practical use and threw it at the Wolf.

This time, the Wolf was too angry (and in too much pain) to do the whole “chinny-chin-chin” bit so he just screamed in pain and banged on the door, which was locked tight. “Okay!” he yelled. “You asked for it!” And with a deep breath and two full lungs, he huffed and puffed and snuffed and scruffed and ruffed and whuffed until he’d had enuff.

The house would not blow over.

“See?” said Huey. “I told you my house was sturdier. Now, don’t worry. The wolf can’t get in now. We’re perfectly safe.”

And so it seemed. For the rest of the day, the Wolf tried to find a way in while the pig brothers played backgammon. But the doors and windows were shut and locked. The house was too well built to be knocked down with anything less than a battering ram, and even then it would have to be a pretty big one (plus they might not have been invented yet. “Once Upon a Time” is pretty vague, hard to tell exactly what had and hadn’t been invented. These are just some of the problems you face when you’re in a fairy tale)

Finding himself unable to break in, he thought he would employ some kind of deceit or tickery. He tried an old wolf standby: sheep’s clothing. This does not mean he borrowed a jacket and tie from a sheep, rather it was clothing designed to make him look like a sheep. That’s a common mistake, so don’t feel bad if you were confused. Anyway, he put on his sheep pelt and knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” asked Huey from inside.

“No one really,” said the Wolf in his meekest voice. “Just a poor little lamb who has lost his way.” (Evidently, the Wolf went to Yale) “Will you let me come in and get warm?”

“If you’re really a poor little lamb, let me see your hands.” Well, the Wolf had forseen this, so before he had knocked on the door, he’d covered his paws in flour so they would like white and fluffy. He put his hand in through the mail slot and the pigs saw that it was white and fluffy, very much like a sheep’s hand would be.

“Well, I guess it is a little lost lamb,” said Hank.

“Let’s let him in!” said Henry.

“No!” said Huey. “It’s not a little lost lamb, it’s the wolf!”

“But it sounds like a lamb,” said Henry.

“And it looks like a lamb,” said Hank.

“Yes,” said Huey. “But what does it smell like?” Pigs are known for having very keen senses of smell and one good whiff was all it took. “Flour! You are the wolf. And you’re not coming in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin—”

“Stop saying that!!” growled the wolf. Now he was really angry and more determined than ever to get inside this house. Then the answer came: the chimney! So, cackling at his own ingenuity, he climbed to the top of the roof…which of course, the pigs heard from inside. It wasn’t long before they figured out what was going on…actually, it wasn’t long before Huey figured it out. Hank and Henry actually did take quite a long time and, in fact, they thought it might be Santa Claus.

Eventually, Huey convinced them it was the Wolf, so they took a big pot and put it in the fireplace. They filled it with water and lit a fire beneath. Soon they had brought it to a rolling boil. Meanwhile, up on the roof, the wolf licked his chops again and slid down the chimney…right into the boiling water!

He yowled and howled and screamed and ran around the room trying to cool himself off. Huey opened the front door and the Big Bad Wolf ran screaming into the woods, never to be seen by any pig again (though there is evidence to indicate that, after being dismissed from his wolf pack in shame, he did make trouble for a little girl in a red cape, but that’s another story).

And that’s how Hank and Henry Pig learned not to cut corners and to take pride in their work. They also learned that not even a big bad wolf can hurt you if you’ve got family by your side.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Three Little Pigs (1933) See introduction
• “Faerie Tale Theatre” (TV) Starring Billy Crystal, Fred Willard, Doris Roberts and Jeff Goldblum
• “Muppet Classic Theatre” Old VHS release introducing Miss Piggy’s brothers, Andy and Randy Pig, in this timeless story

Next Week:

"Tang--" I mean, "Rapunzel"

Leroy Goes Home

Some of you who know me well may recognize this little guy as Leroy. He is a character I have been drawing for some years now and he has proved very popular among my friends and family. I for one have grown very fond of him over the years, which is why I decided to introduce his story to this collection. Now, obviously, this isn’t exactly a “fairy tale” in the strictest sense, but I don’t think Puss in Boots or Red Riding Hood will mind letting Leroy into the club. Because if the Dreamworks movie Madagascar has taught us anything, it’s that nothing saves a mediocre story like penguins!

I

 do not know if you have ever been to Antarctica, but if you have not, I have some advice for you: Do not go to Antartcia. Trust me, you will not enjoy it. There’s just nothing to do there. I mean, like, really. Nothing. There’s nothing there! I don’t mean like all the bars and hangouts and stuff are lame or you can’t get good Chinese food, I mean there is literally nothing there at all!!!

Well, no, I guess there are two things: Ice and penguins. But that’s about it.

I can tell you about ice, it’s cold it’s hard and it’s easy to slip on it and fall on your butt (which hurts). It’s white and boring and, I don’t care what they say about global warming, it’s not getting’ any toastier down there. Which means that Antarctica has only one thing going for it as a tourist location, and, to be fair, it’s a pretty good draw:

Penguins!

And what’s not to love about penguins? Cute and cuddly, yet dignified and noble. Classy in both dress and demeanour, and, as you can see, possessed of an excellent sense of humor:

I never get tired of that!

Not only hilarious pranksters, penguins are dreamers. Oh yes, for, you see, deep within the heart of every young Antarctican penguin, there is a single, burning desire. A most sincere wish. A great passion and a dream which guides us through the dark nights of our native Antarctica.

And it’s this: To get the heck out of Antarctica!

As I said, it’s no fun. And for an ambitious young penguin with dreams that don’t fit on an ice floe it’s darn near intolerable. No libraries, no cinemas, no bookshops, no coffee bars, not even a Wal-Mart for flip’s sake! If it weren’t for those guys who came down to work in that weather station, I may never have even seen a book! I mean, they were real nice to me, they…Oh, I’m sorry. I think I forgot to tell you something:

I’m a penguin.

My name is Leroy, and this is my story. I guess, to look at me, you wouldn’t think I was too remarkable. I’m kinda short, maybe a little chubby, black, white, birdlike. But if you took the time to get to know me, I like to think you’d be able to tell how special I am. All my life, I’ve felt different from other penguins. Not just because I don’t like fish. Not just because I’m not a strong swimmer. Not even because of my asthma (which we just called the “Wheezing Sickness” cuz we had never heard of it before). It was something else that set me apart from my fellow birdies. True, we all would have liked to see something besides Antarctica, but I felt there was something bigger out there. But whenever I tried to explain what was in my heart to the other penguins, they just looked at me like I was crazy.

Heck, for all I knew, I was!

But then those weather station guys turned up and shared their books and music and we even had movie night every Wednesday. I’ll never forget the first movie we ever watched, mainly because it was the first movie I ever watched…like ever. You probably know it: It’s about a girl in Kansas who goes over a rainbow and ends up in another world. I was transfixed! Here I was, a simple penguin, dreaming of a world that I had no proof even existed, and this movie comes along and says everything I’m thinking more clearly than I ever could say it myself. Now, granted, at the end she goes back to Kansas, but that doesn’t realy help the point I’m trying to make, which is this: I had to get away.

I begged Carla and Abrams (the weather station guys…which, thinking about it, I guess was a little misleading, cuz Carla’s more of what you’d call a “lady,” but I always called them “the guys,” so, ya know) to take me with them when their experiments were over, but they said no. They said they had a job to do and it was done and they had to go home. They couldn’t exactly take back souvenirs, they said, but they did leave me one. Carla’s a doctor, you see, and she noticed I had trouble breathing when I got too excited, so she used some of the medical supplies to make me a crude inhaler, and taught me how to use it.

So, for the record, I had no hard feelings toward Carla and Abrams. They were good friends and I understood their position about not taking indigenous persons (penguin or otherwise) back with them. How could I hold a grudge against such nice people? Letting me hang out and watch movies in their station, making me the inhaler, lending me the paper and pen with which I ultimately wrote my tearful goodbye letter to my friends and family before zipping myself in Abrams’ duffel the morning of their departure.

Looking back, I totally get why they were so mad at me.

Of course, by the time they noticed I was there, we were in the air, past the point of no return. They yelled, I yelled, they yelled louder, I yelled as loud as I could, I couldn’t catch my breath, I passed out for a few minutes and when I woke up, Carla was cradling me in her arms singing my favorite song from my favorite movie and we were all friends again. But now the question became what they were going to do with me. I mean, they would have gotten in trouble just walking me through airport security. Although, I maintain it would’ve been pretty funny:

TSA AGENT: Do you have anything to declare?

ABRAMS: Just this penguin.

Still, in the interest of simplicity, I snuck back into Abrams’ duffel and stayed as still and quiet as possible until the heat was off. As I write this, I admit being slightly ashamed of how I came to America. I mean, I was, for all intents and purposes, an illegal alien. All I can say is that, at the time, it seemed like my only option. You see many penguins applying for green cards?

Anyway, when Abrams finally unzipped his duffel, we were in his apartment in Chicago, Illinois. “Welcome to your new home, Leroy,” he said as he led me to the window. And there, for the first time, I saw the United States of America. The tall buildings, the fast cars, the lights, the sounds, the music, the people. I felt how Dorothy must’ve felt when she and her friends saw the Emerald City for the first time. And in that moment I knew that Abrams had been right: I was home.

I stayed with Abrams for about a month. In hindsight, I think it’s fair to say that I was not a great roommate. In my defense, let me just say I was kinda cooped up. I mean, I was used to the wide open spaces of Antarctica. Now I had to spend my days in a one-bedroom in Lincoln Park. I couldn’t leave because, A, I was too short to reach the doorknob, B, didn’t have any money or identification, and, C, I was a penguin, so I had to stay inside all day every day. I mean, I tried to keep myself occupied. I read, I watched TV, Abrams gave me free run of his Netflix account, if I ever felt homesick for the ice and snow, I would just climb into the freezer. Nevertheless, I got stir crazy! I actually started to miss Antarctica, if you can believe that. What I thought was going to be my new home turned out to be just another boring place that I had to get away from.

So, one day, when Abrams had left for work, I put my plan into action. I pushed a great big chair up to the door and climbed on it to turn the knob. It was hard, especially for someone without fingers, but I finally managed to get the door open. I had found an old fanny pack of Abrams and had filled it with a few things I thought might come in handy. A spare key to the apartment, a map of the city, a Swiss Army Knife, a digital watch and about four dollars in loose change I found in the sofa cushions (and my inhaler, of course). I slung it over my back like a knapsack and headed out into the world.

I figured I’d have a quick look around the city and be home before Abrams even noticed I was gone. I managed to get out of the building easy enough, but once I was on the street, things changed. You see, looking down on a city from seventeen flights up is one thing…looking up at it from two feet above the ground is another. The fact that I was a penguin and they were humans didn’t seem to matter when I was with Abrams or Carla. But now, for the first time since I left the South Pole, I saw things the way they truly were. I realized the risk my friends had taken helping me sneak into the country and why it was so important that I stay inside. As giant strangers passed me on all sides, I felt for the first time like what I was:

An alien.

I didn’t belong in this world and I never could. This was a world made for human beings. There were a few animals, but they were either on leashes, under policemen or scavenging in the garbage. Even the birds could fly away, something I certainly couldn’t do. I began to think about going back to Antarctica. But then I remembered how miserable I was there. The fact is that, even though there was no place for me in this world, I still loved it. I loved the diversity and the wonders and, of course, the movies. And unless Netflix could deliver to my old address, I knew I’d never be happy back there either. But how could I be happy in a world where I would be forced to live as an outcast?

I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried.

Of course people saw me. Lots of people who passed did cartoonish double takes when they realized that I was a penguin wearing a fanny pack on his back and using an inhaler. I can’t pretend to know what they were thinking, but I’m sure they were pretty freaked out. I assume what must have happened is someone took out their cell phone and called the police, because as I was walking aimlessly, trying not to panic, suddenly remembering why Dorothy decided she wanted to go home to Kansas as the end of the movie, I noticed a policeman coming toward me. Now, remember, I was an illegal immigrant who was under a great emotional strain and basically having a pretty traumatic day all around, so I hope you’ll understand what I did next:

I ran.

I ran like I’d never run before (which, actually, isn’t saying much cuz, when you live on ice, you don’t do much running) and somehow managed to stay ahead of the policeman for about a block and a half. Then I ducked into an alleyway and hid until I saw him run past me. I had gotten away from the authorities, but for how long? I went back out into the street to try and get my bearings. You see, in the throes of my anxiety, I had sort of lost my way and wasn’t sure how to get back to Abrams’ apartment. After a few minutes, however, I knew I was hopelessly lost. There was no other alternative: I had to call Abrams and tell him everything.

Though I didn’t know this yet, Abrams had already arrived home and seen that I was gone. He called Carla right away. They called the police and explained everything. The officer who took their call, Sergeant Hanratty, was very understanding and promised them that he would personally do whatever he had to to bring me home. He called it in and was told that another officer had been called in to pick up a penguin wandering the streets but that he had lost me. Now, still unbeknownst to me, every available police officer in the area was looking for me.

Unfortunately, it would still be a while before I knew any of this. You see, it was getting dark and, being seventy-five percent black, I was becoming very hard to see. And being so small, my voice couldn’t carry over the sounds of the city, so nobody who I tried to ask for help could hear me. It was getting dark quick and I was scared and alone. I had to find some kind of shelter, and fast. So when I saw a young girl walking out the front door of her brownstone to drop the garbage on the curb, and noticed that she left the door wide open, I made a break for it. I didn’t like going in without permission, but I figured these were extenuating circumstances.

This home happened to belong to the Freeman family, the first of whom that I met was the youngest daughter, Moira. She was on her way upstairs to bed, judging by her pajamas, when she spotted me, shivering in the corner.

“Hello,” she said. But I was too scared and upset to answer. I had lost my inhaler when I was running from the policeman, and was having a hard time breathing, let alone calming myslf. Moira must’ve been able to tell that I was having trouble and, looking around to see that her parents weren’t looking, she picked me up and carried me to her room. She laid me down on her bed and pulled the covers up over me. It reminded me of the way Carla cradled me on the plane and sang to me. It made me think of my home. My real home.

“Thank you,” I said, finally able to speak. “I’ve had a very bad day.”

“Did you lose your mommy and daddy?” Moira asked.

“Actually, I…I sort of left them.” And as soon as I said that I started to cry again. You see, this was the first time I had really thought about what I had done. How much it must have hurt my family when I left. I never felt so bad in my life. I was homesick, and scared, and ashamed, and miserable. So I cried like I never cried before. And Moira held me very close. Unfortunately, I must’ve cried louder than I meant to, because a minute later there was a knock on the door.

“Moira?” said the person who knocked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ginny. My friend just misses his mommy.”

“What friend?” and the door was opened by Moira’s big sister, Ginny, the one who had unwittingly let me in her house. When she saw her little sister cradling a sobbing penguin, she…well, I guess she reacted pretty much the same way you would have reacted. “Where did it come from?” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Moira, and she turned to me and asked where I was from.

“My name is Leroy,” I said through my tears. And I told them both my whole story, everything from the day Carla and Abrams arrived in my neighborhood to the moment I ran inside their house. “I don’t know what to do or where I go from here. All I know is I wanna go home, but I have no idea where that is anymore.”

“We’d better tell Mom and Dad,” said Ginny.

“No!” I said. “Please, if you tell your parents they’ll just want to call the police or animal control or something and there’s no telling what will become of me!” Of course now I know that if I’d let her tell her parents, everything would’ve gone much smoother for me. At the time, however, I was clearly not thinking straight. “Just let me stay here for a while. Just until I work things out. I won’t be any trouble. Please?”

Ginny and Moira took very good care of me. They made sure I had plenty to eat, they gave me baths (very shallow baths cuz, again, not a strong swimmer), we played games and Moira and I read stories to each other every night. It’s remarkable to think that we lived like this for three whole days without their parents noticing…of course their parents leaving town for a long weekend probably didn’t hurt.

“Leroy,” Ginny said to me one afternoon while bathing me in the kitchen sink. “Have you given any thought to what you want do?” I had. I had grown very fond of Ginny and Moira and very much liked living with them. But I knew their parents would be home soon and I wouldn’t be able to stay there. Anyway, I was being selfish. My family in Antarctica and my friends in Chicago were worried about me, and I needed to make things right with them. I figured the best thing would be to get in touch with Abrams and Carla and see if they could help me get back to where I belonged.

Luckily, Abrams had written his name and telephone number in the fanny pack I was using, so I was able to call him that very day.

“Hello?” He sounded somewhat shaken when he answered, and I felt a pang of guilt.

“Hi, Abrams. It’s me.”

“Leroy? Oh my God, where are you? We’ve been worried sick!”

“I’m okay, Abrams. I’m somewhere safe, with friends.”

“Friends? What are you talking about, Leroy? Who’s there with you?”

“Moira and Ginny Freeman. I’m at—”

But just then we heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up. The girls’ parents were home! If they came in and saw me, it would just lead to trouble. I told Abrams I had to go and would call him back, then hung up the phone. Ginny helped me repack my bag and she and Moira both kissed me goodbye and wished me luck. I hated to leave like that, but I knew I couldn’t be seen. Besides, they’d done enough for me already. It was time to move on.

Of course, Abrams hit *69 almost immediately, but by then I was gone. Mr. and Mrs. Freeman, however, heard the phone and had a very confusing conversation when they picked it up. Though, once again, I wouldn’t know this for a long time, the police arrived shortly thereafter and questioned the girls. They told the truth about everything, and Sergant Hanratty was that much closer to finding me.

In the meantime, I was once again lost and alone on the streets of Chicago. But this time I wasn’t scared. My stay with the girls had reinvigorated me and now that I had a specific goal to work toward, I was much more confident. Granted, I was still uneasy about returning to Antarctica, but at the time I felt that there was no other place for me. Anyway, I was trying not to think that far ahead, for fear of being overwhelmed again, and instead focus on my immediate goal: to get back in touch with Abrams and Carla.

I rounded a corner and heard a strange yet familiar sound: It was music. And not just any music. Someone was singing about troubles that melted like lemon drops and I knew it was my song! My favorite song from my favorite movie! I ran toward the source of the singing and found myself outside a place called Barry’s Pizza. A tall, lanky, loose-jointed kinda guy was outside singing the song and dancing, presumably to attract customers into the pizzeria. There was a sign next to him that said “No tips, please, just come in and order a slice!” But I just stood there and listened to him sing the song. Toward the end of the last verse, he looked down and saw me for the first time. He smiled at me, and even though it was kind of a goofy, lopsided grin, it made me feel good. Made me feel like I had found another friend. After he was done singing, I tried to clap, but, let’s face it, flippers aren’t great for applauding.

“Thank you, little man,” said the singer. “Always nice to play for an appreciative audience.”

“That’s my favorite song!”

“Mine too, little man, mine too. My name’s Elijah. And how may I address you, my new friend?”

“I’m Leroy! And I’d like to come in for a slice like your sign says…but I don’t know if I can afford it.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Leroy. You’re friends with Elijah now. I’m sure we can come to an agreeable arrangement. Why don’t you come on in?”

So Elijah led me into the pizzeria. He and I went halfsies on a large slice of pepperoni while I told him my story (which, I don’t mind telling you, I was starting to get kind of tired of telling at this point)…actually, if I can just sidetrack the narrative just briefly here, I want to explain that this was the first pizza I’d ever had and it remains the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. I have since tried pizza with all different kinds of toppings, including anchovies, which I like, which is odd when you consider that I don’t normally like fish. Anyway, I just wanted to mention what an important experience this was for me…So, once my story and the pizza were done, Elijah said, “Man, oh man, little man. That is some kind of tale of woe you got right there. But, don’t you worry. Cuz, it’s like I told you: you’re friends with Elijah now. And when you’re friends with Elijah everything just seems to work out for the best. Ain’t that right, Barry?” he added, calling out to his boss, the owner of the pizzeria.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Elijah,” said Barry, who wasn’t really paying attention.

Elijah took me over to the counter and helped me dial the phone. I called Abrams’ number again, but this time Carla picked up. “Leroy?” she said, “is that you?” She sounded as upset as Abrams did, if not more so.

“Yes it’s me. Where’s Abrams?”

“He’s out looking for you, Leroy. You need to come home now, sweetie.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m kind of lost.”

“That’s okay, honey, we’ll come to you. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m in a place called Barry’s Pizza,” I told her, and Elijah helped me give her directions.

“I’m on way, Leroy. But please don’t go anywhere.”

“See?” said Elijah, grinning lke a Cheshire Cat. “What’d I tell you? Everything’s gonna work out for the best. I’m kinda what you’d call a good luck charm, little man. Take Barry here, for instance. A year ago he couldn’t give pizza away in this neighborhood. I come out of a clear blue sky and his profits go through the roof. Barry, tell my little friend how lost you’d be without me!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Barry, “why don’t you start singing again. At least when you were outside I didn’t have to—” But just then, he looked up and for the first time saw that Elijah’s friend was a penguin. I smiled and waved politely to Barry, but he didn’t return the sentiment. “What’s that filthy animal doing in my place? Get it out of here! Go on, shoo!” Elijah tried to talk Barry down, but he wasn’t listening. He picked up a big broom and swung it at me. Elijah pulled me out of harm’s way at the last minute and ran me outside. He hailed a taxi and put me inside, then gave some money to the driver.

“Take him to Pablo’s on Kowalski Street,” he said to the driver. Then he turned to me and said, “Sorry about this, little man. But don’t you worry. Elijah’s friends are always welcome at Pablo’s. Just tell ‘em I sent you and wait for me there.” Before I could even thank Elijah for all his help, the cab pulled away.

Well, as you’ve probably guessed, I managed to just miss my friends yet again. Sergent Hanratty and Carla arrived soon after I departed (I had no way of knowing that Barry’s Pizza was actually across the street from Abrams’ apartment. I got pretty turned around that night) only to see that I was gone. Elijah told them what had happened and where I’d be. Carla called Abrams (who was driving around town with Moira and Ginny, looking for me) on his cell and told him where I was headed. Then she and Elijah (who, I’m sorry to report, got fired from Barry’s because of me) piled into Hanratty’s car and they all headed toward Pablo’s on Kowalski Street.

Oblivious to all of this was me, sitting in the backseat of the taxi on the way to a place I’d never heard of where I would have to sit and wait heaven knows how long for Elijah to show up and help me find Carla and Abrams again so they could help me go home to a place I didn’t know if I ever wanted to see again after being lost, chased, yelled at and attacked and all this in the space of just under five days. I was so exhausted, both physically and emotionally, that I fell fast asleep.

“Leroy? Leroy? Wake up, sweetie.”

I opened my eyes and there was my mother standing over me. I looked around and I was back in my own room again. “What happened?” I asked. “Was it all a dream? Like in the movie?”

“No, sweetheart,” said my mom. “This is the dream.”

“Oh. I’m sorry I left Mom. I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“That will make me very hapy, Leroy…but what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will it make you happy? Is it what you really want?”

“Well…to tell the truth, Mom, I don’t know what I want. I wasn’t happy in Antarctica, but I don’t belong here either. Where do I belong? What should I do, Mom?”

“Leroy, my love,” she said, and held me in her flippers like she did when I was just a hatchling, “You should do whatever makes you happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“What if I never find a place where I belong?”

“What do you mean? You’ve already found several places where you belong. Here with me and your friends and family, back with Abrams and Carla, up in Moira’s bedroom, Elijah’s pizzeria. You’ve made so many friends, and you have such a big family now. That’s where your home is, Leroy. Home isn’t a place. Home isn’t ‘where.’ Home is people. Home is ‘who.’ Home is family.”

“I…I don’t…”

“Hey! Birdie! Wake up! We’re here!”

I awoke to find the cabbie poking me with his index finger. I thanked him for the ride and got out of the cab.

When Elijah said I was going someplace called “Pablo’s” I didn’t quite know what to expect. A diner, a bar, a hotel, maybe. Certainly not a nightclub. A long line of people were waiting at the front door hoping to be let in by a bouncer the size of an elephant seal. Now I didn’t like the look of that long line, but I didn’t think it was right to cut either. So I just kind of waited outside on the curb. I was thinking about the dream I’d just had, when I noticed a lot of the people in line were staring at me. I was starting to feel nervous again and since I still didn’t have my inhaler, I tried to calm myself down in another way. I started singing my favorite song. Just softly, to myself. I closed my eyes and imagined opening the door of the farmouse and seeing brightly-colored toadstools and munchkins and a nice lady in a pink bubble who would help me get home…wherever that was.

Suddenly it got very bright. I opened my eyes and saw two cars had stopped right in front of the club and their headlights were blinding me. I squinted and saw lots of people climbing out of the cars and running toward me. by the time I could tell who they were, they were already hugging and kissing me and telling me how happy they were to see me. Carla, Abrams, Moira, Ginny, Elijah and Sergeant Hanratty (who I was meeting for the first time) all took turns holding me and telling me how worried they were.

And I cried again. But this time, in a good way.

That night I was back in Abrams’ apartment with him and Carla. It seems I had missed quite a lot since I’d been gone. Most importantly, things had changed between Carla and Abrams. I guess they had discovered some kind of feelings for each other back in Antarctica, but weren’t ready to act on them. But when I went missing, the shared experience of looking for me brought it out in them. In a weird way, my taking off was a good thing because it brought two people together. Not just two people, come to think of it. Elijah, The Freemans, Hanratty. All of my new friends. That’s when I finally realized what my mom was telling me in my dream. Here I thought I had no home, but really I had lots of homes. One home for every friend.

Speaking of my mom…well, it turns out she and the other penguins were as resourceful and determined as my human friends. When they got my note they all banded together as a team. They went to the now abandoned weather station where Carla and Abrams worked and somehow (to this day I’ve never understood how) got the communications back up and sent a message. It got relayed to a sister station in New Guinea, then was routed through Beijing, Moscow, London, New York and finally to the lab where Carla works in Chicago. The message, which she read on the very day that Abrams came home to find me gone, went like this:

DEAR LEROY,  WE ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE TOO

GOOD FOR ANTARCTICA. DON’T FORGET TO WRITE.

WE LOVE YOU.

Do I miss them? Of course I do. But they’re still with me in other ways. And it’s not like we don’t keep in touch. Besides, a lot of them have left Antarctica and now live in zoos all over the country, and I visit them all the time. In fact, that’s my life these days. I travel all over this great nation of ours visiting friends, making new ones. I figured Carla and Abrams were gonna want me to move out so I wouldn’t cramp their style (not to give away too much of their personal lives, but little baby Leroy is expected in March), and it just so happens Elijah has a friend at the San Diego Zoo, so that’s where I live when I’m not traveling. But even when I am traveling, as long as I have friends and family near me, I know I’ll be okay.

And, after all…there’s no place like home.

THE END

If you enjoyed Leroy’s story, let him know:

LeroyPenguin@hotmail.com