
Tale twist

The Case of the Missing Duckling
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The Missing Duckling
The pond sparkled like a puddle of melted sunshine. Mother Duck paddled ahead, her five ducklings trailing behind in a wobbly line.
“Quack, quack, quack—keep up, no slacking!” she called.
Pippin, the smallest, paddled furiously to catch up. “I’m not slacking! I’m just… extra floaty.”
“Floaty or not, stay close,” Mother Duck said with a smile. “Now, let’s count—”
She turned her head and froze. “One… two… three… four…”
“Where’s Pippin?”
The ducklings blinked at each other. Pippin wasn’t there.
“Lost him again?” Drake waddled over, his chest puffed up like a pompous feather pillow.
“I didn’t lose him!” Mother Duck snapped. “He was right behind me.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” quacked Agnes, a nosy duck with a ruffled beak. “You’re always losing him.”
“I am not!” Mother Duck flapped her wings in frustration. “Why don’t you help me look instead of quacking about it?”
But the other ducks were too busy muttering and shaking their heads, feathers ruffled with opinions.
Across the barnyard, Henrietta the chicken was grinning like she’d found a golden egg.
“Did you hear?” she clucked to her flock. “The duckling’s gone missing! You know what that means?”
“Fox trouble?” whispered a young hen.
Henrietta nodded, “It definitely is them!”
“Don’t worry, Mother Duck!” Henrietta strutted over, wings wide. “We’ll help you find your little one.”
“Oh, thank you,” Mother Duck said, her voice cracking.
“Of course! It’s clearly the foxes’ fault,” Henrietta said loudly, shooting glances at the others. “We must unite against them.”
As the chickens clucked in dramatic agreement, Mother Duck sighed. Her feathers drooped as she stared at the pond, her heart heavy.
“Pippin,” she whispered, “where are you?”