Sam the Man & the Chicken Plan Read online

  “Feathers can’t fly by themselves,” Sam said.

  “They can if the wind helps them,” Annabelle said.

  Sam thought about this. It made sense. The feathers had probably flown away on a nice breeze.

  Sam peered out the window into the dark backyard. He could see branches moving from side to side. He leaned his head against the window frame, feeling tired and sort of sad. He would never find his feathers tonight.

  “I’ll get up first thing in the morning and look for them,” he said.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high, Sam the Man,” said his dad. “They may have flown out of town by then. It’s pretty windy out there.”

  His dad was right. The next morning Sam couldn’t find his feathers anywhere.

  “At least now you don’t have to worry about your collection getting stolen,” Annabelle said as they walked to the bus stop.

  Not a helpful comment, Sam thought.

  Sam had looked forward to carrying his box up the steps to the bus. He had looked forward to Miss Louise, the bus driver, making guess after guess about what was inside. He had looked forward to letting Gavin take a peek, but nobody else.

  Instead, when Sam got on the bus, he said, “Hi, Miss Louise,” and Miss Loiuse said, “Hello, Sam the Man,” and that was it.

  Gavin had saved him a seat. “Guess what I brought for show-and-tell?” he asked Sam.

  “Wookie the Sock Monkey?” Sam guessed.

  “How did you know?” Gavin sounded disappointed that Sam had guessed correctly.

  “You always bring Wookie the Sock Monkey for show-and-tell.”

  Gavin nodded. “I like a routine.”

  “I lost what I was going to bring,” Sam said. “So, I guess I don’t have anything.”

  He hoped Gavin would ask him what he’d lost, but Gavin didn’t. Instead, Gavin said, “I have an eraser you could show. I drew purple and green stripes on it with markers. Want it?”

  Sam shook his head. “I’d rather not show anything, since I can’t show this really special thing.”

  “A striped eraser is pretty special,” Gavin said. “Most people would agree with me about that.”

  Sam gave up on waiting for Gavin to ask him about the special thing he lost. “It was my feather collection, including a feather from the bluebird of happiness and a lucky red feather,” Sam said. “That was my special thing.”

  “Wow!” Gavin’s eyes got wide. “That sounds awesome! Where did you get the happiness feather?”

  “Our neighbor Mrs. Kerner.”

  “How did she get it?” Gavin asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said. “She didn’t tell me.”

  “Do you think you could find another one?”

  Sam thought about it. “Mrs. Kerner did say there was only one bluebird of happiness, but more than one feather.”

  “That settles it,” said Gavin. “Meet me on the playground at recess.”

  “I always meet you on the playground at recess,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, but today we’re going to do something different.”

  “We’re not going to play soccer with Will and Rashid?”

  “No,” Gavin said. “We’re going to find you another feather from the bluebird of happiness, so you’ll have something to show at show-and-tell!”

  “Where?” Sam asked.

  “On the kickball field, of course,” said Gavin.

  Of course, Sam thought. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  Field of Feathers

  Will and Rashid and Emily Early all wanted to help Sam and Gavin search the kickball field for feathers.

  So did Emily’s best friend, Imogene, a bossy girl who talked about horses as much as Emily talked about birds.

  “Let’s gallop!” Imogene yelled as they walked toward the kickball field. “Let’s pretend we’re a herd of golden palominos!”

  Imogene and Emily galloped ahead. Sam and Gavin and Will and Rashid all looked at one another and shook their heads.

  “Why do girls like horses so much?” Rashid asked. “My sister is always begging my parents for a horse. She’s got horse posters all over her room. But you know what? She’s never ridden a horse in her whole life. She’s never even touched one!”

  “The twins make us watch The Black Stallion practically every night,” Will said. “And I’m always stepping on their little horse guys.”

  Of all of Sam’s friends, Will had the worst luck. His twin sisters, Maisy and Daisy, were in the fourth grade and famous for wearing matching outfits every single day. Also, Will’s mom ran a ballet school.

  Really, Sam thought, things could not be worse for Will.

  “Found one!” Emily called from third base. “It was right here in the dirt.”

  The feather Emily found was a rusty brown. It was not a feather from the bluebird of happiness.

  Still, Sam took it from Emily and put it in the plastic bag Mr. Pell had given him for feather collecting. “Thanks,” he said.

  “De nada!” Emily said, and then she galloped over to centerfield. “I bet I’ll find tons of feathers here!”

  After a fifteen-minute search, the group had found a total of eight feathers.

  Emily found two more rusty-brown feathers.

  Rashid found two black-and-white feathers, and Will found two gray-and-white feathers.

  Gavin and Sam found one at the same time, a red feather that Emily thought probably came from a cardinal.

  “If we were in South America, it might have come from a scarlet ibis,” Emily said, holding out the red feather that looked like the one Judy had given Sam. “But since we live in North America, it probably didn’t.”

  Walking back to the playground, Sam peered inside his bag of feathers. He guessed they looked nice, even if none of them was a feather from the bluebird of happiness.

  “Maybe we’ll find a blue feather tomorrow,” Gavin said. “I don’t think we should give up.”

  “Maybe,” Sam said. “I guess I could show these feathers today for show-and-tell, if that’s okay with everyone.”

  He tried to sound excited about it, but Sam was starting to wonder if you could only be superexcited about feathers for twenty-four hours and after that your excitement was all used up.

  “I’m showing my new book about horses at show-and-tell,” Imogene said. “It’s called A Foal Is Born by Danielle H. Paul. She’s the leading horse expert in our state.”

  Sam turned to Emily. “Maybe you should do show-and-tell on the feathers. You’re probably the leading bird expert in our state.”

  “That’s okay, Sam,” Emily said. “I brought in some pictures from my family’s birding trip last weekend. You can tell about the feathers.”

  “After all, Sam, collecting the feathers was your idea!” Gavin said.

  “I thought it was your idea,” Sam said.

  Gavin thought about this. “Oh, yeah, it was. Maybe I should talk about the feathers.”

  “You can’t talk about the feathers!” Imogene said. “You have to talk about Wookie the Sock Monkey! If you didn’t, then everyone would feel weird.”

  “That’s true,” Gavin said.

  “I’ll talk about the feathers, then,” said Sam. “Just remember I’m not an expert.”

  Everyone agreed that Sam didn’t have to be an expert on feathers to talk about them for show-and-tell.

  Walking back into the school building, carrying his plastic bag with eight feathers, Sam realized that practically everyone he knew was an expert on something. Gavin was an expert on Wookie the Sock Monkey, Emily was an expert on birds, and Imogene was an expert on horses. Will was probably the world’s greatest expert on bad luck and annoying twin sisters.

  Sam wanted to be an expert on something, too.

  But what?

  The Chicken Plan

  I would like to get a chicken,” Sam told his parents that night at dinner.

  “To eat?” his mom asked. “We don’t have any chicken, honey. Just spaghetti.”
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  “Not to eat,” Sam said. “To grow.”

  “I think you mean to raise,” Annabelle said. “You grow carrots. You raise chickens.”

  “I would like to get a chicken to raise, so I can become a chicken expert,” Sam said. “Actually, I would like to get three chickens. Mrs. Kerner told me they don’t like to live by themselves.”

  Sam’s mom looked at Sam’s dad like she was waiting for him to say something.

  Sam’s dad looked at Sam’s mom like he was waiting for her to say something.

  “I’ll pay for it myself,” Sam said.

  “Where are you going to get the money?” Annabelle asked.

  “I could help you mow lawns,” Sam said. “Or you could pay me to hold the rope when you get your goat.”

  “You’re getting a goat?” Sam’s mom asked Annabelle.

  “You are not getting a goat,” Sam’s dad said at the same time.

  Annabelle looked at Sam. “Did you have to bring up the goat?”

  “Sorry,” Sam said. “Why don’t we talk about chickens instead?”

  “Good idea,” said Annabelle.

  “Where would you keep the chickens, Sam?” Sam’s mom asked.

  “In a coop,” Sam said. “You have to put them in a coop every night and close it up tight, so the foxes and raccoons don’t eat them.”

  “Not to mention the snakes,” Annabelle added.

  “Snakes?” Sam’s mom asked. Her face got very pale. “Snakes eat chickens?”

  “They eat their eggs,” Annabelle said. “We saw a movie about it in science class.”

  No one said anything for a minute.

  Then Sam’s dad said, “Sam the Man, I have a plan. Why don’t you ask Mrs. Kerner if you could add a chicken to her flock?”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked.

  “You could get your own chicken, and it could live with Mrs. Kerner’s chickens. Maybe you could do chores as a way to pay rent.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Sam’s mom said.

  Sam thought about it. He thought it would be nicer if his chicken lived at his house, so he could see it whenever he wanted.

  On the other hand he could become an even bigger chicken expert if he was around a lot of chickens at once. Mrs. Kerner had six chickens. If Sam got one chicken, that would be seven chickens.

  Hanging out with seven chickens would make Sam a chicken expert in no time. There was only one problem he could think of.

  “How will I know which eggs are mine?” he asked.

  “Get the kind of chicken that lays green eggs,” Annabelle said.

  “There’s a chicken that lays green eggs?”

  “Pretty awesome, huh?”

  Sam nodded. He imagined taking green eggs to school for show-and-tell.

  Maybe he could take his chicken to show-and-tell!

  He wondered if Miss Louise would let him bring his chicken on the school bus.

  He was pretty sure she would.

  A Funny Name for a Chicken

  Mrs. Kerner said Sam was welcome to add a chicken to her flock.

  In return Sam would check the chickens’ water every afternoon and clean the coop on Saturdays.

  “That’s it?” Sam asked her. “That’s all I have to do to pay rent?”

  Mrs. Kerner shrugged. “What can I say? Chickens are easy.”

  Now all Sam had to do was get his chicken. He and his dad did some research and decided they would try to buy one from somebody nearby.

  Sam’s dad put a request in the classified section of the Marsville community’s website. Wanted, he wrote. One chicken, not too old. Must lay green eggs.

  The next day someone named Trisha Hardy e-mailed Sam’s dad. “I have a chicken that lays blue eggs. In fact, I have five of them. I’m moving next month and need to find them new homes.”

  Sam’s dad wrote back that they only wanted one chicken, and blue eggs were fine.

  He and Trisha Hardy made plans for Sam and his dad to pick up the chicken.

  “What are you going to name her?” Sam’s dad asked on the ride over.

  “How do we know it’s a her?” Sam asked. He didn’t know if he wanted a girl chicken. Most of his friends were boys.

  “All chickens that lay eggs are girls, Sam the Man,” Sam’s dad said. “They’re called hens. Boy chickens are roosters.”

  Sam guessed he knew that already. He felt sort of dumb for forgetting.

  “Could we get a rooster instead?” he asked.

  “Nope, roosters are too noisy. In our neighborhood you can only have chickens. That’s the rule. Besides, don’t you want a chicken that lays eggs?”

  Sam nodded. He’d like to see what a blue egg looked like. The only blue eggs he’d ever seen had been plastic.

  Sam had thought that Trisha Hardy would live on a farm in the country. But she didn’t. She lived in a subdivision called Willow Oak, and her house looked a lot like Sam’s house.

  “Let me introduce you to Helga!” Trisha Hardy said when Sam and his dad got out of the car. “She’s out back with the rest of the girls.”

  “You can change the name,” Sam’s dad whispered to him.

  Sam was happy to hear that.

  As soon as Sam saw Trisha Hardy’s chicken coop, he wished they could have one too. It looked like a real house, with windows and a front door. If he had a chicken coop like that, maybe he could sleep in it during the summer.

  “Here she is,” Trisha said, carrying a chicken over to Sam and his dad. The chicken had reddish-brown feathers and red markings around her eyes and beak.

  Trisha kissed the chicken on the head. “I’m going to miss her so much! Such a sweetie!”

  Sam and his dad looked at each other. Sam’s dad made a face.

  Sam made a face back. Kissing chickens was gross.

  “So, why don’t you bring out the crate, and we’ll get Helga settled,” Trisha said.

  Sam and his dad looked at each other again.

  “We were supposed to bring a crate?” Sam’s dad asked.

  Trisha nodded.

  “I think we might have forgot,” Sam said.

  “Hmm, let me think,” Trish said. “I know! I have a box you could put her in. But someone will have to sit next to her in the car and keep her calm.”

  They put Helga’s box in the backseat. Then Trisha gave Helga one last kiss, Sam’s dad gave Trisha some money, and Trisha put Helga in the box.

  Sam slid into the backseat next to Helga. He put on his seat belt.

  “Do you think I should try to put a seat belt on Helga?” he asked his dad.

  “Just hold on to the box, and I’ll do my best not to crash the car,” his dad said.

  That sounded like a good plan to Sam.

  “Stay calm,” Sam told Helga as his dad backed the car down the driveway. “We only live five minutes away.”

  Helga squawked.

  “How do you like the name ‘Red’?” Sam asked her.

  Helga squawked louder. She fluttered and flapped her wings. She started to hop.

  “I don’t think she’s staying calm,” Sam told his dad.

  “Just keep her in the box,” Sam’s dad said.

  Helga hopped a little higher. She squawked a little louder.

  Sam held on to the box as tight as he could. “It’s only a few more minutes, Helga,” he said. “Why don’t you take a nap until we get there?”

  Helga took one last hop. She hopped so high she looked Sam straight in the eye.

  It didn’t look like she was going to fall asleep anytime soon.

  “Squaawwk!” Helga squawked.

  “Bawwk!” Helga bawked.

  And then, with one flap of her wings, she was over the side of the box and headed for freedom.

  The Hopping Hen

  Dad!” Sam yelled. “Helga escaped!”

  “Keep calm, Sam the Man,” his dad said. He pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Can you catch her?”

  Sam reached down to grab Helga, who was
on the floor in front of her box. She hopped to the left of his hands, and she hopped to the right. Then she hopped up into Sam’s lap.

  “I caught her,” he told his dad.

  “Well, hold on tight. I’ve got an idea.”

  Sam’s dad got a blanket from the trunk of the car while Sam held on to Helga. Helga squawked, but she didn’t seem to mind too much. Sam didn’t mind either. Helga’s feathers were soft. He could feel her little heart beating in her chest.

  He sort of minded her claws, though. He wished they weren’t so sharp.

  “Let’s put Helga back in her box and then put this blanket over the top,” Sam’s dad said. “Maybe if she can’t see anything, she won’t get so excited.”

  “I don’t mind holding her,” Sam said. “I think she likes being held.”

  Sam’s dad looked doubtful, but he nodded. “Okay. We’re almost home. Just don’t let her hop up front.”

  Helga had stopped hopping. She sat on Sam’s lap for the rest of the ride and looked out the window. When they reached Mrs. Kerner’s house, Sam told Helga, “This is where you’re going to live. But I’ll come visit you every day.”

  After he parked the car in Mrs. Kerner’s driveway, Sam’s dad turned around and said, “Don’t forget, Sam—you promised you would pay for a chicken if we let you get one.”

  “I did?” Sam asked. He didn’t remember that. He guessed it was fair, though.

  “You did. Helga cost twenty dollars. You can pay me back a little every week.”

  Twenty bucks! Now, Sam wished he hadn’t bought Annabelle’s box.

  Mrs. Kerner opened her front door and waved. “Did you get your chicken, Sam?”

  “Her name is Helga,” Sam said. He popped out of the car. He was still holding Helga. “I was going to change it, but now she seems like a Helga to me.”

  “If it were up to me, I’d call her ‘Janice,’ ” Mrs. Kerner said. “She looks like a Janice. But it’s not up to me.”

  Sam, Sam’s dad, and Mrs. Kerner walked to the backyard. “The other chickens might not be nice to Helga right away,” Mrs. Kerner said. “At first, we’re going to put her in a crate next to the coop. This lets the other birds get used to her.”