Henri pushed through the coop door and froze. The hens pecked with chests puffed out, and the roosters sat on the nesting boxes looking confused. An apple bounced off his comb.
Henri puffed his chest and opened his beak. Only a tiny squeak came out. He tried again — nothing at all. The hen beside him clucked loudly, but no egg appeared.
Henri watched from under the vegetable garden fence. He saw the roosters strutting and the hens pecking. He tried to stretch his neck and crow again — it failed.
Henri hopped down into the dirt and sat very still. Nearby, the roosters puffed their tails high while the hens kept pecking. He just watched, his head tilted.
Henri walked to the big old oak tree and looked at his reflection in a puddle. He tilted his head, ruffled his feathers, and said nothing at all.
An acorn dropped and bounced off his beak. Henri giggled. He spread his wings and flapped once, twice, three times, then ran back toward the coop.
Henri stood in the middle of the farmyard and did nothing but be Henri. He pecked at a worm and shook the dust from his feathers.
The other chickens stopped trying to be something else and just went back to their own things. Henri watched the sun move across the yard.
Henri hopped onto the low fence. He looked at the sky and let out a happy little cluck. The farmyard felt just right.
Henri looked down at the yard where his friends went about their day. He felt something warm spread through him — he was exactly who he was meant to be.
Henri closed his eyes and listened to the farm. The wind rustled the oak leaves, the hens clucked softly, and somewhere a rooster gave a proper crow.
The next morning, Henri walked to the edge of the coop and let out a loud, proud crow. The sun rose, the farm woke up, and Henri smiled.