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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/654504
by Shaara
Rated: E · Book · Children's · #970570
This selection of stories and poems will enchant the child in you.
#654504 added June 14, 2009 at 5:46pm
Restrictions: None
Floppy Duck
Writer's Cramp:Write a story or poem involving a tricycle, a park bench, and a duck.

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Floppy Duck


Floppy Duck waddled across the lawn. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular, but it never hurt to check out the park benches. Sometimes, the visitors left goodies there. Once he’d found a dropped apple core, another time there was popcorn on the seat, and last Saturday he’d discovered a piece of dropped sandwich – peanut butter and jelly. Floppy Duck opened his mouth and flopped his beak up and down in his excitement at the memory.

“Oh, please, let me find some more delicious sandwich droppings,” he said to himself.

But when Floppy Duck came to the spot where the park benches were located, a small tow-headed tot was sitting on a tricycle, banging on it with a large wooden spoon. Floppy Duck was afraid to go close. He knew that things with wheels were dangerous to his feet, and small humans were always more likely to chase after him than the bigger ones. Besides, this tot was noisier than even the garbage men with their ferocious beast of a truck. Floppy Duck quacked once, quite loudly in protest, and waddled over to a large stretch of grass.

“Mommy, Mommy. Duckie,” cried the little girl, still banging away. Her mother turned around and looked.

“Yes,” the woman said. “That’s a big duck. Shall we feed it some of our lunch?”

Floppy Duck heard their words, but he didn’t trust people. He watched them as they threw out hands full of breadcrumbs. He didn’t move from his spot. He pecked at some bugs and watched the two people out of the corner of his eye. The little girl layered the ground with tasties.

A pigeon flew down to pick up a chunk of bread. Floppy Duck quacked at it angrily. How dare that bird steal what was his! He complained angrily, but he still didn’t move from his spot under the elm tree where the grass was high, and he felt safe.

The mother and the girl walked over to the bench and sat down to eat some lunch. Floppy Duck came closer just to keep an eye on them and to chase away any pigeons that might attempt another theft.

But the bread looked so yummy. Floppy Duck couldn't help edging a little closer. With an anxious peck, he grabbed a bite of the bread.

“Mommy, Mommy. The duck is back!” the small girl shouted, and she jumped off the bench and ran toward Floppy Duck.

“Quack, quack, quack,” protested Floppy Duck as he ran back to his spot on the grass.

The mother cried out to the little girl, and the child sat back down on the edge of the bench. Floppy Duck watched both of them with a cautious eye. Then another of the evil pigeons swooped down and stole a second piece of Floppy Duck’s bread.

“Quack, quack, quack,” the duck cried out, forgetting his fear while he drove all the greedy pigeons away. That’s when he smelled it – the fragrance of something so delicious his beak opened with a soft awk -- peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!

Floppy Duck, driven by the smell, waddled over to the bench. His beak quacked without him being aware of it, and he walked just as fast as his little feet could take him to the source of that delicious smell. The beak-watering flavor of peanut butter and jelly was coming from the hands of the noisy, little girl who sat on the bench munching away.

“Quack, quack, quack,” begged Floppy Duck, and the little girl looked down. “Oh, look, Mommy. Look!” She got so excited, she dropped her sandwich, and Floppy Duck picked it up and swallowed with one swift gulp.

From then on, despite the noise of the little girl and her tricycle with the dangerous wheels, Floppy Duck followed her everywhere, and each day she gave him another bite of a delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Quack, quack, quack,” says Floppy Duck every day, and he always wears the happiest of grins.



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© Copyright 2009 Shaara (UN: shaara at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Shaara has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/654504