Half Chick
An Adaptation of a Spanish
Folk Tale
by Rose Owens
Once upon a time there was a
Spanish hen. She hatched a clutch of
eggs. All of the chicks were exactly
alike—cute little yellow balls of fluff—all except the last one. This chick had one eye, one wing, one leg
and half a beak.
“Oh,
the poor little thing,” said his mother.
He will never grow up to have a barnyard of his own. He will not be able to manage on his
own.” She tucked him protectively under
her wings and said, “Never mind, little Medio Pollito. (That means half chick in Spanish.) You will always have to stay at home with
your mother. I will take care of
you.” And she loved him very much.
Now
although Medio Pollito looked helpless, it soon became obvious that he was a
very self-sufficient, independent chick.
He quickly learned how to get around the barnyard. Hoppity-kick. Hoppity-kick.
Hoppity-kick.
When
his brothers and sisters went down to the pond, Mother Hen said, “Oh no Medio
Pollito, it is too far to the pond. You
had better stay in the barnyard with me.”
“Mother!”
Medio Pollito insisted, “I can do it.”
And off he went.
Hoppity-kick. Hoppity-kick. Hoppity-kick.
Sometimes
Medio Pollito liked to tease. Sometimes
he got tired or being protected and receiving extra care. So he hid in the corn field.
“PAWK! PAWK!
Pawk-pawk-pawk! PAWK! PAWK!
Oh where, oh where is Medio Pollito?
Where can he be?” His mother
spun in frantic circles as she looked for him.
After a while Medio Pollito
would pop up. “Here I am, Mother. Let’s go home.” And hoppity-kick!
Hoppity-kick! Hoppity-kick went
Medio Pollito back to the barnyard.
One day when the chicks were
grown up, Medio Pollito announced, “Mother, I have decided to go to Madrid to
see the king.”
“Oh, Medio,” said his
brothers and sisters. “You had better
stay in the barnyard with us. The king
would only laugh at a funny rooster like you.”
Medio Pollito drew himself
up very tall. “I,” he said, “have grown
into a very unusual rooster. The king
cannot help but see my worth. He will
give me a barnyard of my own. And
maybe—if I feel like it AND if you ask very politely—maybe I will let you come
to visit me.”
“Oh no, Medio Pollito,” said
his mother. “You cannot go to
Madrid. It is too far. Your leg will get too tired. You had better stay here in the barnyard
with me. Maybe we can take a little
trip when you are a little stronger.”
“Mother!” said Medio. “I am going.” And away he went.
Hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick.
His
mother sadly waved to her determined son.
“Good-bye Medio, good-bye.”
Medio
Pollito looked back over his shoulder and waved his wing. “Goodbye Mother.”
“Medio Pollito,” she
called. “Remember to be kind to
everyone you meet.”
Medio
glanced over his shoulder. “I will,
Mother.”
“Medio,”
called his mother, “do be careful.
Medio
didn’t look back. “I will
Mother.”
Hoppity-kick,
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick went Medio Pollito down the road.
The
Spanish hen continued to wave until Half Chick was out of sight. “Oh, I do hope he will be all right.”
As
Medio Pollito hopped past a field, he saw a fire that had been left by some
gypsies. “Oh Medio,” called the
fire. “Please put some branches on me. I am about to die.”
“What
is that to me?” said Medio. “I am off
to Madrid to see the king. If I put
branches on your flames my glossy wings might get smoky and dirty. As you can see, I am a most unusual
rooster. The king will not give me a
barnyard of my own if I am smoky and dirty.”
Hoppity-kick,
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick went Medio Pollito down the road.
He
stopped at a stream to get a drink.
There were many weeds blocking the flow of the stream. “Oh Medio Pollito,” said the stream, “as
long as you are here, will you please clear the weeds out for me? It is so hard for me to flow smoothly.”
“What!”
said Medio Pollito. “I haven’t got time
to pull weeds. I am on my way to Madrid
to see the king. He is going to give me
my own barnyard.”
Hoppity-kick,
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick. Down the
road went Medio Pollito. Madrid was a
long way and Medio Pollito’s leg did get tired. So he sat down under a shady tree to rest.
“Oooooooh, OoooWooooooooh.” Medio Pollito looked up.
The wind seemed to be all tangled up in the branches of the tree. “Heeeelp meeeee,” wailed the wind. “I am so uncomfortable. Pleeeeaase untangle meee!”
“Impossible!”
said Medio Pollito. “I simply haven’t
got the time. I am on my way to Madrid
so the king can give me my own barnyard.
I can’t be bothered with you.
You got yourself tangled up. You
can get yourself untangled.” Medio
Pollito left the wind stuck in the tree and hoppity-kicked on down the road
toward Madrid. The sun was setting just
as Medio arrived at the gates of Madrid.
Medio continued on through the city, through the palace doors and into
the audience chamber.
It
was the end of a long, tiring day. The king was getting tired. He was feeling hungrier and hungrier by the
minute. He glanced up and saw Medio
Pollito. He motioned to a
messenger. “See that rooster,” said the
king. “Take him to the kitchen
immediately and tell the cook to dress him for dinner.”
As
Medio Pollito got closer to the king, he heard the king say, “. . . . dress him
for dinner.”
“I
knew it!” thought Medio Pollito exultantly.
“The king recognized my worth immediately! He wants me to have dinner with him.”
“Follow
me,” said the messenger.
Medio
Pollito was thinking happy thoughts as he hoppity-kicked along behind the
messenger. “The king is even going to
give me new clothes. . . . What kind
do I want? Perhaps I shall choose a
purple robe. . . . Maybe I shall have a bit of gold trim around the neck. . . .
And after dinner, I am sure the King will give me my barnyard. . . . I shall probably have----“
Bump. The messenger had stopped right in front of
the cook! Medio Pollito stopped
too. The messenger gestured
disdainfully at Medio, “The King wants you to dress this. . . . this half of a
bird for dinner.”
“How
dare he insult me!” fumed Medio Pollito.
He drew himself up to reply, but before he could utter a sound, the cook
had snatched him up by his half-a-neck and tied him to a roasting spit. As the cook positioned Medio over the fire,
Medio saw a bucket of water. He called
out to it, “Help! Oh please help me. Water, tip over your bucket and put the fire
out.”
“Why
should I?” replied the water. “You
would not help me when I was stuck in a stream full of weeds. I could not flow smoothly and you did not
care. Do not expect me to run help you
now.”
“Ooooh,”
moaned Medio Pollito. “I am getting too
warm. Oh fire, do not burn so hot. I will surely be roasted!”
“Ha!”
said the fire. “You would not give me
wood when I was dying in the fields.
Now I have plenty of wood and I feel like burning very brightly!” And the fire’s flames curled higher and
hotter. Poor Medio Pollito was burned
to a crisp.
“Goodness!”
said the cook. “I can’t serve that
to the King.” He grabbed Medio Pollito
and flung him out the open window. The
wind caught Medio Pollito and whirled him up, up, up into the air.
“Oh,
Wind,” gasped Medio Pollito, “do not blow so hard. I can scarcely breathe.”
“You
did not care about meee,” said the Wind, “ when I was caught in a tree. “why should I care about yoooou?”
The
Wind spun Medio around and around, faster and faster, higher and higher. Then he dropped Medio on the top of the
highest church in Madrid. So if you
ever go to Spain, be sure to walk down the streets of Madrid and look for the
tallest church. Perhaps Medio Pollito
is still there perched on one leg with his one wing drooping down and with
his one eye sadly gazing out over the
town, turning this way and that way—whichever way the wind blows.
This version of Half Chick is copyrighted c 1997 by
Rose Owens.