Millie’s New Goodnight Cluck

“Cluck-cluck,” began Millie. But a tiny feather tickled her throat, and her cluck came out as a squeaky “Peep!” The tickle lingered, so she knew her voice might stay peepy for a while.

She blinked beneath the golden light of the henhouse window. Outside, the farmyard was turning dusky blue. The last stripe of sunset rested on the barn roof, and a sleepy breeze stirred the straw.

“Peep?” said Millie again, very softly.

Her three chicks hurried over. Pip had a yellow fluff tuft that stuck up like a tiny feather duster. Poppy had a brown spot on her nose. And little Gus always stood with one foot tucked up.

“Is it bedtime?” Pip asked.

“Almost,” said Millie. “I was going to give you our special goodnight cluck.”

Every night, Millie said, “Cluck-cluck, tucked in tight,” and the chicks answered, “Peep-peep, sleep so sweet.” Then they snuggled together in their nest of straw.

“Cluck-cluck,” Millie tried again. She lifted her beak and puffed her chest. “Tucked in—”

“Peep!” came out instead.

Pip tilted her head. “That was a little squeaky.”

“It was,” Millie admitted. “My voice sounds different tonight.” She cleared her throat with a tiny cough. “Cluck-cluck?”

“Peep!”

Poppy gave a thoughtful wiggle. “Maybe your cluck is hiding.”

“Then I’ll find it,” Millie said. She was determined to give her chicks the familiar greeting they loved. She stepped beside the nest, where the straw smelled warm and sweet, and tried to remember exactly how her goodnight cluck felt.

She remembered the first cluck, low and round. The second cluck, a little higher. The soft words that followed. She opened her beak.

“Cluck—”

“Peep!”

Gus tucked his lifted foot down. “That one sounded like a baby chick.”

“I know,” Millie said. She looked at the three bright faces. “Let me try once more.”

The chicks settled on the straw and waited. The farm grew quieter. A cow gave a distant, drowsy moo, and the breeze brushed the henhouse door.

Millie took a careful breath. “Cluck-cluck, tucked in tight—”

“Peep!”

Her voice squeaked right at the end. Millie’s feathers drooped. “Oh, dear. I can’t make it sound like our usual greeting.”

Pip stepped closer. “It sounded like you were asking us a question.”

“Peep?” Millie asked, just to see.

“Peep-peep!” Pip answered.

Poppy joined in. “Brrp!”

Gus bobbed his head. “Pip-pip!”

The chicks giggled. Their little sounds bounced around the henhouse, as light as bits of straw in a breeze.

Millie’s beak twitched. “That was a funny answer.”

“Do it again!” said Poppy.

Millie tried her best bedtime cluck once more. “Cluck-cluck, tucked in tight—peep!”

“Peep-peep, tucked in deep!” called Pip.

“Brrp-brrp, fluff your feathers!” said Poppy.

“Pip-pip, close your eyes!” chirped Gus.

Their chorus tumbled together. It was not the familiar greeting Millie had planned. It was lopsided and wobbly, and Gus’s “pip-pip” came out so tiny that he had to say it twice.

Millie looked from chick to chick. They were smiling. Pip’s fluff tuft shook. Poppy’s nose spot wrinkled. Gus had put both feet on the straw and was swaying like a little windblown leaf.

“You like my squeak?” Millie asked.

“We love it!” said Pip. “It makes us want to answer.”

Millie’s worry loosened, like a knot untied by gentle fingers. “Then perhaps we can make a new goodnight cluck together.”

“A soft one,” said Poppy. “The stars are coming out.”

“A silly one, too,” said Gus.

Millie nodded. She was still a little unsure, but she lifted her beak and let the strange sound come freely.

“Peep!”

“Peep-peep,” answered Pip.

“Brrp,” murmured Poppy.

“Pip,” whispered Gus.

Millie listened. The sounds seemed to fit together, though none of them was quite like the others. She added a warm, low murmur at the end.

The chicks grew still for a moment. Then Pip smiled. “That’s our goodnight song.”

“Let’s say it together,” Millie whispered. She began with a squeak, the chicks answered in their own ways, and all four voices made a soft, silly chorus beneath the darkening sky. When the last sound faded, Millie asked, “Shall we tuck in?”

“Peep-peep,” said the chicks.

“Then into the straw,” Millie murmured.

Pip scooted to the warm middle of the nest. Poppy nestled beside her, and Gus squeezed into the little space near Millie’s wing. Their feathers brushed together with a hush-hush sound.

Outside, the farmyard settled. The cow’s faraway moo had gone quiet. The breeze rested against the henhouse wall, and one by one, the yard sounds grew small. A sleepy cricket chirped from somewhere near the door.

“Is it part of our song?” Gus whispered.

“Maybe it’s singing from its own cozy bed,” Millie whispered back.

Pip gave a drowsy peep. “Can we do our chorus one more time?”

“Of course,” said Millie.

She wanted to make her old greeting again, just to check. She shaped her beak for “cluck-cluck,” but her voice still came out different. This time, she didn’t frown or try to push it into its old shape. She let the sound be what it was.

“Peep,” she breathed.

“Peep-peep,” answered Pip, already half asleep.

“Brrp,” murmured Poppy.

“Pip,” whispered Gus, with his eyes closed.

Millie added a warm, gentle hum. The little chorus drifted through the henhouse and seemed to settle into the straw beside them.

“That was our softest one,” Pip mumbled.

“And our silliest,” Poppy murmured.

Gus made a tiny sound that might have been a “pip,” or might have been a yawn.

Millie lowered her wing over the chicks. She could feel their warm bodies tucked close beneath her feathers. The moon shone through the window, laying a pale square on the floor. Millie’s new greeting had not been the one she meant to make, but it had brought her chicks close and made them smile.

“Goodnight, my little chicks,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, Millie,” they answered, each in a softer voice than before.

Millie listened to their breathing slow. The henhouse was still, the straw was warm, and the farmyard rested under the moon. At last, Millie let one sleepy little peep slip from her beak, and the row of chicks settled quiet and content beneath her wing.