Abel's Song

One day, when the chicks had reached their second week, their parents herded them off to see the Old Gray Loon, the wisest and most ancient of all the flock. For more springs than time could remember, the Old Gray Loon had taught each year's small ones the skills they would need to survive in the great big world outside the sheltered bay.

So ancient was the loon that his black feathers had turned a downy gray and stuck out this way and that in a terribly untidy fashion that made him look like a raspberry bush with feet. His shiny black beak was wrinkled and wobbled at the end and when he spoke he tended to repeat himself and break into silly little rhymes whenever the mood struck.

“Well now, well now,” the Old Gray Loon coughed as he marched back in forth of the line of timid chicks. “What have we got here, then?”

“These are this year's chicks,” Abel's father said proudly.

“Are they now? Are they? Oh dear, oh dear.” The Old Gray Loon turned and looked down his wrinkled beak at Abel's father. “Still... I've seen worse, I have I have. Mustn't grumble, mustn't grumble! They may not sink, they may not stumble! We'll soon have this lot sorted!” He clapped his wings together and shouted, “Into the water pip pip! It's time for an afternoon dip!”

The chicks eyed the Old Gray Loon with bewilderment. Then, with Abel in the lead they slowly waded into the water.

Each and every afternoon, rain or shine, warm or cold, the Old Gray Loon drilled his young students in all the abilities a loon should have. First, he led the chicks into the reeds and bulrushes where the little loons learned to paddle back and forth under his ever-watchful eye. After they had mastered the complex skills of swimming, the Old Gray Loon brought his students deeper into the great big bay where they learned to duck and dive under the rolling waves.

“Hip hip! Dip dip! Under the waves, my chicklings!”

But while the other chicks struggled to paddle in a straight line, Abel bobbed and weaved back and forth between them, laughing at their efforts. When a tired and timid chick finally worked up the courage to duck under the shimmering waters for a second or two, Abel would dive underneath him, kicking the waters up in his face with his big black flipper-feet. When the chick would splutter to the surface and complain to the Old Gray Loon about this behavior Abel would simply sneer and dive beneath the waters again only to reappear with a weed or clam shell clasped triumphantly in his shiny beak.

No matter how often the Old Gray Loon scolded him for showing off like this in front of his classmates, Abel would only laugh and scoff. “It’s not my fault they can’t keep up!” and with a somersault dive back under the waves, using his big black flipper-feet to spray water all over the other loons.

“By the tail-feathers of my cousin Teresa that boy is diving for trouble,” the Old Gray Loon said to Abel’s father with a sad shake of his head. “And I’m very much afraid he will find the waters are much shallower than he thinks.”

And Abel’s father frowned and nodded his agreement, for he too was greatly worried about his little chick.

One day when he was ten weeks old, Abel and his sister and all of his cousins swam out into the bay for their daily lessons. As the other chicks struggled to paddle through the bulrush obstacle course, Abel glided effortlessly past them chuckling all the way. And likewise when the Old Gray Loon told his chicks to dive to the bottom of the bay and pluck a clam shell up from its fine sand floor, Abel was the first to the beach where he proudly presented the biggest clam of all.

That day, after all the chicks had swum ashore with their shells, they discovered they had one more lesson to go, a new lesson they would have to learn before they were allowed to feast on the tender and delicious clams they had caught.

"Hey now, ho now listen up my chicklings!" said the Old Gray Loon as he paraded back and forth before his exhausted chicks. "Today I shall begin to teach you the songs of our people. With much practice and hard work, someday soon all of you will be able to join in the nightly concerts of the lake. Mustn't shirk, do the work sing away my chicklings!"

All of the chicks chirped and chipped back and forth and ruffled their feathers with excitement. But Abel just laughed. "This will be easy," he said to himself. "I can swim faster, dive deeper, and hold my breath longer than all the others combined! Compared to those things, how hard could learning a bunch of silly songs be?"

"Open your ears and close your beaks and listen well my chicklings." The Old Gray Loon shook his wings free of water, closed his eyes, stretched his neck, opened his beak up wide and began to sing.

The song was very simple, only three short notes. The first note was low and slow, the second went way up high while the third slid down low again.

"Hoo-oooo-ooot."

"Here here, there there, that song is for greeting!” The Old Gray Loon lowered his head and gave his chicks a stern look. “When one loon wants to see who else is out and about on the lake, he gives a sing, he gives a song, he sings for all the Greeting Song! If you hear it sung when you are out for a swim, you should sing it right back to him! Hmm now, hey now you must always watch your manners!"

The Old Gray Loon sang the slow, sad Greeting Song one more time before turning back to the chicks. "Now it is your turn; you all try, from the biggest of big to the smallest small fry!"

The chicks all fluffed up their feathers and shuffled their great black flipper-feet nervously back and forth in the sand, for each was afraid to be the first to try.

"Those cowards!" Abel thought. "They are all too scared to sing. Imagine being afraid of a silly little thing like a song!"

"Now listen up, my fine friends," Abel puffed up his chest with pride. "For I will show you how a real loon sings!"

Abel closed his eyes and threw back his head as he drew a deep, deep breath, then he opened his beak up wide and sang with all his might.

"hoot."

The little loon clapped his gray wings over his mouth in embarrassment as all the other chicks tittered and snorted at the off-key, scratchy and altogether horrible to hear sound.

As Abel’s voice ground to a squeaky and rather abrupt halt, the other chicks did little to hide their amusement. They laughed and laughed at the once proud and boastful chick.

The little loon hung his head in shame as all the other chicks joyfully cheered and jeered at him, flapping their stubby gray wings together in mock applause. Then, one by one, all the other chicks threw back their heads and sang.

In all fairness, none of them actually managed to sing the Greeting Song but every little loon chick was soon adding his or her tiny voice to the noisy chorus.

Every chick except Abel.

With tears in his eyes, Abel slowly backed away into the tall green bulrushes, his head down and his fluffy great tail-feathers between his big, black flipper-feet in shame.