Chirpy T. Cricket: The Conclusion

The Conclusion!
If you missed Part One, it's here...

After his sister left, Chirpy sat back and thought about what she had said.

He thought and thought and thought some more.

Finally, he did something he hadn’t done in a while. He left the burrow and went to his secret jumping place and began to practice.

He put a line on the wall above his head as far up as he could reach then jumped and jumped and jumped, trying to get a little higher with each try.

Day after day, he practiced.

And, little by little, he succeeded. At first, he could touch the line with his antennae.

Then with his jaw.

Then with his knee.

And finally, his foot.

Chirpy was so excited at his progress, he nearly burst.

Which would have been pointless and also shortened this story significantly.

Instead, to celebrate, he dragged a piece of wood over to the wall to stand upon and made another line.

Way higher than the last one.

And he went back to his jumping.

As the days passed, and the jumping competition grew nearer, Chirpy kept on with his jumping.

Becoming more and more excited as he measured his progress.

By the day before the contest Chirpy’s lines up the wall were so high, he couldn’t even see them from the ground.

But that was just fine because he could see them when he jumped.

He felt ready.

In his mind, he could just picture the look on everyone’s face when he won the competition.

Finally, he would be accepted by the Jumpers in the orchestra.

Finally, he would be happy.

The day of the competition dawned cold and rainy.

But that didn’t bother anyone because how much would the weather affect you from inside a barrel?

Inside a barn.

In fact, the only reason that anyone in Chirpy’s orchestra knew it was cold and rainy outside was that all the chickens that lived on the farm had moved their whole clucking, squawking and pecking operations indoors.

Occasionally, the crickets would catch a glimpse of one of them when they perched for a moment or two on the upper rim of the barrel.

But as long as the chickens minded their own business, the orchestra was happy to be minding theirs.

Back to the story . . .

The competition started out as similar contests had in the past. With Chirpy leading . . . Floyd, the Mayor and all of the community bigwigs to a roped-off circle in the very center of the barrel floor.

Everyone assembled around them.

Chirpy gave a heart-warming rendition of Jump Cricket Jump (from the movie with the same name), and things got underway.

Ten of the elder crickets scaled the sides of the barrel to an equal height and took up positions there.

Then, the very youngest crickets assembled.

One by one, they jumped, each trying to outdo the last. For this first competition, Chirpy kept the music light and cheerful. No sense in getting anyone’s heartrate up this early in the game.

The ten judges watched carefully as each contestant jumped and, finally, a champion was chosen.

The judges climbed higher and the next age group moved to the circle.

The music intensified just a trifle.

Say what you will about Chirpy’s jumping ability, his music is good.

Again a champion was chosen and suitably rewarded.

Then The Jumpers moved front and center. Chirpy’s age group.

For this final crowd, the judges climbed to a vast height. Just a few inches below the rim of the barrel.

Chirpy smiled to himself. He had been up close and personal with that rim on his last jump. His time was at hand. Or foot . . .

One by one, The Jumpers jumped.

Each higher than the last.

Chirpy again smiled a secret smile. He was quite sure he could outjump all of them.

Finally, there were only two crickets left. Chet.
And, unbeknownst to any of them, Chirpy.
All eyes were on Chet as he sauntered to the center of the ring.

Drawing his moment out, he lifted a bit of dust from the floor and dropped it carefully, noting the drift of the wind. (None.) He spat on his front feet and rubbed them together. Then repeated the operation with his middle feet.

The crowd had grown hushed.

The steady thrumming of Chirpy’s wings was the only sound.

Placing his front feet on the ground, Chet braced himself.

Then his powerful hind legs bent.

Further.

Further.

And finally . . . released!

Chet soared straight into the air.

Higher.

Higher.

Higher than anyone had gone before.

The judges waved as he passed them, still climbing.

He soared far above the rim of the barrel, then seemed to hang there, suspended.

And it was at that moment a white, feathery head with a bright red comb appeared on the upper rim of the barrel.

The chicken tipped its head slightly to the right, studying this strange, hovering insect.

Then its beak opened and, before Chet could spread his wings or even react in any way, he was swallowed whole.

The entire company went still.

Then scattered.

And just like that, Chirpy completely forgot that he had ever been even slightly interested in jumping.

As he scrambled for the safety of his burrow, he was suddenly filled with . . . happiness.

Oh not because he had just seen his nemesis dispatched in a rather shocking (but tidy) way.

He had simply realized that it really didn’t matter if he wasn’t best at everything.
Because guess what?

Sometimes being the best at something gets you . . . eaten.

And one other little addendum . . .

If you're the best at one thing, you're way ahead of most of us!