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!
