Lark’s Three-Cluck Vacation — Past the white fence, Lark tapped her sneaker in the dusty farm path: one, two, three. Read the full story →
Past the white fence, Lark tapped her sneaker in the dusty farm path: one, two, three. She had given herself a vacation challenge—to hear three chicken clucks before the tractor rolled. The barn smelled like hay and warm wood. A hen pecked near the flowers, quiet as a button. Lark waited, bouncing only a little. “Come on, cluck number one,” she whispered.
The tractor gave a putt-putt. Birds stitched black V’s across the bright sky. Still the hen scratched, scratched, scratched. Then the barn window rustled, and a tiny bundle of straw slid out—plop! The hen lifted her head and clucked once. The silo door creaked: cluck two echoed from inside. At last the smiling sun slipped from a cloud, and the hen clucked three times, loud and proud, like she had been counting with Lark all along. Next time you spot that hen by the fence, can you find where the three-cluck game began?
