For as long as he could remember, he'd always felt like an outsider, different from the others.
When he walked across the yard, he could feel the hostile stares from
the other boys, while the girls turned their backs to him and clucked
"Creepy Dave," they whispered in hushed hen voices. But he pretended
not to hear. He knew he was considered small-boned, and he knew that his
crows lacked the deep, sonorous quality of the others.
But he was not a rooster easily discouraged.
He kept up his courtship -- one day dancing for the speckled hen; the
next day, dancing for a hen with snowy white plumage like his own. He
even sidled up to some of the older matrons of the flock, twice his
size. But all were indifferent to his charms.
And then he spotted her. With feathers the color of flames and eyes
of amber, her beauty struck Creepy Dave like a bolt of lightening.
Tossing caution to the wind, he put forth his most magnificent display yet. Tapping into his inner Flashdance, he stamped his legs like pistons and tossed his feathery head with wild abandon.
The ginger-feathered object of his affection didn't run from him and
she didn't turn up her beak. Instead, she did what Creepy Dave had
previously dared not even dream of: she kissed him.
Beaks touched and time stood still.
It was then that Creepy Dave knew he could die a happy bird.
At long last, he'd found acceptance; he'd found love