The Duck Who Wanted to Bounce

There once was a duck named Pom who wanted, more than anything, to bounce.

Not waddle. Not swim. Bounce.

She had seen a rabbit do it that very morning — up and down, up and down, springy as anything — and Pom had watched with her beak hanging open.

"I will bounce too," said Pom. "Today is my bouncing day."

So she flapped her little wings and jumped.

She landed in the mud.

"Hmm," said Pom.

She tried again, harder this time, tucking her feet up nice and tight.

FWUMP.

Back in the mud.

A frog on a lily pad watched with round eyes. "You are not very bouncy," said the frog.

"I am practicing," said Pom, wiping mud off her chin.

And the pond was calm. And the pond was green.

Pom decided she needed help. She waddled up to the rabbit, who was nibbling clover.

"Teach me to bounce," said Pom.

"You need springy legs," said the rabbit. "Bend low. Then — BOING!"

The rabbit boinged so high he nearly touched a cloud.

Pom bent low. She bent so low her tail pointed at the sky. She wobbled. She scrunched. She thought very bouncy thoughts.

"BOING!" said Pom.

She went up about the height of a teacup, and came down again.

SPLAT, right in a puddle.

The frog laughed. The rabbit laughed. And Pom, sitting in the puddle with a lily pad stuck to her head, laughed too — a wet, happy, quacking sort of laugh.

"Almost," said Pom. "That was almost a bounce."

Now, a wise old goose had been watching all this from the reeds. She paddled over slowly, the way geese do.

"Little Pom," said the goose. "Ducks are not made for bouncing."

"Oh," said Pom. Her feathers drooped.

"But," said the goose, and here she smiled, "ducks are made for something bouncy indeed."

"What is it?" asked Pom.

"Follow me," said the goose.

So Pom followed. Waddle, waddle, splish. All the way to the edge of the pond, where the water was smooth and shining.

"Jump in," said the goose.

Pom jumped.

SPLOOSH!

And the water caught her — bounce! — and lifted her up on a little wave, and she rocked and rolled and rippled, up and down, up and down, springy as anything.

"I'm bouncing!" cried Pom. "I'm bouncing on the water!"

And she was. Every splash sent her rocking. Every ripple gave her a ride. She flapped and she paddled and she bounced along the top of the whole wide pond, quacking with joy.

The frog bounced after her. The rabbit boinged along the bank. And the goose floated in the middle of it all, smiling her wise old smile.

Bit by bit, the bouncing grew slower. The ripples grew smaller. Pom rocked gently now, like a leaf on the water, her little feet tucked warm beneath her.

The rabbit had stopped boinging and lay soft in the clover. The frog had gone quiet on his lily pad. The sky was turning the color of peaches.

"That," said Pom softly, "was the best bounce."

And the pond rocked her, slow and warm, the way water rocks a duck who is finally still. The lily pad drifted close and touched her side. She closed her eyes, and the water held her, up and down, up and down, so gently now it was hardly moving at all.

And the pond was calm. And the pond was warm.

And the pond held her, all night long.