Sawyer wasn't supposed to live. But, as luck would have it, he escapes the massive yet nasty Farelli Poultry Farm only to find an abandoned farm pained with secrets, lost hope, a slew of nutty birds and a dangerous beast that may very well hold all...
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Iddy had only one thing on his mind: teasing Polly for life.
He was a teenage duck, barely able to hear anyone's voice but his own, and his emerald and white feathers glistened with every snicker that left his beak. He stood in front of a red-hot furious Polly in the barn, a silver harmonica clutched under his webbed foot, wings crossed against his plume, holding in his laughter.
"Give it back!" shrieked Polly. The earth shook from her anger.
He stretched his neck out and turned away. "Give what back? I don't have anything," he lied with a smirk that made Polly smack him.
"You went through my things, you Quack!" Polly jumped back and forth, unable to contain her anxious feet.
Suddenly, Weston whacked the harmonica away from Iddy's grip. He snatched it with his claws, and placed his wing against Iddy's plume to stop him from getting to it.
Good ol' Wes to the rescue.
"Oh, come on!" yelled Iddy.
"Did you go through Polly's things?" asked Weston.
"What makes it her things? She's got all that junk in there—" He rolled his eyes.
"Junk? Your head is junk!"
"You're just a delusional, Kool-Aid-obsessed hoarder!" accused Iddy with great conviction. "You know what that means?"
She gasped. "How dare you!"
The rooster brought his good eye closer to the cover plate. "Maybe Iddy can borrow it. Why don't you share?"
But the word share made Polly's feathers stiffen upright. "Oh, I'm all about sharing, but Iddy breaks everything he touches!" She could feel Iddy's smile take over his face.
"You ain't gonna win this one, doll," he said.
"I am NOT your doll!" After all this time, Polly was still shocked at how rude Iddy could be.
But, she was smart enough to know that no matter how loud she huffed, Weston wouldn't budge. That's when an idea flourished within her small but colorful brain.
"Fine. He can borrow it," she said. "But only under one condition. Iddy will have to collect sticks for the fire tonight."
"Works for me," said Iddy. "I happen to like collecting sticks." Another lie, of course. Iddy hated collecting sticks but the satisfaction of getting a rise out of Polly was 100% worth it.
Polly blew out so much air from her mouth, letting all her anger dissipate, that Iddy's feathers nearly fell off.
"Excellent! Go and collect the sticks for the fire tonight and this instrument will be waiting for you on the table," said Weston.
"Where's Sawyer?" Carol chimed in, walking with a wicker basket to the table.
Polly shook her head, heading towards the stalls. "Buried in the sand beside Ella. He won't come out."
