When Mrs. Farmer unpacked Easter decorations,

Salt and Peeper came out of the box

and onto the kitchen table.

 

The chicken coop was outside the window.

A baby chick splashed in a Spring puddle.

 

“Look at me,” Peeper said,

“I’m a real chick!”

 

“That’s not rain!” Salt said, saltily.

“That’s spilled coffee, Birdbrain.”

 

In her white porcelain paws, 

Salt held a WELCOME sign;

but she was UNWELCOMING to Peeper.

 

Outside, the baby chick scratched and pecked.

“Look at me,” Peeper said, hopefully.

“I’m a real chick!”

 

“That’s not grain!” Salt snapped.

“Those are toast crumbs!

You’ll never grow up like a real chick and make delicious eggs.”

 

Next morning, Mr. Farmer sat at the table.

He tipped Peeper over his plate.

“Delicious!” Mr. Farmer said. “A little extra pepper makes the best eggs.”

 

“Salt’s good, too,” Peeper whispered.

“Thanks,” Salt whispered back.

“You're WELCOME, Salt. You are WELCOME.”