The little duck stands in the middle of the yard, looking around, and wondering how he got here. Something in his head is telling him he should be flying somewhere as the days get shorter and the weather turns colder, but he isn’t sure where. The only flying he’s done is a few feet, or sometimes yards, at a time. All he knows is what’s here. He grew up here, made friends here, and stays here all year. His instincts tell him there is a large body of water he should be floating on with a flock of birds who look just like him. But he’s never seen this body of water and doesn’t remember any other ducks who look just like him. There is water here, small pools, but enough to float on once in awhile, enough to splash in cleaning himself off, plenty to drink.
There are two girl ducks who live here, following him around, bobbing their heads flirtatiously. They don’t look exactly like him, but close enough. He looks out for them when they eat or find a hiding place to lay an egg. There are two bullies here, guineas, who are noisy and chase them away from food sometimes. But they've learned to avoid the bullies when they can, and food is everywhere. The chickens mostly ignore him and his girlfriends, and there is lots of space to wander around all day eating and chatting with the girls. Sometimes they even wander up to the goat pen where there is more water, more mud to dig into and more bugs to eat. The goats ignore them, too.
At night they sleep on the floor of the big coop where the chickens all sleep high up on roosts. They are closed in and safe in a dry corner together. In the morning they run out, anxious to trek around and find more food. Really, why does he need to fly anywhere when all he needs is here?