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Overview
Three little ducklings arrive in Fosterland, but one is not like the others! Though Billie looks like Marlie and Charlie, he isn’t a domesticated duck—he’s a white mallard. Billie likes being in Fosterland with his friends, but he longs to eat sky raisins (also known as flies) and be free. With one webbed foot in each world, he has to choose where his heart lies.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781665936408 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Aladdin |
| Publication date: | 04/30/2024 |
| Series: | Adventures in Fosterland |
| Pages: | 160 |
| Sales rank: | 405,477 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.25(h) x 0.60(d) |
| Age Range: | 6 - 9 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1 I Am Not a Pet!
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Billie shuffled around in the darkness, his orange webbed feet sliding against cardboard. With every rise and fall, he bumped against the other ducklings... or were they bumping into him? He couldn’t quite tell! All he knew was that he and his friends were stuffed into a box together and that they were being carried far away from the only home he knew.
Since hatching, Billie and his friends had lived at Sunny Lake. Every day, Billie would line up in a row with the other ducklings and waddle through the grass, one after another, hopping in the water for a nice, cool dip. Oh, how he loved that lake! Being one of eight ducklings meant that he had plenty of pals to splash around with, and whenever it was time to go for a walk, he always knew exactly where to go as long as he stayed in line with the others.
But on this day something had gone wrong. He’d followed them straight into a drainage pipe, where all they could do was peep and cheep for help.
Now, thumping about in that box, Billie found himself confused and disgruntled. He was grateful that someone had helped him and his friends out of the pipe, but stuffing them into a pitch-black box seemed more than a little uncalled for!
“That’s humans for you,” one of the ducklings said. “They can’t be trusted.”
Billie tried to peer through the little holes in the cardboard, but he couldn’t see a thing. “Where are they taking us?” he asked. But no one knew.
Finally, with one last thud, the box landed on a hard, flat surface. The eight ducklings looked toward the sky, watching as the flaps of the box opened one by one. But as the light flooded in, Billie didn’t see clouds or sunshine. He saw bright electric lighting overhead, partially covered by shadowy human faces looking down at him.
The ducklings erupted with startled peeps at the sight of the humans. “Nope, nope, nope,” Billie grumbled as he wedged himself between his downy pals. “I’m not a people duck.”
The people muttered and pointed with their long, wiggling fingers, and Billie tried to hide behind the others and close his eyes. But when he peeked through one suspicious eye, he could have sworn the humans were all pointing directly at him.
Being part of a group meant he had never been singled out in his life. “Why me?” Billie asked, trying again to blend into the crowd. But now the giant fingers were getting closer and closer, writhing in pursuit of Billie and Billie alone.
A cold hand wrapped around his little lemon-colored body and pulled him away from the others as he repeated, “Why me?!”
He wriggled and writhed and nibbled fingers with his tiny beak, doing everything he could to express himself as he was carried away from the wildlife center and toward a door marked SMALL PETS. The human plopped Billie into a bin on a shelf, along with a stuffed animal in the shape of a baby chick and some tiny bowls containing water and dry pellets. But none of this appealed to him—he needed to know where he was and, more important, how to get to the exit!
“Where is my flock? What is this horrible holding cell you’ve placed me in?” He flipped over the bowl of pellets to signal his disapproval. “I don’t belong here!”
A small voice snickered in the cage to his right. It was a small, furry animal who looked similar to the muskrats who used to swim around the lake.
“Mr. Muskrat! Can you help me? Can you tell me how to get back to the lake?” Billie begged.
“Muskrat?” the animal replied. “Young sir, I am no muskrat. I am a guinea pig. And I know nothing about any lake. Besides, the only water I need is right here,” he said, sticking out his tongue and licking a metal ball at the end of a water bottle. “Also, my name is Tofu Taco the Third.”
Billie tilted his head in confusion. He had never met a guinea pig before and had never heard such a silly name in all his life.
While Tofu focused on his water bottle, Billie tried another neighbor. He turned to his left and was relieved to see what he thought was a wild hare. “Oh, Ms. Rabbit! You should be out hopping around in the grass! But you’re here, stuck in a cage... Don’t you miss the outside? Haven’t you tried to escape?”
“Outside?” laughed the rabbit, who introduced herself as Cupcake Sprinkles. “Can’t say I’ve ever been. My last home was a condo.”
Billie’s head was spinning. Who were these animals with funny names who knew nothing of the wonders of nature? “But... animals belong outside,” Billie said. “Don’t they?”
“Let me explain something,” Tofu Taco III began, clearing his throat. “There are two types of animals: wild animals and domestical... domestic... domesticalated.”
“... Domesticated,” Cupcake Sprinkles chimed in, nodding.
“Yeah, what she said. Anyway, wild animals go to the wildlife center down the hall, and once they’re healthy, they go back and live in nature where they belong. You know, field mice, baby raccoons, songbirds... Animals like that. But not us. We’re pets, so we stay here in the adoption center. That is, until a human gives us a forever home.”
Billie tensed up. “I am not a pet!” he insisted.
“But of course you are,” laughed Tofu Taco III, who was starting to get on his nerves. “Just look at you.”
“I’m a duck!” Billie shouted. “Hello, can’t you see my little wings? My tail feathers?” He shook his tail to make his point.
Tofu Taco III smirked. “Well, there are wild ducks and there are pet ducks. You are here in the ‘Small Pets’ room, so... you are clearly a pet.”
“And clearly small!” Cupcake Sprinkles giggled.
Billie fell to the floor and sighed heavily through his little orange beak.
“Don’t be sad! Being a pet is great,” Cupcake Sprinkles explained. “From here, you’ll either go to a foster home or an adopter. You just have to wait for a person to come here and fall in love with you.”
“Fall in what?! I don’t think so. I’m a wild duck! I’m not trying to fall in love with any humans. Trust me, there’s been some kind of huge mistake here. Just watch: any minute now, they’ll be here to bring me back to the wildlife center, and then my flock and I will be on our way back to Sunny Lake.”
Soon enough, a person arrived and picked up Billie in his bin. He looked to the small animals and stuck out his tongue as if to say I told you so. He wouldn’t have to stay in the adoption center and be given a silly name like Peanut Butter Sandwich or Ice Cream Cone, or worse! Now—he hoped—he could return to a dignified life on the water. “Smell ya later!” he shouted as he waved goodbye with his tiny wing.
But instead of heading toward the wildlife center, Billie watched from his bin as he passed through the streets. Stuck between four clear walls, all he could do was watch his fate unfold before him. Eventually, they stopped at the front door of a house. The door creaked open, and a human stood in the doorway, collecting him and bringing him inside. A small white cat peeked out from behind the human’s leg, softly saying, “Welcome to Fosterland.”