Once upon a time there was a naughty little chick – but what a strange chick he was! He had just one eye, one leg and one wing.  In fact, he was only half a chick.  Still, his mother loved him just as much as if he had been a whole chicken. She named him Half-Chick!

            Now Half-Chick longed to see the world. As soon as he was old enough, he said goodbye to his mother and set out on a journey. He was going to visit the walled city of San Juan, because he wanted to see the governor.

            As Half-Chick hopped along, he had to cross a stream. It was the middle of summer and there was only a trickle of water in the stream.

            ‘Please, Half-Chick, help me,’ murmured the water, ‘If you move those twigs out of my way, I can flow more freely.’

            “I haven’t got time to help you,’ chirped Half-Chick, hopping over the trickle.  ‘I’m off to San Juan to see the governor.’

            Further along the road, Half-Chick heard another voice calling.

            ‘Please, Half-Chicken, help me.’

            Half-Chick sighed impatiently. Not someone else trying to delay him! Who was it now?

            ‘I am the breeze,’ said the voice, ‘and I’m caught in the branches of the almond tree behind you.  Can you untangle me?’

            ‘That would take hours,’ said Half-Chick, ‘and I’m in a hurry to get to San Juan before the sun sets.’

             He continued hopping along on his one leg and quite soon he could see the walls of the city. Just then he heard yet another voice.

            ‘Please, little Half-Chick. Help!’

            Half-Chick shook his head, trying to block out the noise. Why didn’t everyone let him travel in peace?  Couldn’t they see he was in a hurry? He looked around for the voice’s owner.

            ‘Over here,’ the voice called.  ‘I’m under the farmer’s coffee pot.’

            A little spark was struggling to stay alight between two stones. ‘The silly farmer went and left me unattended, without any fuel to burn. Can you fetch some twigs to keep me alive?’

            ‘I’m almost in San Juan, I can’t stop now,’ snapped Half-Chick, and he hopped on without looking back.

            In San Juan, Half-Chick wasted no time in locating the governor’s palace by the sea. He jumped in through an open window and found himself in the kitchen.

            ‘May I see the governor? I’d really like to meet him. I have important matters to discuss with him,’ he cheeped.

            The cook had been waiting for some chickens to be delivered. He grabbed Half-Chick in his big, beefy hands. ‘You’ll see the governor alright.  From his plate.’

            Poor Half-Chick didn’t even have time to protest.  The cook wrung his neck and called for a bucket of boiling water so he could dip Half-Chick in it. That would help him pluck the feathers from the bird before he cooked it.

            ‘Water, water,’ begged Half-Chick, ‘please don’t scald me.’

            ‘You wouldn’t help me when I asked you to in the stream,’ said the water, ‘so don’t expect any mercy now.’

            The cook put the plucked chicken in a dish and popped him in the oven.

            ‘Fire, fire, please don’t burn me,’ begged Half-Chick, who was starting to go brown around the edges.

            ‘You wouldn’t help me when I was under the farmer’s pot and needed fuel,’ said the fire, ‘so please don’t think I’m going to have pity on you,’ and he roared so loudly around Half-Chick that in no time at all he had burnt him to a crisp.

            ‘What a waste,’ said the cook, opening the over and looking at the blackened remains of the bird.  He threw the chicken out of the kitchen window on to a rubbish heap. As Half-Chick flew through the air, the wind leapt on to him and blew him across the square.

‘Oh wind, wind, please put me down,’ begged Half-Chick desperately.

            ‘I recognise that voice,’ howled the wind. ‘You are the half chicken that walked by when I needed help. Don’t worry, I’ll put you down alright.’

            He blew Half-Chick to the top of a nearby church and dropped him on top of the steeple. ‘How do you like it up there?’ the wind said with a laugh.

            And Half-Chick stayed where he had been put. It didn’t take long for the wind, the rain and the heat of the sun to turn the burnt and blackened chicken into a weathervane. He still stands on top of the church, being teased by the wind, the rain and the heat of the sun – all because he didn’t help when he had the chance!