It was high noon, and the penguins had just finished their lunch of fish. It was a Saturday, and each of them was doing their own thing. The rest of the zoo were also relaxing and enjoying their day.
Kowalski was in the lab working on his latest invention – the Salt Shaker, which made snow, not salt, much to the chagrin of Skipper who had prophesized that it was going to explode soon. Rico was outside with his water scooter and doll. Private was watching the Lunacorns. Skipper was hiding in a boom spying on the White House.
This was one of his solo missions (he never learned from the last one to “Never Swim Alone” but instead was filled with certitude that he could handle anything, except mini golf). However, this time, he did tell his team where he was. “Skipper’s Log: I finally have enough time to carry out Operation: Feathery Friends.”
Skipper hopped over to another boom closer to his target. “For all too long, our cousins the turkeys have been slaughtered during Thanksgiving. What I don’t understand is why the humans don’t eat vis like we do?”
He settled down to wait. “Ten years ago, my third cousin five times removed came to me for help to save him and his friends. I was just a young headstrong pinguïn at that time with an opportunity for a promotion. I rejected him, and he and his vrienden perished from my foolish decision. I know the boys think of me as one who can do no wrong, especially young Private, but I do wrong. Well, never again will others perish for me.”
The President came out and cameras began flashing. “The eagle is out. Time to roll,” declared Skipper. “Operation: Feathery vrienden begins now.”
It was too risky for Skipper to rush in and grab the President. Instead, he considered whether to shoot him with a blowgun. He rejected it and took out his binoculars. Mr. President began speaking. “This year, like every year, a turkey will be chosen.”
“Yeah, and every turkey else is going to die,” zei Skipper.
His radio began beeping. “Great Barrier Reef! What is going on?” yelled Skipper, almost falling for the boom branch.
He looked down at his notification. ‘Private’s Birthday Tomorrow,’ it read. ‘Remember to bring him a present!”
Skipper looked back at the President. “I can watch it over on the telly,” he said, using Private’s word for the T.V.
He executed a smooth back flip and landed on the ground. Then, he began sliding to the nearest gift shop. Skipper looked around for something of someone that would get him across the road. He found his ride.
The pinguïn commander slid under the ice-cream kar, winkelwagen and latched on. The kar, winkelwagen began moving across the street. At his stop, Skipper jumped off and hid behind a trash can. He looked up at the shop. It was clear. The pinguïn slid in.
The volgende Day.....
“Happy Birthday, Private!” chorused Kowalski and Rico.
“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed Private gleefully, his face all lit up.
The two older penguins set the cake down on their stone table. “Ready to blow out the candles, Private?” asked Kowalski, lighting them up.
“Not until Skipper gets here,” replied the young pinguïn stubbornly.
Kowalski and Rico exchanged a glance. They both knew that Skipper would never miss their birthdays (although he had stated that it was not a very important celebration), especially his most naïve and youngest soldier, but sometimes, he could be late. Once, he arrived at 11 P.M., started and annoyed but happy to see Private waiting for him.
“Why don’t u blow them out before they all burn down, and we’ll wait for Skipper before we eat the cake?” suggested Kowalski.
“Uh, huh,” agreed Rico, nodding vigorously.
Private glared at them. Kowalski managed a weak chuckle. “Or not.”
“We’re waiting for Skipper,” repeated Private firmly.
“We’re waiting for Skipper,” zei the other penguins.
The hatch opened. The penguins looked up, expecting to see Marlene. Instead, Skipper performed a perfect midair flip and presented Private with a little gift. “Good thing u won’t have to wait long this time,” zei Skipper with a smirk.
He was as well aware as the rest of them about his near miss birthday appearances. “Skipper!” Private was grinning. “You made it!”
“I sure did, didn’t I?” answered the older penguin, winking at his soldiers. “Happy Birthday, young Private.”
Private smiled at his friends. “Thank you!”
He turned back to the cake. “Want some? I think it’s chocolate so I guess it wasn’t homemade.”
Kowalski was wounded. “We make good cakes! Right, Rico?”
Rico shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah?”
“Really, Kowalski? Think about the last cake u made?” Skipper raised a non-existent brow.
“Let’s see, the last cake I made was on ‘King Julien Day,’” zei Kowalski, making quotes around the last part.
They all looked at him. Kowalski hung his head. “Point taken.”
Private blew out the candles. “Let’s not fight. Anyone want some cake?”
The penguins smiled and nodded. Private began cutting the cake. “So, Skipper, if u don’t mind me asking, how was your mission?”
“It was un-informative,” replied Skipper, curtly.
Kowalski took a risk. “Is it un-classified now?”
“As a matter of fact, it is, but I’ll wait until tomorrow to tell you,” zei Skipper, surprising his team.
Not knowing what to say, they kept silent.
Kowalski was in the lab working on his latest invention – the Salt Shaker, which made snow, not salt, much to the chagrin of Skipper who had prophesized that it was going to explode soon. Rico was outside with his water scooter and doll. Private was watching the Lunacorns. Skipper was hiding in a boom spying on the White House.
This was one of his solo missions (he never learned from the last one to “Never Swim Alone” but instead was filled with certitude that he could handle anything, except mini golf). However, this time, he did tell his team where he was. “Skipper’s Log: I finally have enough time to carry out Operation: Feathery Friends.”
Skipper hopped over to another boom closer to his target. “For all too long, our cousins the turkeys have been slaughtered during Thanksgiving. What I don’t understand is why the humans don’t eat vis like we do?”
He settled down to wait. “Ten years ago, my third cousin five times removed came to me for help to save him and his friends. I was just a young headstrong pinguïn at that time with an opportunity for a promotion. I rejected him, and he and his vrienden perished from my foolish decision. I know the boys think of me as one who can do no wrong, especially young Private, but I do wrong. Well, never again will others perish for me.”
The President came out and cameras began flashing. “The eagle is out. Time to roll,” declared Skipper. “Operation: Feathery vrienden begins now.”
It was too risky for Skipper to rush in and grab the President. Instead, he considered whether to shoot him with a blowgun. He rejected it and took out his binoculars. Mr. President began speaking. “This year, like every year, a turkey will be chosen.”
“Yeah, and every turkey else is going to die,” zei Skipper.
His radio began beeping. “Great Barrier Reef! What is going on?” yelled Skipper, almost falling for the boom branch.
He looked down at his notification. ‘Private’s Birthday Tomorrow,’ it read. ‘Remember to bring him a present!”
Skipper looked back at the President. “I can watch it over on the telly,” he said, using Private’s word for the T.V.
He executed a smooth back flip and landed on the ground. Then, he began sliding to the nearest gift shop. Skipper looked around for something of someone that would get him across the road. He found his ride.
The pinguïn commander slid under the ice-cream kar, winkelwagen and latched on. The kar, winkelwagen began moving across the street. At his stop, Skipper jumped off and hid behind a trash can. He looked up at the shop. It was clear. The pinguïn slid in.
The volgende Day.....
“Happy Birthday, Private!” chorused Kowalski and Rico.
“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed Private gleefully, his face all lit up.
The two older penguins set the cake down on their stone table. “Ready to blow out the candles, Private?” asked Kowalski, lighting them up.
“Not until Skipper gets here,” replied the young pinguïn stubbornly.
Kowalski and Rico exchanged a glance. They both knew that Skipper would never miss their birthdays (although he had stated that it was not a very important celebration), especially his most naïve and youngest soldier, but sometimes, he could be late. Once, he arrived at 11 P.M., started and annoyed but happy to see Private waiting for him.
“Why don’t u blow them out before they all burn down, and we’ll wait for Skipper before we eat the cake?” suggested Kowalski.
“Uh, huh,” agreed Rico, nodding vigorously.
Private glared at them. Kowalski managed a weak chuckle. “Or not.”
“We’re waiting for Skipper,” repeated Private firmly.
“We’re waiting for Skipper,” zei the other penguins.
The hatch opened. The penguins looked up, expecting to see Marlene. Instead, Skipper performed a perfect midair flip and presented Private with a little gift. “Good thing u won’t have to wait long this time,” zei Skipper with a smirk.
He was as well aware as the rest of them about his near miss birthday appearances. “Skipper!” Private was grinning. “You made it!”
“I sure did, didn’t I?” answered the older penguin, winking at his soldiers. “Happy Birthday, young Private.”
Private smiled at his friends. “Thank you!”
He turned back to the cake. “Want some? I think it’s chocolate so I guess it wasn’t homemade.”
Kowalski was wounded. “We make good cakes! Right, Rico?”
Rico shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah?”
“Really, Kowalski? Think about the last cake u made?” Skipper raised a non-existent brow.
“Let’s see, the last cake I made was on ‘King Julien Day,’” zei Kowalski, making quotes around the last part.
They all looked at him. Kowalski hung his head. “Point taken.”
Private blew out the candles. “Let’s not fight. Anyone want some cake?”
The penguins smiled and nodded. Private began cutting the cake. “So, Skipper, if u don’t mind me asking, how was your mission?”
“It was un-informative,” replied Skipper, curtly.
Kowalski took a risk. “Is it un-classified now?”
“As a matter of fact, it is, but I’ll wait until tomorrow to tell you,” zei Skipper, surprising his team.
Not knowing what to say, they kept silent.
