Monroe Pelly Can

GO, ROE, GO! Splish-splash-groove.”

- Bronchelle Parker

Monroe’s pelican pals cheered him on from down below, flipping and flapping their wings against the murky bayou water. Monroe, or “Roe” for short, shivered with fear as he inched toward the edge of a mossy tree branch, taking deep breaths through his enormous beak.

I can’t swim, he thought. He’d been reminded time and time again that the special air sacs in his body would keep him afloat. Still . . . he didn’t want to risk it.

Monroe could do lots of things. He could hold more fish in his pouch than he knew what to do with. He could fly higher than any bird in the sky. He could spot a tasty fish from a mile away. But he was the only brown pelican in all of Louisiana who could not swim a lick. Just hearing the word “swimming” made him woozy.

“Are you going to fish from that log forever?” cried his dearest friend, Penelope.

Monroe prepared for his big dive into the water beneath him. He wiggled his tail, took a deep breath, and spread his wings. But, just as he did, the bayou seemed to spin. Round and round and round it went until— splat. Monroe fell flat on his back.

“Bird down,” he huffed, too dizzy to lift a feather. Penelope sighed.

“Tomorrow,” Monroe vowed, placing a wing over his heart. “Tomorrow, Monroe Pelly braves the bayou.”

Monroe’s friends nodded and paddled away, leaving him high and dry with no company but his growling tummy.