As night fell on the Biggs farm, the moon cast shades of blue on everything. Hubert stood in the middle of his roost, surrounded by sleeping fowl, all nestled in their assigned spots.
He was silently scratching plans into the dirt floor, after clearing the errant straw from around his work area. He had made two long lines with an "X" on either side. One of them represented the farm, and the one on the far side ... the big city. The long lines between them was Hubert first big obstacle in fulfilling his dreams of greatness. For it was, "The Road."
He had drawn this map several nights in a row. He spent the waning afternoons staring at the road from his roost top. Watched as cars passed and horses paraded up and down, and even the occasional hay wagon. Beyond this road was the field of corn, towering with well grown stalks, slightly dancing with the wind. Hubert imagined that beyond this field is where the city began. A magnificent metropolis where all things were possible. Full of wonders and opportunities, and a gateway to the world. Soon to be Hubert's world.
"Psst" came a noise just beyond the wired gateway. Startled, Hubert flew up a few feet and upon landing immediately scratched at the markings on the dirt floor beneath him.
"Who's there" Hubert whispered trying not to wake the others.
"Lucky." came the reply.
Lucky was a scraggly goat and Hubert's best friend. She spent her days following the others around, and was always present for scraps after feeding time. She was called Lucky because she was the only one who ever gets to occasionally spend a night inside the big farmhouse where Farmer Biggs lived. And the fact that Lucky never shared tales about those lucky nights made it seem all the more delightful to their imagination.
Hubert edged outside between the broken wires in the gate. "Lucky. What are you doing here so late?" asked Hubert.
"Gosh Hubert, everyone's talking. They said you were leaving the farm."
"Oh fiddlesticks." remarked Hubert.
"Is it ... true? Are you leaving us, Hubert?" sheepishly asked the goat.
"Look .. Lucky ... I.." began Hubert.
"It's true then." interrupted Lucky. "I can't believe it. You can't leave, Hubert, you just can't."
"I was going to tell you first, Lucky, honest I was. It just slipped out today. Please don't try to talk me out of it. My plans are almost made. My mind is set. I am going to fly the coup."
Lucky stared down at his hooves and quietly said. "You can't fly."
"I'm going to vacate the coup." Hubert clarified. "Look it's late. We can talk about it over dried corn and tin cans in the morning, okay?"
"Hubert ..." added Lucky as he was turning away with his head low, "We sent for Oswald. You have to tell him. He will know what to say."
"No, you didn't?" bawked Hubert.
Oswald was the oldest owl anyone knew. He did not have a farmer of his own. Instead he went farm to farm and spread news and advice to all the animals on all the farms. Oswald was always right, and Hubert was afraid of what Oswald might tell him.
"We had to Hubert, you must hear what he has to say." said Lucky. "He'll be here tomorrow noon. Please Hubert, please?"
"Alright, Lucky. Don't worry." Hubert resigned. "Get some sleep now." And with that Hubert squeezed back in through the wired gate and found his spot on the long nested boards.
He tried to sleep but his mind was racing over these new events. He always believed in Oswald's knowledge and would not know what to do if Oswald told him he shouldn't go.
It wasn't that he didn't want Oswald's advice on the matter, it was just ... well Hubert was chicken.