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NARRATOR: Si, senor. That means strange birds.
DONALD DUCK: Oh, sure, sure. I know Birds.
NARRATOR: Yes, amigo, your feathered cousins. You know, Donald, you have more relatives here than there are coffee beans in Brazil. For instance, take the one who lives way, way down But suppose we let my friend Professor Holloway tell us about it. From the beginning to...
PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY: El fin, the end.
NARRATOR: Yes. Thank you. Professor
PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY: This story takes us way down to the South Pole. Rather than have you stand on your heads, let's turn the theater over. There. That's better. Two things you will find most of down here are ice and penguins. It's amazing that anybody would want to live here, but most penguins wouldn't live anywhere else. You couldn't find better weather for fishing, skiing, tobogganing, or swimming. And there is nothing the average penguin likes better than a day at the beach. Uh, but come on. Let's meet Pablo. He lives down at the end of Main Street. Let's go in and see what's cookin'. Pablo could never remember having been warm enough and so his closest companion was Smokey Joe, his little stove. Between chills, Pablo had one burning desire to spend the rest of his life on some tropical shore. So we see him bravely set forth for the isle of his dreams. The other penguins turned out to give him a big send-off. But when he gets just so far away from his stove. See what happens Too bad. Perhaps he'll give up this wild idea. But no. He's off to another start. This time he's bringing a friend. Anyway, it was a hot idea. Well, maybe he'll be content to stay at home this time. But no! There he goes hotfooting it to the land of the sun. By now, the farewell committee has been reduced to two. Discouraging, isn't it Suddenly, Pablo got one of those ideas that change a person's whole life A boat. But where would he get a boat? Just watch. Where there's a will, there's a way, they say. And now, the official launching. Day after day, the south wind carried him north. One day, a blanket of fog rolled in and it was so thick. Must be near Cape Horn. As the fog lifted, he found himself headed straight through the Straits of Magellan and northward along Chile's rocky coast. One day, a storm cloud came up just a little bitty old storm cloud, though and just tried awful hard to have its first storm. Didn't amount to much, though. One day on lookout, Pablo had a bit of a shock: a waterspout off the port bow! But it proved to be
the Juan Fernandez Islands where Robinson Crusoe once lived and still does, apparently. Four bells and all's well. According to Pablo's chart, he should be nearing Vina Del Mar. And strangely enough, that's just where he is. He sailed past Lima, capital of Peru, hugging the coastline with a tenacity of purpose seldom found in a penguin. One day his telescope picked out a city high up on top of a mountain. The map said it was Quito and it was right smack on the equator. It wasn't as easy to cross, but with a little help from Neptune, he made it. So, making a left turn, he followed the equator headed for the Galapagos Islands. Ah, that good old sun. Pablo felt that he'd never get enough of it. Oh, he hadn't counted on this. Things looked pretty bad. Help! Man the pumps! She's sprung a leak! Pipe all hands on deck! Do things! Get going! Take to the lifeboats! Abandon ship! Unruffle the mizzenmast and man the poops! And, well, don't just stand there. Get going! Swab the decks, and... Heavens. Look! What's that
just what he's been looking for. Pablo has finally reached the isle of his dreams. And so, as the warm tropical sun, sinks slowly in the west, we leave little Pablo, a bird in paradise, a picture of health in his new coat of tan. He should be the happiest penguin in the world. Only sometimes, he gets to thinking.
NARRATOR: Never satisfied. Well, that's human nature for you, even if you're a penguin.
DONALD DUCK: You're absolutely right.
NARRATOR: And now, Donald, let's hop over the Andes. From these snowcapped peaks to the depths of the Amazon jungle, one finds many more strange and exotic birds. Like the anambepreto of Colombia and Venezuela. He carries his own bagpipes hidden under his beard. Then there's his cousin, the arapapa, pride of Paraguay, whose perfect appearance permits his pompous pride in his pompadour. And la tijereta, the scissors bird, the Colombian cutup. Then there's the arapacu de pico curvo. He's always sticking his nose into things. Did you ever see such a freak beak, huh Speaking of beaks, what a time two toucans have making love. When they're beak to beak, they can't get cheek to cheek. Because when one toucan turns his head, only one toucan can.
DONALD DUCK: Uh-oh. Who's that?
NARRATOR: Oh, a thousand pardons. Seor Donald, I would like to have you meet one of the most eccentric birds you have ever seen. His name is the aracuan. You'll find him most everywhere.
DONALD DUCK: Eh, glad to know ya. Pleased to meet ya.
NARRATOR: Now, he's called the aracuan because of the peculiar song he sings, which sounds something like this.
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