A little boy was walking in the woods one day. He tripped over a stump and fell on his face with a thump. He started to get up and realized he had fallen at the edge of a pond. A giant bullfrog stared him right in the eyes.
The little boy reached to pet it, but the frog took a leap and landed right on his face. The little boy was so startled that he jumped backwards, tripped over his own feet, and landed on his back. His head hit the stump with a thump. The bullfrog croaked and blinked while the little boy rubbed his sore head.
Finally he sat up and peeled the frog off his face. Just then a baby bird fell out of the nest right on the top of his head with a thump. He threw the bullfrog back into the pond, carefully cradled the baby bird in his hands, and looked around for a nest.
On a branch just too high to reach, the mama bird scolded him, chittering angrily. The little boy climbed up, but just as he returned the baby to its home, the mama bird fluttered into his face, the branch he stood on cracked, and he fell to the ground with a thump.
Rubbing his sore rump and shaking his sore head, the little boy stepped carefully over the stump and went home. The bullfrog jumped out of the pond and landed on the stump. Thump.
(Author’s note: This story is a collaboration between my eight year old son and me. I gave him the word prompt “thump” and he told me this story. All I did was clean it up and embellish it a little. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.)
She sniffed the night air, savoring the smells of grass and dead leaves surrounding her den. A screech overhead drew her gaze, but the owl’s presence woke no concern in her yet.
A musky scent set her body trembling, and her mate trotted out of the underbrush. He sat just out of reach, tongue lolling from his mouth, waiting. She heaved her swollen belly up and attempted to gambol around him playfully, managing little more than a waddle. He licked her nose and trotted back into the underbrush.
She followed him, panting with the effort. It would be the last hunt together under the moon for many weeks. The cubs would be born before another night arrived. A scratching in the leaves behind her stopped her in her tracks, and she locked her chops as her mate crouched.
Two weeks ago we embarked on a new adventure by adding six chicks to our flock of three. I grew up with chickens; I thought I was prepared. From day one these birds set out to prove me wrong.
To begin with, I didn’t realize how small four week old pullets were under all those brand new feathers. We left the house for two hours the first evening, and when we came back after dark all six had blissfully jumped through the dog wire of their run and bedded down two feet outside of the fence. I managed to pick them up three at a time and snuggle them in my shirt tail back into their appropriate sleeping area.
After adding chicken wire to the entire perimeter the next morning (while continually chasing escaped chicks), I heaved a sigh of relief. It was taken as a challenge by those overly curious toddler birds. I had built their run attached to the existing run for socialization, but separated by mesh that I could easily cut out later. By afternoon they had found a way through a gap in the mesh barrier and delightedly raided kitchen scraps under the indignant beaks of their elders. I managed to chase them back through their convenient hole and close it up before bedding them down for the night.
Problem not solved. Not a day went by for the next week that didn’t find me chasing houdini pullets and closing up microscopic escape routes. In the meantime, like all toddlers, they emptied their (supposedly chick-friendly) feeder all over the ground, turned over their water dispensers repeatedly when they weren’t kicking grass and bedding into them, and made a mess of their sleeping quarters.
It wasn’t all bad; the amount of time I spent corraling those birds meant they got used to me. By the end of a week they would call back to me when I talked to them, and when I let them out in the morning they would squabble and flutter so close to me that their wings hit me. When I brought food they would rush the gate so I had to be careful not to step on them. For a day or two they seemed to have settled in.
Then they discovered how to breach the blocked holes. Peck until the thing moves, then scratch it out of the way. Fly higher and find the hidden gap at the top. Dig a new hole! Me and those pullets spent a whole lot more quality time together. They started to argue with me and throw themselves at the door to their little coop when I didn’t open it fast enough to suit them. They started trying to eat my shoes and investigating my clothes.
We settled again for a day or two into a routine; all the escape routes seemed to be managed, and I started thinking about raking the big run in preparation for joining. I didn’t reckon on just how devious my little friends were, and I set myself up for what had to be the funniest chicken story ever.
I headed out to bed them down, but I knew as soon as I rounded the corner of the house something was amiss. I could hear them from much farther than usual, and couldn’t see them in their run. Yep, you guessed it. All six pullets were in the big run, merrily exploring in and out of the big coop. It might have been a boring story if they had stayed there.
They heard me coming. All six rushed to the gate, chirping madly in greeting. Their elders were already asleep, having the sense to know it was nearly dark, but not them! Did I mention the gate to the big run is dog wire? By the time I could get it open, those overly excited birds had pushed through and were running circles around the pen, cackling wildly. I called for reinforcements: extra hands and food.
The food was a dismal failure; they weren’t the least bit hungry. They were, however, delighted to stay up late and intended to keep that illicit privilege in spite of me. My eight year old son covered himself in glory by catching three by himself; my husband caught one. The others came to see what all the fuss was about and that was one battle won.
The next was to get them in the coop; they were gonna sleep with their elders because I wasn’t even trying to get them back through whatever new hole they discovered. I carried the food inside followed by chicks. By now they had already pecked up my shoes and tried to burrow under my shirt tail while I squatted trying to keep them contained as we caught them. They had finally realized it was bedtime, had decided I was mom, and as far as they were concerned I wasn’t leaving. Three surrounded my foot and snuggled up, one fluttered up the roost and perched on my wrist, and two curled up on my back as I bent over trying to reach things. They weren’t moving.
Once again my son came to the rescue. He closed the door so they couldn’t get spooked and escape, then moved them off me one at a time. While they were flapping around complaining about it, we ducked out and locked them in. By then it was completely dark and I wasn’t sure what gifts had been left on my shirt. In case the solar-powered but temperamental door decided to actually open at sunrise the way it’s supposed to, we hung a blanket over the gate until I can add chicken wire. What would you like to bet I find those chickens in the yard tomorrow morning anyway?
A spider finds her perfect home in a cozy head of lettuce in a lady’s garden. The leaves collect water and tasty insects buzz and crawl within easy reach. The lettuce even provides quick shelter from larger animals who might turn the spider herself into a meal!
When the lady harvests her lettuce she doesn’t notice the little spider hiding in the leaves. The poor little spider endures quite a terrifying adventure as the lady prepares her lunch. When the lady does finally notice her plight, what will happen to the spider?
This book is a simple, precious story that will capture children’s hearts while teaching unconscious lessons about how we treat others. In this story there is no hero or villain, only two characters with vastly different perspectives. Each has a purpose, and they must learn to understand the place of each in the garden.
Frog and Toad are best friends. When one gets into trouble, the other is always there to rescue him. When one has a problem, the other is always there to help him solve it. Whether planting a garden, cleaning a house, or trying not to eat all the cookies, neither does anything without the other. Everything becomes an adventure when they are together.
This book is a timeless classic portraying childhood, innocence, and friendship. My seven year old learned to read with Frog and Toad, and they are still his favorite book friends. What child hasn’t impatiently waited for seeds to grow or pretended not to be afraid of something scary? Your children will laugh, learn, and grow right along with their new amphibian friends.
A most unusual present shows up under the tree on Christmas Eve and begins to wreak havoc! Presents get eaten, the feast gets stolen, even the decorations are shredded. No one knows what to do! Even Alice Jayne finally locks that croc in the cellar where he can’t destroy anything else.
But no one should be cold and alone on Christmas Eve! First Alice Jayne, then the rest of the family (including Aunt Figgy whose toes were bitten) joins the crocodile in the cellar with their own little piece of Christmas comfort to share. No one realizes the disastrous truth until morning brings a new surprise.
This book is the perfect holiday book for little kids. The funny, silly, and unexpected plot will have kids giggling uncontrollably, and the colorful illustrations will keep them busy while parents handle all the Christmas secrets. That is, if mom and dad aren’t reading and laughing along with them.
Kitty is the boss of the house. At least, until a host of scary and unusual creatures show up at her door! But wait, those creatures have delicious candy! Kitty forgets to be scared, and decides to be very, very bad!
This fun story with its colorful pictures will capture children’s imaginations while teaching the alphabet. Bad kitty and her scary new friends will increase your child’s vocabulary with their silly alphabetical behavior as well! From daring and loopy to hideous and putrid to quashed and extinguished, there’s no end to the thrills.
Halloween may be over, but Bad Kitty and her antics are still a daily source of giggles at my house. Even my older kids forget to pay attention to their own tasks when Kitty and her friends show up to play. We’ll certainly be looking for more of her adventures by Nick Bruel.
Remember that old woman who swallowed a fly? This zany monkey takes her appetite to a whole new level with a slew of odd decisions, starting with a frog. A host of jungle animals (and a dancing mango) parade in silly formation into the old monkey’s stomach.
This book is a delightful new twist to an old favorite. Kids cackle at every new meal choice. The repetitive verses make a hilarious read-aloud. The wacky illustrations add another level of fun as each animal eaten is given its own unique personality, and they all seem to have a party inside the monkey’s expanding stomach. Wouldn’t that give you a belly ache?
Now, then, Leo, it is time for our story. It’s bedtime, you know, and you must lie down quietly and listen. Teddy came to keep you company and remind you to be good. Zara, don’t you mess up, now, you know Leo hates it when you crowd.
Now, what shall we read tonight? I know your favorite story, Leo! Here it is, Daniella and the lions. Daniella was only four, but she had a special gift. She could talk to lions. Every day she went to the zoo to visit and talk to the lions who lived there. They wanted to know all about her, and she wanted to know all about Africa. Sadly, they didn’t know about Africa because they had been born in a zoo like this one, but Daniella didn’t mind. She brought a book from the library and told them all about it instead.
All the zookeepers knew Daniella and enjoyed her visits. They often let her help them feed the animals, and sometimes they let her give tours. No one knew that she could actually talk to the lions, and Daniella kept her secret, but the zookeepers noticed that the lions behaved much better when she was around.
One day, the biggest lion escaped from the zoo. All the zookeepers and the visitors and the mayor and the council and the police and the firefighters and animal control were very upset. They ran around in a tizzy, huffing and puffing and getting red in the face. When Daniella went to the zoo that day the lion keeper told her what had happened and asked if she could help.
Of course Daniella could! She asked the other lions where Leo had gone, and they told her he had decided to go and see Africa. He wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Well, no one believed Daniella when she told them, because of course no one knew she could talk to lions. She knew she would have to find Leo all by herself, and she had an idea where he might have gone to find Africa.
Daniella went to the Museum. Sure enough, when she arrived the lady at the desk shakily pointed toward the savannah exhibit, her hair standing on end and her dress all in a tangle. Visitors to the museum hid under benches or ran screaming for the door. No one wanted to be around with a lion on the loose.
They all yelled for Daniella to run away, but of course she didn’t listen. She went right in and found the biggest lion staring at all the stuffed lions and giraffes and zebras. He was astonished that they were not in cages, and very excited by the stuffed lion chasing the zebra. He wanted to stay there all day.
Daniella scolded the biggest lion for scaring the whole town and told him it was time to go back to the zoo. The lion pouted and growled, but Daniella put her arms on her hips and gave him “the look.” He closed his mouth and followed her without more argument.
Everyone shouted with excitement when Daniella and the lion marched through the gates of the zoo together. They asked her how she managed it, and Daniella just smiled. And every day she still went to the zoo to talk to her friends.
Now, Leo, no more story tonight. You really must go to sleep. You too, Zara, and all the rest of you. No more begging, Teddy and I have to go home now. We’ll be back tomorrow, and I’d better not hear that you ran away to Africa again!
Now, then, Leo, it is time for our story. It’s bedtime, you know, and you must lie down quietly and listen. Teddy came to keep you company and remind you to be good. Zara, don’t you mess up, now, you know Leo hates it when you crowd.
The Word Worker 