Snips, Snails & Puppy Dog Tales: A Children's Story Collection, Page 2

  “Now what’s he up to?” all the Gobblegikes asked each other.

  ***

  Four days later, Charlie Gobblegike’s six best friends, Sally, Hector, Mandy, Edward, Daniel and John, were waiting in the square.

  “He should be here any minute now,” Edward informed the others, proudly consulting his new watch.

  Sure enough, there came Charlie Gobblegike striding towards them. But there was something strange about him.

  “Look!” exclaimed Sally Gobblegike. “His left arm is missing again!”

  They all gathered round Charlie Gobblegike, asking lots of questions. But Charlie Gobblegike dismissed their questions with a wave of his right arm.

  “We’re all the same now,” he said. “We all have one thing missing.”

  His friends cheered and cheered and all of them moved towards him to give him a hug at the same time. Charlie Gobblegike put his arm around them and drew them close. They were all so happy together.

  “What did you get?” asked Hector Gobblegike. “Did you exchange your arm for food or a necklace?”

  “Neither food nor a necklace, Hector,” answered Charlie Gobblegike. “I exchanged it for true friendship.”

  “Let’s all go to the café,” said John Gobblegike their leader, “and have a big big glass of milk to celebrate.”

  The End

  © 2014 Alan Hardy

  TELLING TALES

  By Chris Raven

  Emily found her dad one day,

  And said that she just wanted to say,

  That Charlotte, her sister was being bad,

  Was treating her mean and making her sad.

  Emily tugged on her Dad’s arm,

  And she told him in tears and alarm,

  That Charlotte, her sister was being a bore,

  And didn‘t want to play games anymore,

  Telling her that she is dull and childish,

  And all her games are boring and rubbish.

  Emily hugged Dad’s legs and cried,

  And told him that her sister had lied,

  “She’s calling me names and being quite mean,

  Burping and spitting and being obscene.

  Teasing me badly, refusing to play,

  Tripping me over and running away,

  Laughing and talking when her mouth is full,

  Hiding my teddy and my favorite ball,

  Being bossy, telling me what to do,

  Telling me that I’m a big pile of poo,

  Making strange noises and being a pain,

  Making that horrible noise once again,

  Still making that noise just to annoy,

  Telling me that I’m really a boy,

  Telling me that I’m a spoilt rotten brat,

  A gorilla that’s big, hairy and fat”.

  Dad tells Charlotte she must be good,

  And treat her sister as she should,

  He reminds her that her sister’s still young,

  And that she is the responsible one.

  Charlotte says that it’s all unfair,

  Because her sister’s everywhere,

  Under her feet and in her way,

  Wanting to talk, wanting to play,

  Not caring if she has homework to do,

  Or films to watch, or tunes to listen to.

  Charlotte hugged her Dad and cried,

  And said her sister also lied,

  She said that she can also be mean,

  And that she can often cause a big scene,

  “Losing her temper and stamping her feet,

  When you’re not here she’s not always so sweet,

  Stealing my things, all my clothes she just wears,

  Did you know dad, that she secretly swears,

  She reports on everything that I do,

  And she also talks when her mouth is full,

  Hiding her teddy was just my revenge,

  For causing me grief, I’m at my wit’s end,

  Emily wants things to remain the same,

  But I’m too old now to play a kid’s game,

  If she wasn’t here I’m sure I would miss her,

  But sometimes I wish I wasn’t her sister”.

  Dad turns to his daughters and with a big sigh,

  He desperately asks them both “why oh why,

  Can’t you both can’t get on and fight a bit less,

  With this tale-telling, you both are a pest”.

  © 2014 Chris Raven

  THE DUCK BUSH

  By Kristina Blasen

  “Duckie” was a duck, barely more than a duckling, which is a baby duck in case you didn’t know. He was still a little awkward about things like waddling and paddling and quacking. He was especially worried about learning to find food.

  Duckie watched Mama Duck carefully teaching his older brothers and sisters how to find yummy things in the grass near their home in the long row of bushes at the park. When they were old enough she taught them to swim and dunk their beaks in the water. All kinds of tasty things were hiding in the grass around the bushes and in the shallow water of the pond.

  Duckie wasn’t so sure he’d ever figure out how to catch those pesky minnows as they darted past. He was worried he wouldn’t be able to pick the leggy spiders off the bark of the trees and out from under the picnic benches. “Eww!”

  One sunny day Duckie decided to make a big circle around each bush in their row. He was looking for food like mama had shown his older brothers and sisters. Duckie was feeling very brave and decided he was even going to try his luck in the shallow water of the pond near his bush.

  “If I can’t find a little worm, I’ll look for a little snail,” he said to himself, making his plan and waddled off to circle the next bush in the row.

  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find a little worm, or a little snail underneath the bushes.

  “If I can’t find a little snail, I’ll look for a big grasshopper,” he thought.

  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find a big grasshopper underneath the bushes. Duckie was determined. He was going to keep looking until he found something yummy to eat—all by himself.

  “If I can’t find a big grasshopper, I’ll look for a small frog,” he said to himself and waddled off to circle the next bush in the row.

  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find a small frog underneath the bushes or near the shallow water at the edge of the pond.

  “If I can’t find a small frog, I’ll look for a big salamander,” he thought.

  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find a big salamander underneath the bushes or near the shallow water at the edge of the pond. Even though he couldn’t find a little worm, a little snail, a big grasshopper, a small frog or a big salamander, Duckie was more determined than ever to find something yummy—all by himself.

  “If I can’t find a big salamander, I’ll look for a little minnow,” he said to himself and waddled off to wade into the shallows at the edge of the pond.

  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find a little minnow in the shallow water at the edge of the pond.

  “If I can’t find a little minnow, I’ll look for a tiny fly,” he thought, waddling back to the grass near his bush.

  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find a tiny fly underneath the bush.

  “If I can’t find a tiny fly, I’ll look for a giant nut,” he said to himself and waddled off to circle the next bush in the row.

  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find a giant nut underneath the bush. Duckie refused to give up, he just knew if he kept looking he was going to find something yummy to eat—all by himself.

  “If I can’t find a giant nut, I’ll look for a mammoth water lily.”

  Duckie waddled back down to the edge of the water and practiced his awkward paddling to look in the plants for his mammoth water lily. He looked and he looked, but he couldn’t find a mammoth water lily in the shallows at the edge of the pond.

  “If I can’t find a mammoth water lily,
I’ll look for a tall weed,” he said to himself while paddling back to shore.

  “If I can’t find a tall weed, I’ll look for a short crab,” he thought.

  He looked and he looked, but he couldn’t find a short crab. What with all this waddling and paddling and circling, he couldn’t help but quack out his frustration, but he refused to give up. He was going to find something yummy to eat—all by himself.

  “If I can’t find a short crab, I’ll look for some teeny-tiny bits of grass,” he said to himself and waddled off to circle the next bush in the row.

  Now, you’d think Duckie might have noticed that he was waddling across grass the whole time he was looking for food underneath the bushes, but he never did. Too bad, because grass really is quite tasty, for ducks that is. Duckie looked and looked, but he was too frustrated to see all the teeny-tiny bits of grass he waddled right over.

  “If I can’t find some teeny-tiny bits of grass, I’ll guess I’ll just eat some rocks and sand!” he said happily.

  And so he did. Unlike you or I, the rocks and the sand wouldn’t hurt Duckie, not one little bit. But, if we ate rocks and sand it would make us very, very sick!

  The End

  © 2014 Kristina Blasen

  SPLAT

  By Peter John

  Through open doors, the light shines through.

  Clambering down, I know what to do.

  Spinning a web from the floor to the wall.

  Climbing up high, try not to fall.

  Sitting there silent, stalking my prey.

  Someone walks in and I’m on my way.

  Spinning a web from the wall to the floor.

  Stamp of a foot, spider no more.

  © 2014 Peter John

 

  “Original Concepts by James Henry Thomas Present”

  The Wacky Adventures of Bob & Dill

  THE CASE OF THE MISSING GHOST…

  As written by Donny Swords

  “Whatcha doing Bob?”

  “Looking for something.”

  “What are you looking for? Can I help?”

  “I dunno… this case is sensitive. It’s top-secret, not even farmer Dave knows about it.”

  Dill grunted. Pigs do that. They grunt.

  “Don’t get mad, Dilly boy. It’s just a tough case I say - a scary one too.”

  “I’m not scared Bobby Bub. Besides, you are the chicken. Give me some love. Aren’t we friends?”

  Dill opened his eyes big and round, fluttering his eyelashes.

  “I told you Dill, I’m a rooster! B-b-besides… I’m not scared,” Bob said.

  “You look pretty chicken to me,” Dill said.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” Bob stood there, just staring at Dill. Then he yelled again. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  “What are you doing Bobby? Is that some kind of trick? Can I do it too? Huh? Can I?”

  Bob felt annoyed. Dill always did lame stuff like this.

  “No.”

  “Aww come on Bob. Please… Please,” Dill begged.

  “No,” Bob said.

  His beak was pointing at the sky. His wings were crossed and Dill wanted to know why.

  “Why?” Dill said.

  “Because.”

  Bob still looked kind of mad with his chest all puffed up.

  “Because? That’s not a reason. I want to help you. You need help. It’s scary right? Look, you’re chicken, you need me. Will you let me help you?”

  Dill asked too many questions, Bob was not sure he liked that about the little pink pig.

  “I told you, I’m a rooster.”

  Bob looked very mad, just tapping that chicken leg at Dill.

  “Well still, you’re a-chicken?” Dill said.

  He chuckled, high and whiny, almost squealing like… well, a pig.

  “Why do you want to help me so bad?” Bob demanded.

  “Beats sitting around bacon in my pen all day… Get it? Bacon?” Dill said through chuckles.

  Bob scoffed. Something about Dill seemed kind of off… it hurt his brain. Dill was kind of a pain.

  “Why would you say such a thing? It seems a little obscene. No, you cannot help. Stay in your wooden jail.”

  “I don’t like this Bobby. Please, let me help. It’s boarding in here, get it? Boarding?”

  “I do. It is true. You never take anything serious Dill. Not ever. You think you’re funny, but you are not so clever.”

  Bob was going to say more, but Dill stole the floor.

  “Let me help on this endeavor. It would be my pleasure.”

  Dill had tried to sound dignified, but his remark came out pig- just-lied.

  “You are fibbing, ad-libbing. You have no intention to help me. You want to be free,” Bob said in retort.

  “Quit being a chicken, Bobby Bub. Give old Dill some love. If I mess up when you let me out of my pen, I will never ask you again,” Dill replied, but the look in his eye said he might have lied.

  Just then, Farmer Dave came by and Bob pretended he was scratching his eye. Fooling him was easy. He did not know about Dill, and Bob, that they talked or even why.

  “Oh, quit all the begging. You do not want this job. Besides, you are kind of a slob,” Bob said meanly.

  “I know that. I know. Around me the mess grows.”

  Dill dropped his head, feeling bad. What Bob had said made him sad.

  “Look here. My case is getting cold, this is growing old,” Bob said impatiently.

  “Why do we rhyme?” Dill countered.

  “Are we making rhymes? Well it is hardly a crime. So what if we do? I learned them in school,” Bob said.

  He was serious. Dill found this hilarious.

  “Oh so you did, eh? What a game you play! Guess what? I am done. Sorry to end all your fun.”

  Dill snorted after he spoke. Bob thought he would not rhyme again. He felt sorry to see the trend end.

  Dill did not care. He felt as stubborn as a bear.

  Bob knew the pig would not play, but he had something to say.

  “Sorry you will not play our game. I think it is an awful shame.”

  Dill grunted once more, sounding like a boar.

  “Okay I will stop,” Bob said sadly.

  The rhyme-off had ended somewhat badly.

  “Good. Now where were we? I know. You were going to let me go,” Dill stated.

  “If you are done with our game, make your words plain,” Bob said angrily.

  His feathers ruffled at the indignity. What was Dill planning?

  “My bad, let me help you. This is not fair, you out there, me in here,” Dill said.

  Bob started to laugh.

  “You cannot stop, can you? I thought you said the game was through?”

  “It is, I swear. Let me out, I know you care.”

  Dill’s eyes were saucer wide. It looked like he might cry.

  “I do not need any help. This is my case. I’ve got this,” Bob said flatly.

  “Why?”

  Dill was sad.

  “You would not believe me anyhow.”

  Bob was serious, but Dill trusted him.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Dill asked.

  “Because it is scary, it is,” Bob replied.

  “Quit being chicken, so is my pen. Please Bob, let me go.”

  “You are still making rhymes,” Bob remarked.

  “Okay, I did. At least tell me what you are looking for,” Dill returned.

  “If I tell you, do you swear to not tell anyone?”

  Bob was serious, his mood mysterious… Oh bother, more rhyming…

  “I do Bob-O. Tell me I want to____.”

  Dill almost said it, but he didn’t. Aw, geez.

  “I am looking for something spooky,” Bob whispered. What a strange____. Man.

  “What is so scary? Please Bob, just tell ___,” Dill stated his words weighted.

  “Dilly Dill, Why do you keep trailing off? It makes me feel ____. Oh great! Now I see… Something is wrong with you, with __,” B
ob yelled again, deafening his friend. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Dang!”

  “Yup,” Dill said nodding. “This is probably scarier than what you were going to tell me. It is so freaky.”

  “Agreed.”

  Bob knew, just knew, if he said another word he was through.

  “Okay.” Dill said.

  He understood, saying more was not good.

  “A ghost,” Bob said quietly.

  “Huh? Where?” said Dill.

  Something gave him chills.

  The spell broke. With no rhyming, they spoke.

  “Would you answer me please? What ghost? Now I am scared…” Dill added.

  “That’s what I am looking for.”

  Bob opened the pen, and Dill trotted out.

  “Have you seen it?” Dill asked with concern.

  “No. It is missing,” Bob said seriously.

  “What does it look like?”

  Again, Dill’s eyes were wide.

  “I dunno.”

  Bob threw his head back, looking proud. Roosters are always showing off.

  “Why not? We need to know.”

  Dill was wondering where the case of the missing ghost was going to go.

  “Because,” Bob said, looking the pig in the eye.

  “Because why?” Dill said.

  “He is invisible. No one has ever seen the ghost at all,” Bob replied.

  They were quiet while Dill thought about it. It was confusing.

  “So if nobody has ever seen the ghost, how do you know it’s missing?” Dill asked.

  “Say, Dilly Dill, that is a good question. If we cannot see the ghost, how do we know it’s missing? Hmmn, how would we know he is a he? This case seems thin to me. There is not enough to go on. I quit. Yep. I do,” Bob said seriously.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” Dill asked.

  He had to jog to catch up to Bob. It was a good thing he did, or the rooster would have been gone.

  “I’m going water skiing,” Bob said firmly.

  “What’s that?” Dill said.

  “Come on. I will teach you.”

  So the rooster and pig left the farm that day without waiting to hear what farmer Dave had to say. Each day they became closer friends, having wacky adventures over and over again. The case of the missing ghost was never solved, in fact no one ever saw the ghost at all.

  © 2014 Donny Swords

  SUNDAY DINNER

  (From Hi, My Name is Bob)

  By James Gordon

  Sometimes we sit at the table and other times we don’t.

  But Sunday dinner is always special.

  It is either chicken or steak and tonight it is fried wings.

  Wings are my favorite.