Bruce Moose!

Bruce Moose!

Bruce Moose had a way of getting himself into a spot of trouble. According to…well, most everybody around, it was sort of a habit. It wasn’t what you would call serious trouble, or scary trouble or bad trouble, or super serious scary bad trouble, because it’s common knowledge that there’s all kinds, and levels of trouble. The types of trouble, or situations, or antics, that Bruce Moose found himself getting into could be described as silly. Just plain silly. For example, if you ever saw an average person- or average creature of any kind slip on a banana peel, or fall over a log, that would be the kind of normal trouble you would expect to see. The usual trips and spills and falls of us all. But, for Bruce Moose, his kind of trouble was much more dramatic, even exciting, if you had the privilege of seeing it happen with your own eyes. Bruce Moose, you might say, always went the extra mile when it came to his hijinks. His kind of trouble turns out to be a big bowl of shenanigans, topped with a sticky situation, a healthy dash of lookout! followed by an added helping of whoa, hold on, hoo-boy!

Bruce Moose could be minding his own business, innocently taking a leisurely walk to nowhere specific on a quiet morning, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, surprise! he finds himself slipping on a banana peel, spinning out of control on a sidewalk covered in vanilla nutty fudge caramel swirl ice cream, crashing into a cake and pie shop, landing face first into a peanut butter cherry chocolate coconut cream pie with whipped cream and sprinkles on top, while somehow breaking every stick of furniture in the place. That would be the Bruce Moose kind of trouble. Bruce would be the one to fall over a log, bounce, boing, toss and tumble head over roller skates and fumble and bumble right through a strawberry patch, roll down a bumpy lumpy hill, and land wrong side up in a lake chock full of tuna fish-sandwiches?! It was that kind of trouble. Very, very silly trouble. If Bruce Moose sat in a chair, he’d break it to bits. If you gave Bruce Moose a piggyback ride, he’d surely give you fits. If Bruce Moose sat cross-legged on a giant double-looped rollercoaster at a small-town fair- What?! An extra-large moose sitting cross-legged on a giant double-looped rollercoaster at a small-town fair?! Well, that would be a silly sight and definitely make people stare! Bruce Moose would never do something that silly! Well, maybe he would, and if he did, he would probably break that too.

That’s the legend and the gossip and the scoop of it all. It’s the- guess what happened to Bruce Moose this time-you’ll never believe it, scuttlebutt, and tales so tall. The truth of any event is always quite a bit different than the fanciful, overblown, and misinterpreted stories that go around town, or in this case, the fanciful, overblown, and misinterpreted stories that go around the farm…because the more times a story is told, the more the story usually changes, and the more those stories change, and the more they get passed around and passed down, the more believable some will try to make them sound. But they’re not. There’s always more to it than that as you can imagine. Oh boy! We can all imagine!

Reverse! Reverse! Let’s back up, very carefully. Yes, it’s true that Bruce has had his fair share of mishaps and mix-ups and general whoopsies, but who hasn’t?! Bruce did slip one day, and some things happened. It was on a very cold winter morning when he took it upon himself to stroll into town for a little adventure because that is what a moose does. A moose strolls and goes adventuring. They’re curious. Well, Bruce made it into town just fine but as he picked up the pace to a light gallop on Main Street to avoid the big, scary, growling, menacing, vicious, absolutely frightening…garbage truck coming toward him, he slipped, and then he skidded, and then he spun…and then he lost complete control. No Brakes! For goodness sakes! Now, being a large and heavy moose, it wasn’t easy to slow down because there’s this thing called, momentum, and that momentum, and its partner in crime- the icy street, put Bruce’s back end right through the front entrance of the town sweet shop, which wasn’t so sweet. Well, that dramatic crash-bang-boom sound startled Bruce so much that his legs went vroom-vroom, spinning every which way. He was one big ball of spinning legs and rotating antlers. Needless to say, just about everything within a ten-foot radius was in pieces and shreds, including the breads! Thankfully, no pies or cakes were hurt in the moose tornado. Then there was the time in late spring when Bruce decided to take an early morning adventure to the local lake for a swim. Well, everything was going just dandy until he had to make his way down the grassy slope to the lake itself. The grass was sparkling wet with all the morning dew on it, so…you guessed it…Wheeeee! right into the lake…splash! Mayday! Mayday! Oh yeah, he must have rolled and tumbled more than a few times on the way down and he may, or may not have, summersaulted through a strawberry patch. The jury is still out on that. The point is, that’s how stories go, they’re one thing until they’re a whole new thing, depending on who tells the story, and how many times the story is told. They can take on a life of their own. Once or twice, or twenty-two times around the farm with the gossip and the loud whispers and the loose talk and it’s anybody’s guess as to what really happened. Once the stories make their way around the farm, so what? What’s the harm? Well, some might say that depends on who the story is about. Nobody wants an untrue story told about them…do they?

Now let’s get back to where things stand now. The present day, as they say…

Bruce Moose was mostly happy, sometimes serious, always curious, occasionally a bit sad, a pretty good fair share of glad, a tiny itty-bitty bit of mad, with just the right amount of- egad!...is what you would say if you ever spotted those oversized knees that were a balled-up bundle of gnarled and buckled and knotted- oh geez! And then there was that enormous nose looking a tad bit funny, which was more than a few times a day, wet and wetter and runny…yuck! but it was all part of Bruce’s charm. That was just the way Bruce was, and is, and that was that!

Bruce was large in most places, medium to large in some places, and very small in a few places- like his eyes, those two little things on his face that he liked to call his little brown blinking spies. Oh, and Bruce was pretty darn fast when it came to tying his shoelaces for the Happy County summer moose races. Tying his laces for the Happy County Moose races?! That has to be made up! Who could ever imagine such a thing?!

Bruce lived on a farm called Three Ponds Sanctuary in Happy County, just a little bit north, two hops, three skips, a couple of quick twists, and one big jump west southeast of a smallish town called Shiverburr Lake. He lived with a family and their names were Paul and Penny Ready. Paul and Penny Ready had a young son named Little Teddy. That was his actual name. The Ready’s were always willing to take care of a creature or two, even if it hissed and booed. They were animal lovers, and rescuers of animals. That’s how Bruce Moose came to live with them. Bruce was rescued. When he was a calf, Bruce was found shaking like a leaf, standing in the middle of a twisting, turning back-country road, all by himself and scared, desperate to be heard. He was lost and crying out in the loudest, deepest moose voice he could muster, which wasn’t so loud and deep back then. He was brought to Paul and Penny’s sanctuary by some very nice people from the town of Shiverburr Lake, and he’s lived on Three Ponds Sanctuary ever since. Some people call it a sanctuary, some call it a farm, and some call it the best place in the world to be if you need a little help as you grow up. Some of the animals stay for a short time, some stay for a long time, and some stay forever. It all depends on how much help a creature needs. Bruce Moose was all grown up now- in size anyway, but he felt safe right where he was. The farm felt like home to him, and he knew it was where he belonged, and that was that. He wasn’t so scared anymore; not like he was when he was a calf. Bruce was a giant moose now, but even being a giant moose, he still needed a little help from time to time figuring out all those mysteries in life he didn’t quite understand. Bruce had big antlers, long legs, and a huge appetite. He could eat quite a bit of food each day. Bruce liked food, and Paul and Penny and Little Teddy provided him with the best things to eat. He loved the assorted berries, and the rich green grasses, and the twigs and roots and plants and even some bark…and the apples, oh those apples! Those were a favorite of his. Yummy!

Bruce Moose had a good friend on the farm, maybe his best friend. Betty Crow was, well, a crow. She was very smart and very wise, which didn’t come as any surprise, because everyone knows crows are very bright birds, not to mention, very good at explaining difficult words. Bruce didn’t have a lot of life experience yet because he was still young, so he had lots of questions, and Betty was the one he relied on for answers. Betty always made him feel better when they talked. Bruce would let her know that sometimes he was afraid, but not all the time. Sometimes he felt afraid for no particular reason. Betty would gently tell him that every creature, no matter how big or small, no matter who they were, a madam or a sir, fur, or no fur, since the beginning of time, has felt that way, and that made him feel pretty good, safe, and okay. Betty was a good friend, and she could fly! Bruce always dreamed of flying, but a flying moose?! That would be a sight. Who could ever imagine such a thing?!

Now you may ask, how does one oversized moose become friends with one smallish crow? “Very carefully!” Betty would always say as she shuddered and fluttered her wings. Betty understood that Bruce was, let’s say, big and awkward- and yes, clumsy, but not on purpose. That’s just the way he was, but she liked him all the same. She accepted that Bruce was not the perfect walker, or talker, or sitter, or stander…or the best tango dancer, but she thought he was just great the way he was. A tango dancer?! A moose?! Who could ever imagine such a thing?! Betty liked Bruce just the way he was, large and full of questions, and that was that!

Betty Crow had problems with her eyesight. She had trouble seeing. Betty came to the sanctuary because she had difficulty flying. Well, she had difficulty seeing where she was flying to. Betty bumped into things, lots of things, like walls and windows and trees, even some buzzing, zig-zagging bumble bees, and…the ground! She ran into the ground quite a bit, so she was brought to the sanctuary where she could be taken care of; where she would be safe from buzzing, zig-zagging bumble bees…and the ground! Betty Crow and Bruce Moose became good friends right away. Bruce offered to give Betty a tour around the farm and told her to hop on his antler’s. She happily accepted, and that was the start of their special friendship. Betty would spread her wings in the breeze, hopping sideways back and forth and back and forth, and some more back and forth with excitement as they strolled around on their short trips to the far reaches of the farm. Bruce liked to stop in the orchard for a quick snack and when he did, he’d lift Betty to one of the high branches in the trees to perch and bask in the warm sun. While Bruce nibbled and chewed, munched- and drooled (always with his mouth wide open) he would ask Betty questions and she would politely and patiently answer every one of them, ignoring the loud, open mouth chewing and dodging the flinging bits of wet apple pieces and apple seeds that bounced off the branches. Betty Crow was never one to point and laugh at Bruce Moose. She was much better than that. And that was that!

As Bruce and Betty spent their time wandering the farm, every once in a while one of the other animals would pass by. Dolly Llama was a frequent passer on her way to who knows where. Dolly had a different gallop and a very different smile. To put it another way, the gallop and the smile fell somewhere between, crooked-ish, strange-ish, not-so-graceful, and very-not-so-graceful, but that was Dolly Llama. There were other creatures on the farm too, like a turkey named Quack, who was always gobbling on and on about something. A pigeon named Stephen Stuffing, who wore a tiny yellow backpack. There was a pig named Poke, there was one fussy and clever orange cat always on the go, who kept his distance, whose name nobody seemed to know. There were two swans named Juan, a loon named June, a pheasant who wasn’t very pleasant, and a frail old quail named Cindy Sue Butternut Squash-Pettigrew who awkwardly sat in a pail. How she got that silly name is anybody’s guess. There were horses who whinnied and grinned and occasionally frowned at a handful of cud-chewing cows who sometimes laid down. There were screeching peacocks, slow moving turtles with tiny houses on their backs, skinny- lightning-fast dogs who used to race on tracks. There were barn owls and guineafowls, ample amounts of fishes, geese, rabbits, and ducks. There were so many creatures, some lived in water, some in a barn, others in a pen or a coop, and some in the muck. And then there was just about a million of those little feathered things that scratched, pecked, laid eggs, and clucked. There were species of all different kinds, there was some animals Bruce shied away from, but others he didn’t mind.

Sometimes Bruce Moose liked to wander out to the apple orchard in the yonder parts of the farm to be alone where he did his usual chomping and chewing, munching, and drooling…and yes, his mouth was always open, as Betty often said, but he didn’t care, he was in apple heaven, most of them red. Bruce didn’t mind being on his own from time to time, he was a moose, and it was in his nature to spend a part of his day alone, thinking and pondering and wandering…and eating. Those roots and grasses and twigs and leaves and apples weren’t going to eat themselves!

Bruce Moose had been alone in the outer parts of the farm for a while when he heard Betty Crow- crow. He lumbered back to the big barn at a leisurely pace to pick her up and take her back out to the orchard. When they reached the perfect spot, Betty hopped off the antler taxi and on to a particular branch she favored and started pecking at an apple. Betty like apples too, but probably not as much as Bruce. After much munching and crunching, Bruce took a break to tell Betty something that had been on his mind.

“Betty, if I could make you a pair of glasses for your poor eyesight, I would. And I would make them the perfect size to fit you. I would make them powerful enough so you could see the whole farm. But I can’t and I’m sorry about that.”

“I know you would Bruce, but you don’t need to be sorry for that.” Betty said.

“Sometimes I wish I had hands instead of hooves. Then I could make them for you.” Bruce replied.

“But then you wouldn’t be who you are.” Betty said.

“I guess so…” Bruce said. “But I’d probably end up breaking them anyway. I might accidently step on them or sit on them or drop them. You know how I can be.”

“I know how you can be Bruce, thoughtful and caring. And that my friend is who you are, and how I think of you.”

“But I still wish I could be different. Different than I am.” He said, just before he bit into a large juicy apple.

“As long as you try to be a good creature, you don’t need to different. You just need to be the best Bruce Moose you can be, and that’s who you already are.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked.

“I just mean that you should accept all your parts, big and small; your kindness, your struggles and fears, the way you laugh, think, or even cry, accept it all. The way you use your voice, your imagination, your courage, and your humanity…those are the qualities that make you who you are. That’s what people see in you. Your gift is not what you can do for someone, it’s your willingness to help them even if you aren’t able to. Now, if you were different, you wouldn’t be that Bruce Moose. When I think of you, I think of your qualities. The good things that make you- you. I know how considerate you are to me, and others. You give me rides around the farm on your antlers because I can’t see very well. You offered to make me a pair of glasses if you could. You come up with ideas to help others all the time. Like the time Dolly Llama galloped right into the pig stye and got stuck in the mud…remember that?”

“Yeah, that was kind of funny…” Bruce snorted, flinging apple bits all over himself.

“Yes, it was kind of funny.” Betty said, letting out a giggle. “Well, you helped her. You came up with an idea to rescue her. You went straight up to the big barn and got a long piece of rope, then you got Poke Pig to give her one end to bite down on, while you bit down on the other end and then you pulled and pulled and out she came, muddy as can be, but she was free. That happened because you used your voice, your courage, and your imagination and your humanity. You used your strength and size too. That’s being considerate to others. That rescue happened because you’re kind and thoughtful, and those are the types of things a good friend does. If you weren’t Bruce Moose, maybe you wouldn’t have done that, maybe you wouldn’t have bothered. If you were different, maybe you wouldn’t be such a good friend, or a helpful friend to the rest of us, but you are. That’s who you are Bruce Moose, and that’s why I like you.”

“I guess you’re right…but I still can’t make you a pair of glasses.” Bruce said, feeling a little bit better and a little bit proud, but still a bit sad.

“You see these trees?” Betty said, pointing with her wing.

“Yes.” Bruce said, looking up.

“The limbs on them are all different lengths. Some are thick, some are thin, some are twisted and bent. Some of the trees have lots of leaves, some have fewer leaves. And these apples created by the trees, some are big, some aren’t so big, some are round, some are even rounder. Some have spots and marks, and they’re all different shades of color if you look closely enough. Some apples are high up, some are lower on the branches, some are on the ground, some are hidden in the grass, and some of them you’ve found…you gobble up all of those!” Betty said, smiling.

“I do like apples!” Bruce exclaimed.

“My point is, they all have a purpose even if they’re not the tallest trees, or they don’t have the longest limbs, or the most leaves, or have the most fruit. They’re always growing, they’re always changing, but they’re still part of the orchard. None of them has to be the best tree in the orchard to make a difference, or to be an important part of the orchard. Each one is important, in its own way. They’re all good at what they do, in their own way, and nature has provided them with everything they need to do that. They can’t make me glasses either. But that’s not their purpose. Nature gave you hooves instead of hands so you may not have the ability to make me a pair of glasses, but you can do lots of other things, and you’re a good friend in other ways. You help me, and the other animals every day, in your own way. Everything in its own time, everything in its own way.” Betty said.

“I see what you mean, Betty. Most of it anyway.” Bruce thought for a moment, then repeated what Betty said, “Everything in its own time, everything in its own way. That’s the part I don’t understand so much…”

Betty knew he needed a little help with what she meant. “It’s just an expression, Bruce. It means that you will begin to understand things better as you get older, and you gain more life experience. It’s just a fancy way of saying, you’ll learn more when you’re ready- in a way that makes sense to you. Just give it time.”

“Oh, okay Betty. I can wait, I have plenty of time to learn.” Bruce replied. Bruce suddenly heard something behind him and quickly turned around. There was Stanley, coming toward Bruce and Betty.

“Pumpkin pie, my eye!” Stanley Goat sputtered with his tongue flapping around like it was waving hello and goodbye in a hurricane. Stanley Goat mostly said silly things that really made no sense. Sometimes he said silly things that made no sense, just to make the silly things that made no sense, rhyme. Occasionally he said things that were actually helpful, but not very often. He was a goat after all! It was part of his nature to be silly. Stanley bounced and spun and spun and bounced several times before coming to a full stop in front of Bruce and Betty, who were taking a break from eating apples. They waited patiently for Stanley to say something. And he did.

“I came out here to spin, and sing, and dance, and be free! But I mostly came to eat, definitely eat…I’ll graze on those dandelions and clover, there they are, and here I am, I spot them now, I think I’ll go on over! While I’m at it, I can whistle in the thistle- I’ll even eat a sour pickle! Some have said I’m strange and odd, but I pay no attention, my interests are broad, I like the world of my own creation, so I just say to those who look at me funny, you my dear, have no imagination.”

“Are you feeling okay, Stanley?” Betty asked.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Stanley said confidently. “I have to say though, I stopped to say hello…to that turkey over yonder. And I have to report that he is one odd duck…not a word from him, not even a bark, a sneeze, or a cluck!”

“Quack?” Bruce Moose asked.

“Yes, that’s the one. I said good morning to him, and he acted as though he didn’t want to be bothered. He looked at me like he didn’t want to be bothered! Bothered not at all! Well! I said listen here, Mr. gobble-gobble-gobble, always gobbling, if you don’t want to say good morning back to me, then I will just be on my very merry way! Goodbye, I said! And that was that!”

Betty thought for a moment, then said, “Stanley, you do know gobbling is Quacks first language, right?”

“What ever do you mean, Betty?”

“Well, he spends most of his time gobbling with other turkeys, so naturally he’s going to feel more comfortable gobbling when he speaks. Maybe he needed a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking to you in his second language. Especially with the way you…shall we say, phrase your words.”

Stanley and Bruce both looked puzzled. Betty understood that look.

Betty continued, “When you are with the other goats, don’t you speak to them in your first language?”

“Well…yes. Yes-yes-yes, of course I do!” Stanley uttered, shouted, and sputtered.

“Did you practice patience, and wait a moment for Quack to respond?” Betty asked.

“Well…no-no-no, I guess not. But-”

“Maybe the next time you greet him, try talking to him in his language. You may say the words in a way that isn’t exact, but at least you’ve showed him that you’re trying. It’s respectful, and a little bit of courtesy and patience goes a long way, Stanley.”

Stanley snorted and sputtered and stuck out his tongue and flapped it around frantically for a moment, then said, “I’ll try…that’s all I can do. I can try! Now good day to you madam and sir, and goodbye!”

“Well, that’s a start. Goodbye Stanley.” Betty replied.

Stanley spun clockwise and counterclockwise until he didn’t know what time it was. He bounced around in place several times before making his way down the gently sloped hill toward the turkey pen, mostly running sideways with little hops and whirly spins. Bruce and Betty could still hear him muttering and rhyming as he bounced along. “I’m Stanley, I’m a wonderful goat, I have more than a few fancy moves, but I have no boat! Now why would a goat have a boat?! I’m not sure, but if I was a goat with a boat I could sail, and I’d surely make friends with a dolphin or two, and possibly a whale. I don’t have a boat, but my name is still Stanley the goat, I’m Stanley the silly and I’m okay with that, I am who I am, and that’s just dilly, please sir and madam and other ones, my name is Stanley, so don’t call me Billy.” Stanley suddenly stopped halfway down the slope and shouted back to Bruce and Betty, “Oh, chicken feathers! Bubble gum! I really stepped in it this time! Well, this isn’t fun!” Stanley shook one of his back legs furiously, then continued on down the slope. Stanley liked being who he was. It was his nature. And that was that.

Bruce let out a sigh. “I don’t think I could be like Stanley…ever. I can’t even rhyme.”

“You don’t need to be like him. There’s only one Stanley- thank goodness! and there’s only one Bruce Moose. You and Stanley are very different and that makes this farm very special. The variety of creatures here is one of the best things about the farm. You and Stanley share this space, so you have that in common, but you have very unique abilities and personalities.”

“I don’t feel very unique sometimes…I feel like there’s more interesting creatures here than me.” Bruce said.

“Well, that depends on the day.” Betty quickly replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at it this way, there are sunny days, and rainy days, cloudy and foggy days, windy blustery hazy days, and they all get mixed together in so many ways, but they’re all weather days, right? I mean, none of them can say they’re better, or worse, or more special than any other days as far as mother nature is concerned. It’s not a contest, Bruce. The weather doesn’t care if it’s interesting or popular or unique. It’s important and valuable for many reasons simply because it exists.”

“I guess…” Bruce Moose said after a long sigh, scratching his head, thinking about what Betty said, pondering the what, the how, and the why.

“Hey Bruce, why don’t we mosey on down to the big pond and visit the geese for a while. I can flap and flutter and take my bath, and you can have a swim in the cool water. That always makes you feel better.”

“Okay Betty. I love to swim, let’s go, hop on…all aboard!” Bruce positioned his antlers just right so Betty could catch a ride.

Bruce and Betty reached the pond just in time. The geese had just come out of the water and were huddled around the waters edge, sunning themselves and carefully arranging their feathers with their beaks. Bruce stopped in his tracks and stared at the geese for a moment.

“What’s wrong, Bruce?” Betty asked.

“I don’t think the geese like me very much, Betty.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, they ignore me. I don’t know what I did wrong.” Bruce replied.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Bruce. Sometimes the way the others act has nothing to do with you. Sometimes other creatures think that you’ve done something, even when you haven’t. And sometimes you’re never going to find out why others react the way they do. You don’t always get an answer. Not every creature here is going to be your friend, but that doesn’t mean you did something wrong.”

“Should I ignore them too then?”

“No, not if you don’t want to. You just be the best Bruce Moose you always are. Don’t change who you are because of them. As long as you’re respectful and tried to be friendly, that’s what matters.” Betty replied.

Betty looked around and spotted something. “You see those turtles over there on that rock, basking in the warm sun?”

“Yes, I see them.”

“What happens whenever you walk up to them?”

“They disappear into their shells…”

“Exactly. It’s called a defense mechanism.” Betty said.

“A defense…what?”

“A defense mechanism. It’s a reaction. It’s something your body naturally does when you sense danger and feel the need to protect yourself. Like hiding or running away…things like that.”

“I understand. But I’m not dangerous to turtles…” Bruce said.

“You know that. I know that. But they don’t know that. Remember when you were still a calf and you were standing in that road, lost, and scared? What did you do?”

“Well, I cried out a little bit, and I shook a little bit, then I cried a lot, and shook a lot more, and then I wanted to run away. But I didn’t know where to go.”

“Well, that was your defense mechanism. It was your reaction to the fear you felt. When the people from Shiverburr walked up to you, to help you, you didn’t know what was going to happen, did you?”

“No, I didn’t understand. I was really scared.”

“But then you realized they just wanted to bring you here to be safe. They didn’t want to hurt you, did they?”

“No, they were nice to me.”

“Exactly. Now, you have to realize that you are one big moose, Bruce, and when the other animals here see you coming toward them, that can frighten some of them, so they use their defense mechanism to protect themselves in case of danger.”

“Like disappearing into their turtle shells…” Bruce said.

“Yes, just like that. Now with geese, they like to stick together, they feel safer that way. They also like to stay away from other creatures. That makes them feel safe too. It’s who they are. It doesn’t mean they don’t like you, it’s just their built-in defense mechanism that tells them to protect themselves from possible danger.”

“I see what you mean, Betty. Well, I would make myself smaller if I could, so they wouldn’t be afraid of me.”

“But that’s not who you are. What you can do is just be your usual friendly self no matter what others do, or what they think, or how they react, and hopefully they’ll see you like I see you, as the good friend you are. And guess what? you and the geese have something in common, you both love to swim in the pond, maybe that can be the start of your friendship. Maybe you can invite them into the pond for a swim? You just have to remember, sometimes being friendly works, sometimes it doesn’t, but at least you know you tried your very best.”

Bruce thought for a moment and said, “I’ll try and be their friend. Who knows, maybe if they get to know me, they’ll like me.”

“That’s a great idea.” Betty told him.

After a long bath for Betty and a cool swim for Bruce, and no luck at making friends with the geese (this time) Betty and Bruce left the big pond and headed toward the pig stye. They both loved stopping by for a quick hello and chat with the pigs, as long as they didn’t get too close to the mud and muck…yuck! Bruce really like the pigs, especially since they were always so generous with their food. Whenever Bruce and Betty stopped by, they graciously offered snacks. He really liked the carrots and pears, but he wasn’t so fond of the potatoes and slop. Just as Bruce and Betty arrived at the edge of the stye, Poke Pig noticed them and slowly pulled himself up from the sticky muck he called home. “Hello!” Poke said loudly. Poke Pig always talked a little louder than most of the creatures on the farm. “Hello, Betty and Bruce, how are you this fine day?!”

“We’re fine, thanks.” Betty replied. Bruce noticed the fresh pile of treats stacked up on a patch of grass just outside the stye. Poke noticed Bruce noticing and said, “Well, I declare that pile of fruits and vegetables and whatnot and miscellaneous over there, I will gladly share. What’s mine is yours, take your pick of the carrots and potatoes, and the slop, and even the pears. You go right ahead Bruce and Betty- they’re compliments of Paul and Penny and Little Teddy Ready.”

Bruce didn’t hesitate at all, he picked out a big juicy pear and chomped away. Betty waited for a moment, then said, “Bruce, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Bruce stopped chewing and gulped, “What? Was I drooling?”

“Well, besides that…remember what we say when somebody offers you something, like food or…anything really.”

“Oh, yes, now I remember. I forgot to say thank you.” Bruce looked at Poke and said, “thank you for the snack, Poke. I just like snacks so much that I forgot my manners.”

“That’s okay, Bruce. We all forget sometimes. I’ve done it myself once or twice…or more. But I’ve learned that making a mistake is normal, and it doesn’t make you bad. It happens all the time and the best part is, we get the chance to learn from our mistakes.”

“That’s right, it’s all a part of growing up.” Betty said.

“One time I ate every potato in the food pile while the other pigs were rolling in the mud, and boy oh boy were they mad when it came time for them to have their supper. Well, for two whole days after that, not one of them would talk to me. I realized that I had better apologize because that was the right thing to do. Now don’t get me wrong, those potatoes were tasty at that moment, but it wasn’t worth our friendship. That was a mistake I’ll never make again, and I learned a very valuable lesson that day! Thankfully the other pigs accepted my apology and we never looked back. That’s what you do when you grow up, you make mistakes, you say you’re sorry, you try to be better, and you learn a lesson.”

“I understand now.” Bruce said.

After a little more chatting, a lot of chewing, and a few more times saying thank you, Bruce and Betty were on their way. They ended up at Little Teddy’s play area. Bruce loved the swings and the slide and the sandbox and the whirly things and the swirly things and the things that went up and down and side to side and round and round and crossways and…well, he loved the whole thing. It all looked like a good time to him.

“I wish I could play on Little Teddy’s swings and slides, but I’m too big. If I had all these things, I would be playing all the time. I wonder why he’s not here now.”

“He’s probably taking his nap, Bruce.”

“His nap?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, nobody can play all the time. You need to rest, and eat, and learn, and do chores…all sorts of stuff because that’s all important too. Playing is fun and it’s good exercise, but there are other activities that are just as important. If all you did is play, then you wouldn’t get much else accomplished.”

“I see. Well, I like naps too. And I like learning new things. I don’t think I have a lot of studying or chores to do though.”

“We’re a little different when it comes to that, but as people get older, they have more responsibilities to take on, that’s just part of growing up for them. Soon, Little Teddy will start cleaning his room on his own and doing more chores around the house and the farm, and he’ll eventually be going to school. Things like that.”

“Oh. Is he going to leave us, and the farm?” Bruce asked.

“Possibly, one day. It depends on what he does with his life. Sometimes people grow up and stay where they are, sometimes they choose to do things that require them to move away. The best part is, we can always remember the good times we had together if we just think about it. That’s why we should always appreciate each day with each other so if someone leaves, we have all those good memories with us. Anyway, Teddy won’t be leaving anytime soon, so you still have plenty of time to spend with him on the farm.”

“Oh good, I’m so glad.” Bruce said.

It was early evening when Bruce and Betty made their way up to the big barn. Bruce liked being in the big barn at night. It was quiet and safe, and he liked watching the other animals settle in for a good night’s rest. Betty hopped off Bruce’s antlers and made her way up to her favorite high corner wood beam that overlooked Bruce’s stall. Paul and Penny, and their young son Teddy were making their rounds, saying goodnight to each of the animals, stopping at Bruce’s stall last as they always did. Teddy liked to say a special goodnight to Bruce by giving him one last snack at the end of a long day. As Bruce chomped away at a large carrot and a handful of oats, Penny scooped up a sleepy Teddy into her arms and walked away. Paul stayed behind for a moment, leaning on the gate to Bruce’s stall, smiling at him. “I’m so glad you’re here Bruce, and I hope you’re happy to be here. Goodnight big guy, and I’ll see you in the morning.” Paul then walked away, slipping out the enormous barn door, gently shutting it behind him.

“Did you hear that, Betty? Paul said he’s happy I’m here.”

“I heard him, Bruce. I’m happy you’re here too.”

Bruce was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’ve learned quite a few things today that I didn’t know yesterday. And tomorrow, I’ll probably learn things that I didn’t know today. Every day is good when you learn new things. It means I’m growing up.”

Bruce stepped over to the gate and rested his head on it, letting out a long, content sigh. This was his favorite part of the night. It was almost quiet as he looked around at all the friends, and potential friends, he had on the farm, and knew he was right where he belonged. All the horses and cows, and all the goats, (including Stanley) and all the sheep, who were as happy and content as Bruce, were fast asleep. Bruce was feeling grateful to be in the big stall, in the big barn. It was the best place in the world as far as he was concerned. Bruce could hear the pigs’ rustle and tussle until they got their snouts buried in the hay in just the right way, and soon he would hear their soft snore just like the night before. In that moment, while the sun was away, and the moon was out, Bruce understood that was the sound of happiness, and that’s what life was all about.

“Today was a good day, Betty, and I’m so glad we’re friends.” Bruce whispered. Betty didn’t answer, she was fast asleep. “That’s okay Betty, you don’t have to answer, I know how you feel about me. You rest now.”

Bruce backed away from the gate to settle in for the night. He closed his eyes and said to himself, “I’m Bruce Moose and I had a good day. I learned some things today I didn’t know, and those were some fun and important things that helped me to grow.” Bruce suddenly flashed a big grin because he realized one other important thing. “Hey, I made a rhyme!”