So, I did something stupid.
A barn cat’s number one rule is simple: catch the rats, leave the chickens alone. It’s not a hard rule to follow. Chickens are mean. The ones with the larger combs threaten to kill me just for walking by—rude considering I protect their nests from rats.
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate goats? I mean, really hate goats?
No? Well, that’s not surprising. I don’t like to reflect on the day those little monsters almost ruined my future. First dates are bad enough without floating goats.
Floating goats? Yes, they float. Don’t ask me how.
Let’s get one thing straight: I hate Pinocchio. It’s because of that dumb puppet we celebrate Pinocchio Day on April 1st, where everyone tries to see how many lies and pranks they can get away with. That’s fun—but then comes Honesty Day.
See, the Blue Fairy who brought Pinocchio to life felt slighted that he—and others—reveled in lying on April 1st.
I knew two things about Boston. Running was its heartbeat and ducks were always welcome. Momma had told me of that magical place when I was a duckling. As a grown hen, I shared the tale with my two daughters, Roxi and Sara, and our decision to move was unanimous.
Ten days after departing Rochester, we were gliding over Boston Public Garden.
I leaned against the fence, my jaw hanging open. Am I dreaming or drunk? “Dr. Conley, you said you needed a sheepdog for your flock.”
He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Exactly. From what I’ve heard, Mr. Ferguson, that border collie of yours is the best in the business.
By Ronnell Kay Gibson You give one pink fairy armadillo a belly rub, and now look what’s gone an’ happened—I’ve got an army of the little buggers. The first armadillo showed up a week ago. My dog, Brewser, plum scared the bajeezers outta me when he started barking at the butt-crack of dawn. The border
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Ya open the spaceship’s door and stare at yer landin’ spot. This deserted planet seems made for cows. Lotsa grass, stretchy bright sky. Some spindly trees for shade. No fences in sight. Yer herd will love it. Or oughta, anyway. Ya never know with them testy space cows. One thing wrong, and yer world
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If only that blasted goat hadn’t eaten the time machine.
Inventor and his brother, Farmer, hadn’t spoken a word between them since. Plus, the stupid goat blipped to the Renaissance every time it hiccupped for a solid month. That afternoon snack had ruined everything…
Inventor shook his head, staring out the workshop’s high
I scrambled across the roof of the Royal Treasury Coop. Hopefully the City Guard wouldn’t spot me holding a squawking golden chicken above my head and assume the worst.
A metal hook clanged against the clay tiles just ahead. I dodged the attached rope and glanced back. Two gray-cloaked thugs pursued me.
On all the nine planets, there exists no creature more majestic than the mighty water buffalo. Resilient. Unflappable. And unpardonably cute when presented with a juicy slice of watermelon.
“Aren’t you the most darling girl? Yes.” Amelia cooed as she scratched the coarse hair between Mrs. Bates’s big dark eyes.
Bates paid
Vills climbed onto the bottom rung of the wooden fence and peered into the pen. “Willy, can you really understand what he’s sayin’?”
His older brother squatted, staring into the eyes of their piglet, Charleston. “Shhh. I gotta concentrate.”
Charleston snorted, squealed, and danced around in a circle.
Vills leaned his shoulders over the
I narrow my eyes at the porker rooting through a box of graham crackers on my kitchen floor. Today, your reign of terror comes to an end.
The potbelly pig chomps down on another package of crackers. I crouch, inching past the cupboard door that hangs lopsidedly from busted hinges, victim
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