Seems to me that there aren't enough bedtime stories and fables for children on these here internets...so here's one for you and your pups. If you don't like it, fine--but please keep in mind that it was written and offered at no charge. ~W
....
On a cranberry hummock in a swamp, there lay a tiny mud-brown turtle. He spent his days hunting small minnows, swimming among the sunken logs that filled the dark, cool waters. His low, plain shell allowed him to slip through the watery undergrowth with ease; he loved to glide swiftly through the sunny, swaying water grasses, sometimes allowing the gentle current to carry him downstream. When he wasn’t hunting or playing in the water, he could be found basking in the midday sun, falling into a deep, warm sleep. He was almost a content little fellow.
Despite his simple, carefree life, the turtle couldn’t help but feel that something was lacking, although he was never quite able to say with certainty just what it was. This feeling would come and go, but over time it loomed larger and larger in his turtley brain. Then one sunny day, while resting on a tree stump, he looked down into the black water and at last discovered what was lacking: it was he.
It was he!
He gazed with shock and dismay at the drab little animal in the reflection. His leathery head was devoid of all markings, save the wrinkles on his neck. His claws were scratched and worn from his autumn burrowings and summertime frolics. His shell--oh, his shell was the worst of all: it was a mound of dead grasses and mud! What little of the shell that did peek through this pond-crust resembled an upturned wooden bowl. It was almost spectacular in its dullness, if such a thing was possible. The turtle wanted to flee from this insipid little creature; but alas, it followed him everywhere, aping all of his movements, as if mocking him.
The turtle wailed, his scaly little legs paddling in utter despair, his thumby, hot little face buried in a lily pad, sobbing.
At this very moment, a flutter of blue color and metallic chimes surrounded the hapless turtle, spinning him around and around.
“Goodness gracious! Gracious goodness!” cried the turtle in dizzy astonishment.
“Ching! Ching!” cried the feathery cloud, as wings, beaks, and claws swirled about the turtle’s earless head. “Ching! Ching!”
The commotion stopped. The turtle looked around, but saw nothing. He then looked above and behind, and saw a large, splendid-looking blue jay perched on his dreary, dirty little shell.
“Ooh,” the turtle cooed, forgetting himself, “What a fine-looking fellow you are!”
“The rock-worm speaks!” cried the blue jay in surprise.
“Rock-worm? You’re on my back!” scowled the turtle.
“Oh dear—so I am!” said the jay. “I thought you were a muddy stone, what with all the grass and algae on your…”
The turtle gave the jay a cross look. The jay decided not to push the matter.
“The sky seems to make all its creatures so shiny,” muttered the turtle.
Upon hearing this, the vain little jay’s stout white chest swelled. “I try to take care of myself,” he declared.
“Oh jay, I am so plain,” lamented turtle. “My life is so simple and dreary: nothing but mud, grass, and water. How I would love to be as magnificent as you.”
A glint appeared in the jay’s beady eye, and before the turtle could blink, the great bird was aloft, chirring away in the clouds above. The turtle, having assumed that the jay had bored of him, let out a heavy sigh and cast his eyes downward, when he suddenly felt a weight on his shell.
“Ching!”
The jay, perched on turtle’s back, had something red and shiny in its beak. Before the turtle could say anything, the jay was busy embedding the glistening bauble into his muddy shell.
“Have a look!” cried the jay.
The turtle slowly crept to the edge of the hummock, and looked down with delight at his reflection. He wasn’t just muddy brown anymore. Now he was topped with a shiny beacon of fiery red!
“Oh jay, it is so beautiful!” squealed the little turtle, trying to hold back tears of joy. “Can you find more of these?”
“Certainly,” said jay. “I’ll be right back with more. Maybe some blue to complement that fetching red, eh?”
Nearby, a young couple were resting on a riverbank, watching with amusement at the funny little blue jay who kept coming back again and again for bits of candy and bottlecaps.
“More! More!” demanded the turtle, with wide eyes. “I want my entire shell covered!”
“I’m getting a bit tired…” muttered jay.
“Oh please, jay!” pleaded turtle. “Can’t you see how close we are?”
“Well, alright,” said jay, “but I think you’re getting a bit carried away with all this.”
After a few more flights, turtle’s shell was a completed masterpiece. Every single inch of his once lackluster shell was covered in bright colors: a towering dome of greens, yellows, purples, and vibrant pinks glistened in the afternoon sun. The other turtles of the lake soon took notice, and before long were following turtle’s example, piling brightly colored pebbles, leaves, and feathers on their dowdy little shells. They were quite a luxurious sight, to be sure. But around this time, turtle’s tiny belly started purring under his shell. All this excitement made him hungry.
Turtle tried to plop into the water to glide about for food like he always had done, but something had changed. Turtle could not move, let alone swim. One by one, all the turtles in the lake discovered they too were unable to move. The howls of a hundred despondent turtles filled the air. It was a pitiful sound: “Oooooooooohoohoo!”
Turtle felt like a fool. Without realizing it, he had given up playing, hunting, and swimming--the very things that made his little life a happy one—for a useless luxury. For a few fleeting minutes, he was grand, colorful, even special. But now, he was a prisoner. His shell felt heavier and heavier.
By this time, the sky was growing dark. Jay was somewhere in a high treetop, sound asleep. Turtle didn’t know what to do. Then he heard thunder. The rumbling got closer, and flashes of lightning appeared behind the trees as the wind tossed them about. Soon, sheets of rain fell from the sky, and pelted the marooned turtles.
At first the turtles were terrified, but then something miraculous happened: the rain softened the mud on the turtle’s backs, loosening all those heavy pebbles and candies, which plopped one by one into the glossy, pinpricked lake.
Turtle cried out in relief. He was free again!
As the morning light came, jay landed on the hummock where turtle, back from a long swim, was basking contentedly.
“Your pretty shell—it’s gone!” cried jay.
Turtle had been closely studying his shell earlier that morning, and had discovered something. His shell, which he once dismissed as drab, was actually full of delightful patterns: concentric ridges, delicate variations in the browns--even the scratches in his shell lent some character. Turtle smiled to himself.
“Oh no, jay—it’s still there,” he said softy, as he drifted into a deep, warm sleep.
END
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