One day Freddy and Randy were talking.  “Have you ever seen fireworks?” Randy asked.

“No,” said Freddy.  He sat up to hear better.  “What are fireworks?”

“Well, all these people go down to the park in that town where we saw the County Fair.  They have a picnic and that night, when it gets dark, they shoot off fireworks.  The shells go high up in the air and make stars and flowers and all kinds of things.  They’re all different colors and they are really beautiful!  They also have things that make loud booms and bangs and noises!  They do it on the Fourth of July.”

“Sounds kind of dangerous to me, shooting fire up in the air,” said Freddy.  “I’m scared of fire here in this barn!”

“No, not around here, Freddy,” explained Randy.  It’s way over in the town.  Why don’t I come pick you up later and we’ll go over there?”

“And you’re sure it’s safe?’ Freddy was still thinking about his close call on the Ferris wheel. “What were you saying about a picnic?  What is a picnic, anyway?”

“A picnic is a meal you eat outdoors.  You sit on the ground and eat it out of a picnic basket.”

“That sounds like fun.”  Freddy thought a minute.  “Why don’t I find a basket so we can take a picnic?”

“Sounds good to me.  I’ll be back later this afternoon.”  Randy flew off and Freddy sat on the hay bale thinking about all he had to do.

“I need a basket.  Let’s see, what would make a good basket?” He looked around the haymow, but there was nothing there that would do.  Then he ran along the beams and rafters to the downstairs part of the barn.

On the floor beside the feed box was an old fuzzy yellow glove.  “Look at that!”

said Freddy to himself, “The thumb from that glove would make a dandy basket!  If Ican just get it off.”

He began chewing on the thread that held the thumb to the glove.  In less time than it takes to tell, Freddy had the thumb off.  He wriggled inside to see how big it was and , sure enough, it was just perfect.


“I’ve got the basket and it ‘s the right size, but it has no handle.  What can I use for that?  He looked around until he found a short length of baling wire just a little longer than he was.  “Just the right size!” he thought proudly.  It was straight and needed to be bent, but Freddy knew when Randy got there he could bend it with that big beak of his.

Freddy was feeling very pleased with himself for being resourceful.  He carried the fuzzy thumb and wire, one at a time, to the haymow and laid them on the bale for when Randy came.




About dswan2

Poet, author, columnist, lyricist, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, wife of 50 years. Born and raised in America's Heartland
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