Peter Rabbit, Based on the Movie

by Frederick Warne

  “Hey!” cries Jeremy Fisher as he splashes into the water.

  “Sorry! Medical emergency,” calls Cotton-tail by way of an explanation. She bursts back into the burrow and hands the lily pad to Mopsy who then puts it on Flopsy’s bruise.

  “How’s that?” asks Mopsy, hoping the cool, soft lily pad will do the trick.

  “I’m fine. Think I’m just hungry,” says Flopsy. Peter knows he must look after her. He is the big brother, after all.

  Peter slips out from the burrow to find food for his family. He heads toward the blackberry bush that had those sad, shriveled berries the girls abandoned earlier that day. A flash of blue catches his eye. It’s his jacket, his dad’s jacket! And it’s in Old Mr. McGregor’s garden. Not only that, Mr. McGregor has turned it into a scarecrow. Peter only needs one second to think about what to do next. He needs to get that jacket back right away!

  Peter sprints to the garden. The gate is open. It seems strange that Mr. McGregor would leave the gate open, but Peter does not question it too much. After all, going through the open gate is easier than scrambling underneath it. Peter runs into the garden, grabs his jacket, puts it on, and turns to head back out.

  BANG!

  A sieve falls on top of Peter.

  “Got ya, rah-bbit! I knew you’d come,” says Mr. McGregor, pleased with the trap he has set.

  Mr. McGregor knew Peter would not be able to resist coming through the open gate for his jacket. Mr. McGregor and Peter are face-to-face. Peter has never been so scared.

  “No one to protect you now. I’ve got a hankering for pie tonight,” growls Mr. McGregor. Peter cannot see any way out. He cannot believe this is the end. Peter and Mr. McGregor continue to stare at each other.

  Just when all hope seems lost, the strangest thing happens. Mr. McGregor’s eyes go very, very wide. With an almighty thud, he crashes to the ground. Peter’s own eyes grow very, very, very wide. He looks down at the old man. What has just happened?

  Peter stares at Old Mr. McGregor’s face. It seems different somehow. Almost like he’s . . . dead. Slowly, Peter reaches out under the net and gives Mr. McGregor a poke. Yup. Dead. Peter looks all around the garden. He cannot quite believe what has happened. Could our hero, Peter Rabbit, have just had another very lucky escape?

  Chapter Three

  PARTY TIME!

  Peter races home to the burrow and charges through the door. In his paws is a net that is bursting with lots of fruit and vegetables from Mr. McGregor’s garden.

  “Who wants some blackberries?” exclaims Peter. He takes a minute to catch his breath. “Or, how about something that is much, much better. And is endless.”

  Peter spills out his bounty from inside the net. It’s more vegetables than they have ever seen!

  “You went to Mr. McGregor’s garden?” asks Mopsy. She can’t quite believe Peter would go back in there so soon after his narrow escape.

  “No, I went into our garden,” says Peter, proudly.

  “Without lookouts? That’s the sort of thing that could get someone killed!” says Benjamin, his voice full of worry for his cousin.

  “And it did,” says Peter. He enjoys the suspense for a moment before proudly telling everyone that Mr. McGregor is dead.

  “Mr. McGregor’s dead?” Mopsy asks.

  “I got him,” boasts Peter.

  “What?! What happened?” asks Benjamin, jumping up with excitement.

  Peter starts to tell the story of Old Mr. McGregor’s death but things get a little muddy in the retelling. As Peter reenacts a scene that is worthy of a rabbit Oscar, Benjamin, Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail are rapt. Peter lunges as if he impaled the farmer on his rake, when in actual fact he can’t even claim to have given the old man a fright.

  In all probability, Old Mr. McGregor’s unhealthy lifestyle for the last seventy-eight years is more to blame for his death than Peter Rabbit. Still, Peter was not about to let facts get in the way of a good story! Either way, the ending is the same. The garden is theirs again!

  The others all cheer and gobble up the fruit and vegetables that Peter has collected.

  “But save some room. This is only the beginning,” he says.

  “I made you a new jacket,” says Mopsy, holding a flowery creation.

  Peter, trying not to offend, says, “It’s so good! Wow. But, you know, this is Dad’s and all . . .”

  Later, they hear the sound of an ambulance outside. Peter leads them all out of the burrow. The rabbits watch as the ambulance drives away from Mr. McGregor’s manor. Then, the bunnies sneak under the gate and into Mr. McGregor’s garden. Their garden. A hush falls as they take it all in.

  “Whoa,” they all sigh. They’ve never been so close to so much food.

  “Come on in. It’s your garden,” says Peter.

  They all take another step, and then race around the garden, enjoying everything and anything they can get their hands on.

  Benjamin shakes the plum tree while Flopsy and Mopsy make snow angels from the fallen fruit. Peter bends down a corn stalk for the others eat and makes it rain lettuce.

  Soon, the noise and commotion the rabbits are making in Mr. McGregor’s garden can be heard through the woods. Deer, squirrels, Pigling Bland, and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle all drop what they are doing and flock with great excitement toward the noise. They know something good must be happening. They all clamor to get into the garden and are about to jump the fence when Peter stops them in their tracks.

  “Whoa, hey! You animals can’t come in here,” says Peter. He disappears and reappears at the gate. “Come in over here,” he says, with a giant grin on his face.

  Flopsy and Mopsy open the gate and welcome all the guests into their garden. Then an almighty explosion stops everyone in their tracks. The gate is ripped off its hinges and Felix D’Eer, a big deer with huge antlers, enters the garden, the gate sticking to his antlers.

  “Or here is fine, too, I guess,” says Peter, gesturing to the space where the gate had been.

  Felix hurls the gate from his antlers. It hits some peppers, slicing them up and into the air, before they land neatly in the mouths of some waiting squirrels. Then the sparrows fly through singing.

  The badger, Tommy Brock, barrels through, knocking the sparrows over.

  “Help yourself to anything,” Peter invites him. “Try the tomatoes. Who am I talking to? You don’t need to be told twice to jump on free food, you lazy badger,” continues Peter, acting like the host with the most.

  “I’m not lazy. I’m carrying all these tomatoes,” says Tommy Brock, his pride hurt just a little.

  Meanwhile Mr. Tod approaches.

  “Look at you, big fella. Wait, didn’t you try to eat me?” Peter asks, his brow wrinkling into a frown. “Show me your teeth. It was you! I knew it. How are you? Let’s set aside the food chain for tonight and just come together as one, huh?”

  Peter continues to rabbit on. He is hoping to distract Mr. Tod from wanting to take a bite out of him. Peter tosses Mr. Tod a turnip and the fox slinks away just as Pigling Bland waltzes in.

  “I see you got your land back. All hail the prodigal son,” says Pigling Bland, a rather skinny pig dressed as quite the dandy in a purple velvet jacket.

  “No big deal,” says Peter.

  “A very big deal. You killed Mr. McGregor,” says Pigling Bland.

  “Well, he was alive when I went in the garden, dead when I left. You join the dots,” says Peter casually.

  “The compost heap is right over there, pig. Got your name on it,” says Benjamin.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. I’m working on this celery stalk,” says Pigling Bland, desperately trying to not be a pig, even though that is exactly what he is. Pigling takes a small, dainty bite of celery and totters off.

  “What an identity crisis on that guy,” says Benjamin.

  “No
kidding,” replies Peter. “Let’s go check out my new house.”

  Peter and Benjamin head up the path, away from the garden, to McGregor’s now-empty house. Peter smiles at his cousin before kicking the door open. It doesn’t open and he is sent flying backward. Benjamin unlatches it and encourages Peter to try again. This time, he succeeds. They stand shoulder to shoulder in the empty house for a moment. They can’t believe their luck. The house is huge!

  “The garden comes with a free house!” Peter yells out to the other animals. Peter and Benjamin move the party indoors. Just like that, the garden party becomes a house party! Peter and Benjamin make their way out onto the roof. They cannot believe how well everything has turned out.

  “The McGregors will torment us no more!” Peter calls out into the lush fields from his very own home. He turns back to look at his cousin. They both smile at each other, happy.

  The only thing left to do? Dance!

  Chapter Four

  YOUNG MR. MCGREGOR’S VERY BAD DAY

  Meanwhile, in a very large, very beautiful, very crowded city, a young man is making his way along a busy sidewalk. It’s filled with people tapping on their phones, listening to music, riding bikes, and hailing double-decker buses. This is London, and the man, Thomas McGregor, is walking into a very expensive department store called Harrods. A row of workers are waiting for him in the staff room. It is almost as if McGregor was a general, and these were his troops, if it were a battlefield and not a department store.

  “Fifteen minutes until doors open,” says McGregor to his team. “They’re lined up outside waiting to be dazzled. Let’s see how prepared we are.” He heads out from the staff room, his employees falling in line behind him. It is inspection time, one of the things McGregor loves best about his job.

  McGregor and his team arrive at the toy department. He inspects a doll’s house and spots the tiniest wrinkle on a pillow.

  “Janelle, if you were a girl who always dreamed of having her own doll’s house, what would you think of this?” asks McGregor, his voice stern.

  “I would be excited?” says Janelle nervously.

  “Not with this ruffled pillow. This is a nightmare!” says McGregor, and tosses the tiny pillow. “Toss and fluff. Toss and fluff. It’s not rocketry. Rocketry is next.” And with that, McGregor heads to the rocketry section. He measures the rockets’ angles with a compass.

  “82.6 degrees. The angle at which Apollo 13 was launched. I know you think I’m crazy. But the little girl who wants to be an astronaut is going to know. And we’ve just blown up her dreams. Like Apollo 1,” says McGregor, firmly.

  Next, it’s the bathrooms.

  “Don’t be afraid to really get in there,” McGregor says, kneeling over a toilet, scrubbing away. “Our toilets should be as clean as a drinking fountain,” he continues, and takes out a straw as if he is going to drink the water. The workers watch in horror until a head pops around the toilet door.

  “McGregor, the General Manager has asked to see you.”

  McGregor freezes just before his straw touches the toilet water.

  “This is it. My promotion. They said it could happen this week. How do I look?” asks McGregor.

  “Like a man about to drink toilet water from a straw,” says one horrified worker.

  “Perfect,” says a distracted McGregor. He straightens his coat and heads off.

  McGregor stands looking at the elevator’s mirrored door, rehearsing what he will say.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I will pin the Associate General Manager name tag on my jacket with honor,” says McGregor, before the elevator arrives and takes him to the General Manager’s floor.

  On the way up, Thomas smiles at a pretty customer that gets in the elevator beside him. She smiles back as she presses the button and smudges the brass. Quickly, and ever the perfectionist, Thomas rubs off the smudge with his handkerchief. The pretty lady is less than impressed.

  “Where were we?” he asks, turning to her.

  “Nowhere,” she snaps.

  McGregor enters the General Manager’s office. He takes a seat at the desk opposite the General Manager herself.

  “I have some bad news, Thomas,” says the General Manager.

  “No, no. Don’t say it,” says Thomas.

  “Yes. Your great-uncle has passed away.”

  “What?” says McGregor, confused, his mind filled only with thoughts about the promotion.

  “I’m very sorry,” the General Manager continues, and stands to put a hand on his shoulder.

  “What about the promotion?” says McGregor. It’s the only thing he cares about right now.

  “Excuse me?”

  The General Manager is shocked. Surely Thomas McGregor should be more concerned with the death of a family member?

  “Associate General Manager. What I’ve been working toward for the past ten years,” says McGregor, trying to keep the conversation on track.

  “You’re in shock. I understand. In times of grief—”

  “No grief. Did I get it or not?” barks McGregor, interrupting the General Manager before she can go on any more about grief and such nonsense.

  “What? No. It went to Bannerman,” says the General Manager.

  “Bannerman? The only Bannerman I know is Nigel Bannerman and he’s an—”

  “That’s the one.”

  “He’s an imbecile! He’s not even that.” McGregor can’t quite believe what is happening.

  “But he happens to be the chairman’s nephew. You think I want our best man passed over?” says the General Manager. She’s in a very difficult position.

  “Then don’t pass me over,” pleads McGregor. He won’t let this go. “Overrule the chairman. That would be a gutsy call I would respect. True leadership.”

  “Thomas, now’s not the time to think about work. Your great-uncle has passed!”

  “Whom I never met! Am I to mourn every dead person with my last name?” says McGregor, childishly. This is not how he thought today would go.

  “Take as much time as you want,” says the General Manager.

  “I don’t want time. I want the promotion. I deserve the promotion.”

  “I know this is a great blow to you, and you have every right to be upset. But I’m begging you, just think of this as a temporary setback and don’t do anything rash. And my condolences,” says the General Manager, eager for the conversation to be over.

  There is little else to say, so the General Manager shows McGregor out of her office. McGregor seems quite calm as he makes his way back to the toy department. The General Manager peers out, just to make sure everything is OK.

  McGregor nods politely at the customers and workers as he walks by. He looks back at the General Manager and gestures, “I’m fine. All good.” Everything is fine.

  McGregor continues to walk through the store. He passes a display case jam-packed with porcelain dolls. He passes another case with glass angels. Nothing. They are lovely, and he is fine. Another case contains a house of cards and, still, McGregor is calm. He does not need a promotion. Really, he is fine.

  McGregor then sees someone coming straight toward him. Someone with a dopey look on his face, earrings in both ears and walking around the department store as if he owns the place. His name tag reads “Bannerman.”

  “Good luck, Nigel,” says McGregor as the dopey man comes up to him.

  “You know it, my man,” says Bannerman, and gives McGregor a fist-bump before walking off.

  “Fist-bump?” says McGregor to himself, his voice filled with disgust. He takes a few more steps and then slowly turns back. They chose a man who fist-bumps over him? McGregor can feel the calm slipping away.

  McGregor walks by another toy stand, only this time he does not keep going. Instead, he gives the stand a giant knock. It goes flying. In his path is another toy stand that he also
sends flying. And another. McGregor can feel his anger rising and falling with each toy stand he knocks.

  But then, there are no more toy stands and McGregor starts knocking over, and throwing, whatever he can get his hands on. That will show them!

  McGregor, in a blind rage, is not only having a meltdown in front of customers, but also in front of the Harrods security office, who have seen everything via the security cameras dotted throughout the store. The security guards manage to stop McGregor’s rampage before he does too much damage. The security guards, accompanied by the General Manager, lead a dazed McGregor out of the store. In his arms is a box full of his personal items.

  “This might actually be a blessing in disguise. Get a hobby, learn a language, get some dirt under your fingernails. Get some perspective,” says the General Manager.

  “You sound like every teacher, friend, employer, family member, and vague acquaintance I’ve ever had,” says McGregor, hardly realizing what has just happened to his life.

  “Might I suggest some time in the country? It’s calming. Serene,” offers the General Manager, her voice full of concern for her once star employee.

  Yes, the countryside is exactly what McGregor needs.

  In the countryside and, specifically, Old Mr. McGregor’s bathroom, Mrs. Tiggy-winkle approaches the toilet.

  “Ugh. Some animal left the seat up,” she says with disgust. She puts it down and then . . . drinks out of the toilet bowl. A loud banging on the door interrupts her mid-gulp.

  “Hold on! Occupied!” she yells.

  Back at the party, the animals are still dancing and eating as fast as they can go. The hot tub is filled with animals laughing, while others slide down the banister before leaping onto, and then off, the chandelier.

  The animals are performing an amazing dance routine, led by Pigling Bland.

  “I didn’t even realize I could dance!” says a very surprised Pigling Bland.