Magical Animals at Bedtime

by Lou Keunzler

  He flew for many hours until he saw hundreds and hundreds of pointy-topped fir trees spread like a green carpet beneath him.

  “That must be a forest,” thought the cuckoo. “I’ve made it!”

  And there in the forest the cuckoo lived happily ever after. He made friends with the squirrels and all the other cuckoos that lived at the tops of the green, sweet-scented trees. And if you listen carefully, you will still hear him sing, “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” … not because he has to tell the time, but because he’s free.

  Inspiring Insights

  • Everyone makes mistakes, even people who are usually reliable. The folk in the square should have given the cuckoo a second chance.

  • Good things often come from bad situations. The worm caused a lot of trouble, but in the end he helped to set the cuckoo free.

  • Sometimes we have to make a big change in our lives and this can take great courage. The cuckoo was very brave in trying out his wings and flying away.

  The Kangaroo Who Couldn’t Hop

  Relax, close your eyes and imagine you’re in the middle of a vast, grassy plain. In the distance you can see hillsides covered with trees. It’s hot and sunny and a gentle breeze is blowing. This is the story of a young kangaroo or joey, called Twitcher, who longed to do what all the other kangaroos did. But hopping didn’t come easily to him. Let’s listen to his story.

  It was only just getting light when Twitcher inched his nose from his mother’s pouch to sniff the new day. Soon all the kangaroos in his mob were up and hopping about, nibbling on leaves or scratching themselves with their front paws. Twitcher’s friend Ganga climbed down from his own mother’s pouch and hopped after her, searching for the sweetest new shoots.

  Twitcher looked at him sadly. He couldn’t hop like all the other joeys his age. He could move a bit on the ground but everyone laughed when they saw him try to move at speed.

  When Twitcher hopped he would trip over his tail or fall flat on his tummy. Often his mother had to scoop him into her pouch and carry him like a baby. He tried to improve but it was easier to give up than be laughed at.

  This morning the kangaroos were restless. It had been a long, hot summer and the bush was very dry. Everyone knew that bushfires were a risk and all the animals were afraid. Twitcher saw Thumper, the leader of their mob, turn his neck this way and then another, sniffing the air. Suddenly he called out: “Fire! Fire to the east! Get away now! Follow me to the lake at the centre of the plain!”

  All the kangaroos set off immediately, bounding down the hillside. Twitcher rocked from side to side inside his mother’s pouch. He could hear her panting and knew she was frightened. Now he could smell the fire, too.

  Twitcher looked behind him and was terrified. He could see orange flames dancing along the hillside, licking the trunks of trees and turning leaves into ashes. The fire was moving fast in their direction and Twitcher realized his mother wasn’t keeping up with the other kangaroos.

  He was slowing her down and the fire was gaining on them. There was only one thing to do.

  “Mum, put me down. I’ve got to hop by myself,” he cried and scrambled out of her pouch.

  “Twitcher, climb back inside!” his mother shouted.

  But he knew he could do it. He had to believe in himself.

  Without a second thought Twitcher let his limbs work naturally. He found his haunches were like giant springs – once he relaxed they uncoiled and sent him flying across the plain. Soon, he and his mother reached the lake and caught their breath as they watched the fire race past them and then gradually die out. They were safe.

  “You were very brave, Twitcher,” said his Mum.

  “I think you might become the fastest joey in the mob,” said Thumper.

  Twitcher just smiled.

  Inspiring Insights

  • Keep trying when you’re learning something new, especially if you find it difficult at first. Most things come with practice.

  • Remember that everyone learns things at their own pace, in their own time, when they are ready.

  • Sometimes the hardest things become easy if you relax and stop worrying about exactly how to do them.

  The Dog Who Nobody Wanted

  Relax, close your eyes and imagine a street in a big city. This is a story about a dog who was lost and found on that street. He was discovered wandering all alone and was taken to a rescue centre where a lot of other stray dogs lived. He was very thin and gangly. His fur was so tangled and scruffy that the people at the rescue centre called him Rags. Let’s listen to his story.

  Sarah and her friend Mo worked at the dog rescue centre. It was their job to look after Rags and about 25 other dogs. They fed them twice a day, took them for walks and stroked and petted them. Although none of the dogs had a family to live with, they were all cared for very well.

  Sarah had a very special relationship with Rags. Even though Rags couldn’t speak, Sarah always seemed to know exactly what he was trying to say. Whenever she brought him his breakfast, he would lick the back of her hand and bark, “Thank you, Sarah! Do you want some?”

  Sarah would always laugh and say, “No, thanks, Rags! I think I’ll pass on the Meaty Doggy Chunks today.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing!” Rags would bark in reply as he dived head first into his bowl.

  But not everyone loved Rags the way Sarah did. People often came into the rescue centre to find a dog to take home with them. No one ever chose Rags. They thought he was too scruffy. He was the dog who nobody wanted.

  “Somebody will give you a home soon, Rags,” Sarah said one day, “I know they will.”

  Rags could only give her a sad little yelp in reply.

  One morning, Sarah arrived at work to find a big fuss.

  “Someone broke into the kitchen last night,” said Mo, “and made a right old mess.”

  “Who was it?” asked Sarah.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Mo, “but they took the cans of dog food out of the cupboard and left them all over the floor.”

  The next night exactly the same thing happened.

  “Maybe it’s someone who can’t afford to buy their own dog food,” suggested Sarah.

  “Well, I counted the cans and there aren’t any missing, so whoever was trying to take them must have dropped them while trying to escape,” said Mo.

  “It’s not right,” Mo continued. “Even if the thief is poor, they shouldn’t be breaking into our kitchen and stealing from us.”

  “I know how to find out who’s doing it,” said Sarah.

  She borrowed a video camera from the office upstairs, and placed it out of sight in the kitchen.

  “If anyone sneaks into the kitchen tonight,” she thought as she pressed the record button, “they’ll be caught on film.”

  When Sarah came into work the next day, the same thing had happened. Someone had taken the cans of dog food out of the cupboard and scattered them all over the floor.

  “Let’s see if the camera recorded anything,” said Sarah.

  She pressed the play button on the video camera and looked at the film. For a while all she could see was the empty kitchen. Then she saw the door slowly open and a shadowy shape creep into the room. It sneaked over to the cupboard and stretched up on its hind legs to reach the door knob with its front paws.

  Sarah could hardly believe her eyes. It was Rags!

  She watched as he opened the cupboard door and pulled out the cans. Balancing each one on his nose and gripping it between his front paws, he stacked the cans one on top of the other until he had built a tower of five.

  Then he had a lot of fun knocking down the cans and chasing them as they rolled around the floor. Before he left for the night, he looked straight at the camera and gave a silly doggy grin as if he knew it was there.

  “Sorry, Sarah,” he seemed to be saying, “I was feeling sad and thought I’d have some midnight fun.”

  News soon spread of Rag’s incredible doggy acrobatics and his midnight adven
tures were even shown on TV. Now everyone wanted to take him home. But it was Rags’s turn to be choosy. He would take one look at the people who came to visit him and run off to hide in the corner.

  One day, a young boy came in with his father. As soon as Rags saw him he ran to the door of his cage, opened it with his paw, and jumped into the boy’s arms.

  “Groover! Groover!” cried the boy.

  “Do you know him?” asked Sarah.

  “Yes,” replied the boy. “He’s my dog and his real name is Groover. I lost him last year from our circus. I thought he’d gone forever!”

  “He’s a circus dog?” gasped Sarah.

  “Yes,” replied the boy. “And he’s the best! Aren’t you, Groover?”

  “Yes!” barked Groover, and he got up on his hind legs and started doing a little doggy dance.

  “He’s amazing!” laughed Mo.

  “Thank you for looking after him so well,” said the boy’s father. “I don’t know how we can repay you.”

  “I think I do,” said the boy with a smile, and Groover gave a happy little bark.

  That Saturday, Sarah and Mo were sitting in the best seats in a big circus tent. They were watching the star of the show: Groover the Wonder Dog.

  “Woof! Woof!” barked Groover as he jumped and caught a ball on his nose. Everyone in the audience clapped and cheered. Groover had found his home at last. Now he was the dog who everybody wanted.

  Inspiring Insights

  • Animals need to be loved like you and me. Always look after them, just like Sarah cared for Groover.

  • Appearances are not always important. Try not to judge people or animals just by the way they look.

  • Even if a situation seems hopeless now, life is full of changes. Be patient and you’ll find that things get better.

  The Phoenix and the Blacksmith’s Boy

  Relax, be very still and imagine a fiery phoenix – a very beautiful bird with gold, red and orange plumage that is said to live for hundreds of years. The phoenix in this story built her nest a long, long time ago in the brickwork of a blacksmith’s forge. Let’s listen to her story.

  “What a beautiful bird!” said the blacksmith, who never ceased admiring her. “Her feathers are like flames.”

  The phoenix was impressed with the blacksmith, too, and enjoyed watching him work.

  He plunged a rod of metal into the blazing fire at the centre of the forge. When it glowed red as sunset he pulled it from the flames and beat it flat until he had made a gleaming sword.

  “A fine craftsman,” thought the phoenix. “Any knight would be proud to fight with that sword.”

  “I must deliver this,” called the blacksmith to a small boy in ragged clothes.

  “Watch the fire, Tom. And try to make a spade while I’m out delivering this sword.”

  Tom staggered forward with a rod of iron but was barely able to lift it high enough to reach the flames.

  “Ha!” squawked the phoenix. The scruffy boy was useless!

  Tom leapt backward, dropping the iron bar on his toe.

  “You’ll never make a sword for a knight if you can’t even make a spade!” jeered the phoenix.

  Hopping on one foot, Tom plunged the bar into the flames.

  “I’ll show you!” he said. He beat the glowing metal flat with a hammer, making the leaf-like shape of a spade.

  But Tom’s arms ached and smoke stung his eyes. Suddenly, there was a great CLANG!

  By mistake, Tom had hit the edge of the metal with the heavy hammer and twisted it. No one could dig with a spade like that. Sparks flew as Tom tried to beat it back into shape.

  “Hopeless!” laughed the phoenix but then all of a sudden her nest burst into flames. The bird and her nest were reduced to a pile of silver ash.

  “Oh no!” gasped Tom. Had his sparks caused the fire?

  When the blacksmith returned, he looked at Tom’s work.

  “Try again,” he said gently. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  Tom didn’t mention how the bird had teased him or how he thought he’d set her alight. All winter he worked hard. Soon he was able to make a spade and a pitchfork, too. Then in spring, while the blacksmith was at market, Tom made a sword. He beat the metal, pointing it like the sharp beak of the phoenix.

  “Splendid!” said a voice above him. The phoenix peered at the magnificent sword. “I’m glad I could return and see your work again. I’m sorry I was cruel. I judged you too soon.”

  “You’re alive …” gasped Tom.

  “I’m a phoenix,” chuckled the bird. “We’re reborn from the ashes time after time.”

  “Like making something new in a fire?” asked Tom.

  “Just as a fine blacksmith does,” said the phoenix. “Just like you, Tom.”

  Inspiring Insights

  • If you do or say something wrong, it’s important to find a way to apologize. The phoenix is glad she has a second chance to put things right with Tom.

  • New skills are difficult when we first learn them. Be patient! Don’t expect to be good at something straightaway.

  • Kind words from others help us to believe in ourselves. With encouragement from the blacksmith, Tom keeps trying until he can make difficult things.

  The Lucky Narwhal

  Relax, be very still and imagine an extraordinary creature called a narwhal. Narwhals are a special type of whale and each one has a long horn on its head like a unicorn. This is a story about a young narwhal called Spike and his friend Marina the mermaid. Let’s listen to their story.

  “Oh Spike!” said Marina, swimming alongside the friendly narwhal one day. “King Neptune is having a concert. I’ve been asked to sing a solo.”

  “That’s wonderful!” said Spike. “You love singing.”

  “I do,” agreed Marina, “but I get so nervous. I just know I’ll make a mess of it.”

  “No you won’t!” laughed Spike, splashing Marina with his tail. “You’ve such a beautiful voice and you practise hard every day.”

  “Come to the concert with me,” pleaded Marina.

  “You could be my lucky mascot,” she said, grabbing hold of Spike’s tail and letting him pull her along.

  “Good things always happen when you’re around, Spike. Remember the time when we found the pearl bracelet my mother had lost?” Marina continued.

  “Only because we were playing hide-and-seek and you were hiding behind the rock where she’d dropped it,” giggled Spike.

  “Or the time we saved Old Jock, the fisherman, from drowning?” said Marina.

  “Old Jock was only drowning because you tickled me so hard I splashed my tail and tipped him out of his little green boat!” Spike reminded her.

  They both laughed as they remembered the fisherman’s surprised face.

  “You see, Spike, you bring everyone luck!” declared Marina. “You’re like a magical unicorn of the sea!”

  “A MAGICAL UNICORN OF THE SEA!” Spike repeated, rolling onto his back. “I like the sound of that.”

  “So will you come to the concert?” asked Marina. “I know you’ll bring me good luck.”

  “I promise,” said Spike. “But now I’d better hurry home for tea. If I’m lucky it’ll be my favourite … squid soup!”

  But, on the evening of the concert, something dreadful happened. Spike had swum far across the ocean to play. When he poked his head above the waves, he saw the sun sinking low in the sky.

  “Time to head back!” he said. “I can’t be late for Marina’s concert. I’m her lucky mascot!” Splashing his tail, he sped off. But he was so busy hurrying to King Neptune’s cave that he wasn’t looking where he was going.

  “Ah!” cried Spike as he felt a sharp tug on his tail. He had swum right into a fisherman’s net. He tried to swim away but the harder he tugged, the tighter the net pulled around him. His splendid horn was all caught up, like a knitting needle in a ball of tangled wool.

  “I’ll never make it to Marina’s concert now!” Spike groa
ned. “She’ll be so nervous if she sees I’m not there to bring her luck.”

  Spike tugged harder still. The net grew tighter.

  “I’m the unluckiest narwhal in the world,” he sobbed. “Now I’ll never hear Marina sing. I’ll never escape from this net! Never!”

  But, just at that moment, Spike saw the bottom of a little green boat floating above his head.

  I know that boat, he thought excitedly. That must be Old Jock, the sailor. The one Marina and I rescued when he fell into the sea.

  “Help me!” cried Spike. “Please!” He wriggled as hard as he could so that his long horn tapped the bottom of the boat.

  “Spike,” cried Jock, grabbing his sharp fisherman’s knife and trying to cut the little narwhal free. “You’re in a tangle.”

  “Hurry, please,” cried Spike. “I’m going to be a lucky mascot at Marina’s concert.”

  “You? Lucky?” laughed the old fisherman. “You don’t look lucky to me. Not when you’re all tangled up in this net!”

  “Well, I am certainly lucky you came along and saved me,” said Spike, as the net was cut free. “Thank you, Jock.” He leapt high above the waves and arched his tail.

  It was sunset. There wasn’t a moment to lose. King Neptune’s concert would be starting any minute.

  Just as the first notes of music bubbled through the water, Spike swam into King Neptune’s cave.

  As she was opening her mouth to sing, Marina spotted him and smiled.

  As her voice rose up, Spike realized something. He was glad he had come to the concert because he loved to hear Marina sing. But she didn’t need him for good luck. Not really. She would be brilliant anyway.

  Sure enough, her song was the highlight of the evening. She sang out loud and clear and calm.

  “Beautiful!” cried King Neptune when she was done. Crabs and lobsters clapped their claws as the crowd cheered and splashed. Spike splashed loudest of all.

  “Bravo!” he whooped.

  When the concert was over, Spike told Marina all about his lucky escape from the net and how Jock had rescued him.