Fawn and Spot Go to the Beach
It was a hot, sunny day, down at the Hansen barn in Mountain Grove, Ontario.
“Gee, it’s hot out here,” complained Fawn, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Let’s get out of here!”
“Oh no, Fawn!” Spot yelled. “You aren’t going anywhere. The last time you decided to go somewhere, you ended up in jail. Do you remember that?”
“Spot,” said Fawn angrily, “you are such a spoiled sport. You never want to have any fun!”
“That’s not true,” said Spot. “I like having fun. I just don’t like getting into trouble.”
Spot left Fawn alone and went into the huge field and started munching on some clover. She liked clover very much. It was very tasty. A few moments later, Spot thought she heard a loud squeaking sound. She perked her ears straight up into the air, and this time, she knew that she definitely heard something and she knew that the sound came from Fawn.
“Fawn!” Spot yelled, as she saw her friend heading out through the gate and down the gravel road. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the beach,” Fawn declared. “You can either stay here, or you can come with me.”
“Oh, hold on,” Spot cried. “I have to get my beach towel and my suntan lotion.”
Spot disappeared into the barn for a moment. She reappeared within seconds, with two huge beach towels around her neck and the suntan lotion in a little pouch.
“You look ridiculous!” laughed Fawn when he saw the towels around Spot’s neck.
“Well,” said Spot, “if I have to follow you around all day to keep you out of trouble, then I may as well be comfortable.”
“Here, give me that!” declared Fawn as he grabbed his beach towel from Spot. “I’ll carry my own!”
The two cows walked side by side down the little gravel road as they headed for the public beach.
“Are you sure they are going to let us on the beach?” Spot asked as they went around a corner.
“Well,” said Fawn, “they don’t let dogs on the beach, that much I do know. Do we look like dogs?”
Spot ignored Fawn as they continued walking. Once at the entrance to the beach, Spot grew terrified.
“Fawn,” she whispered nervously, “look at all the people here. We’d better leave.”
“Not on your life!” declared Fawn.
“Mommy, Mommy!” a four-year-old girl cried when she spotted the two cows walking along the beach. “Look! Look! Cows!”
“Oh honey,” the girl’s mother said, “there are no cows on the beach!”
“Yes, there is!” the girl said. “One cow is putting suntan lotion on the other one.”
The girl’s mother flipped her sunglasses onto her forehead and looked over to where her daughter was pointing. Upon seeing Fawn putting suntan lotion on Spot, the girl’s mother couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter.
“Hey!” said Fawn as he put the suntan lotion down. “I smell french fries.”
“Oh no!” cried Spot. “Don’t do this to me. You are a cow. You aren’t a human. Humans eat french fries. Cows don’t!”
“Oh Spot,” said Fawn, “you never want to have any fun!”
“That’s not true,” cried Spot.
“Well,” said Fawn, his feelings obviously hurt, “whether or not it is true, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I am hungry and I want some french fries and pop.”
Fawn got up and walked over to the small van that had been converted into a chip truck.
“Cows are supposed to eat hay,” Spot yelled after him.
“Don’t you know anything!” Fawn returned a few moments later with an order of fries and an ice-cold orange pop. Just as he went to sit down on the towel, he tripped. French fries went everywhere. The orange drink splashed all over Spot.
“Look what you did!” Spot yelled. “I’m soaked and so is my towel!”
“Spot, you are spoiled!” declared Fawn. “It wasn’t my fault that I tripped.”
“I’m not spoiled,” shouted Spot.
“I’m starved,” yelled Fawn.
“Go eat some grass,” Spot shouted. Fawn had a better idea. He went back to the chip truck and got some more fries. This time, he did not spill them. He sat down and enjoyed them. He didn’t even offer any to Spot, who wouldn’t have taken them anyway. Just as Fawn put the last fry in his mouth, he heard heavy footsteps behind him. He turned around to see his owner standing there.
“Fawn and Spot,” Mr. Hansen yelled. “What the devil are you two cows doing here? Come on, you are coming home with me.”
“Yes, Mr. Hansen,” the two cows cried together.
“See,” Spot said to Fawn in the back of Mr. Hansen’s pick-up truck, “you are always getting into trouble.”
Moral of this Story:
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