Summer Fun
The summer sun blazed high over Storyland Canada, turning the red barn roof into a shimmering ribbon of heat. Fawn stood at the fence, gazing dreamily toward the distant hills where the cottage lake sparkled like a handful of scattered diamonds. He could almost taste the adventure waiting for him there,the cool water lapping at the dock, the tug of a fish on his line, the peaceful quiet of the forest.
“This is the year,” Fawn said to himself, his tail swishing with excitement. “This is definitely the year we go fishing!”
He trotted over to the shady spot beneath the old maple tree where Spot was resting, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of sweet clover. Fawn plopped down beside her, a bit too enthusiastically, sending up a small cloud of dust.
“Spot!” Fawn announced, his eyes bright with possibility. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s always interesting,” Spot said with an affectionate smile, though her eyes held just a hint of concern. She knew that look on Fawn’s face,the one that usually meant he had a grand plan brewing.
“We should go to the cottage this summer! Just imagine it,you and me, the lake, the fishing, the fresh air!” Fawn’s voice rose with each word. “I’ll catch the biggest fish you’ve ever seen! Well, after I dig up some worms for bait, of course.”
Spot’s expression shifted immediately. Her ears flicked back, and she gave Fawn a long, measured look. “Worms,” she repeated slowly. “You mean like last year’s ‘worms’?”
Fawn’s enthusiasm deflated like a punctured beach ball. “Oh. Right. Last year.”
“Last year,” Spot continued, though her voice was gentle, “when you came running back to the cottage screaming about the ‘extra wiggly worms’ you’d found under that old log?”
“They were very wiggly,” Fawn mumbled.
“They were garter snakes, Fawn. Five of them. You dumped them right into my lap while I was reading my book on the porch.”
“In my defense,” Fawn said, perking up slightly, “they were very small snakes. Almost worm-sized, really.”
Spot couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. Despite everything,the snake incident, the time Fawn had tried to water-ski and ended up tangled in the rope, the unfortunate canoe-tipping episode,she loved him to the moon and back. His optimism was infectious, even when it led to chaos.
“Fawn,” Spot said, moving closer and touching her nose to his affectionately. “You know I’d love to go with you, even after last year’s snake scare. However, we have a lot of work to do here.”
Fawn’s shoulders sagged. “Work,” he sighed. “There’s always work.”
“Yes,” said Spot, her practical nature taking over. “I know about the work. We have to fix the lawn mower so we can cut the grass, pull all those weeds that have taken over the vegetable garden, and clean the leaves out of the pool.”
“The pool’s been looking pretty swampy,” Fawn admitted, wrinkling his nose at the thought.
“We also have to cut down those three dead trees for Mr. Hansen, too,” Spot added. “He’s counting on us, and he’s been so patient waiting.”
Fawn’s mind began tallying up the tasks like a grocery list of doom. Fix the lawn mower,that alone could take days, especially since neither of them was particularly mechanical. Pull the weeds,there had to be thousands of them by now, thick as a carpet. Clean the pool,ugh, he didn’t even want to think about what might be living in there. And cutting down trees? That was serious work.
“Well,” said Fawn, his voice small and defeated. “It is beginning to look like a lot of work. I think I need to sit down and have a glass of ice and orange pop.”
“You’re already sitting down,” Spot pointed out gently.
“Then I need to sit down more comfortably,” Fawn said, shifting his position with exaggerated exhaustion. “And maybe some french fries. French fries always help me think better.”
Spot smiled. Fawn’s peculiar diet was legendary throughout Storyland Canada. While every other cow contentedly munched on grass and hay, Fawn survived entirely on crispy french fries and orange pop. The local diner knew him by name and always had an order ready.
“I don’t think french fries are going to solve our work problem,” Spot said, though she was already thinking about how she might sneak over to the diner later to surprise him with his favorite snack.
Fawn was about to respond when a sudden movement caught his eye. Two large owls burst from one of the tall oak trees in the park beside their farm, their wings beating powerfully against the air. They hooted urgently as they flew, as if carrying an important message.
“Well, that’s odd,” Fawn said, watching them disappear into the distance. “The owls don’t usually fly during the day.”
Spot looked up too, and her expression changed. “Fawn, look at the sky.”
Fawn tilted his head back. The brilliant blue sky that had stretched endlessly overhead just moments ago was transforming before their eyes. Dark clouds were gathering to the east, rolling in like a gray wool blanket being pulled across the heavens. They moved with surprising speed, swallowing up the blue bit by bit.
The air changed too. The oppressive heat suddenly lifted, replaced by a cool breeze that rustled through the grass and made the leaves whisper secrets to each other. Fawn could smell it,that electric, earthy scent that meant rain was coming.
“Spot, do you feel that?” Fawn asked, getting to his feet.
The sunshine that had been beating down on them all morning started to fade, filtered through the thickening clouds. The world took on a strange, greenish-gray tinge. Then, as if someone had turned on a giant faucet in the sky, rain came pouring down.
Fat, heavy drops splattered onto the dusty ground, onto the barn roof, onto Fawn and Spot’s backs. Within seconds, it was a proper downpour, the kind of summer storm that turns roads into rivers and makes everything smell fresh and alive.
Fawn looked at Spot. Spot looked at Fawn. And slowly, simultaneously, they both began to smile.
“The lawn mower…” Fawn began.
“Can’t fix it in the rain,” Spot finished.
“The grass…”
“Too wet to cut.”
“The weeds…”
“Impossible to pull when the ground’s muddy.”
“The trees for Mr. Hansen…”
“Definitely can’t cut those down in a storm!”
Fawn’s grin spread across his entire face. “Looks like we can go to the cottage after all!” he exclaimed, doing a little dance in the rain.
Spot laughed, the sound mixing with the patter of raindrops. “I suppose we can,” she agreed. “But Fawn?”
“Yes?”
“This year, I’m digging up the worms. You’re in charge of bringing the french fries and orange pop.”
“Deal!” Fawn said happily, already imagining himself at the lake, fishing pole in one hoof, a bottle of orange pop in the other, with Spot beside him and not a single snake in sight.
The rain continued to fall, washing away their work worries and opening up the path to adventure. Sometimes, Fawn thought, the best plans are the ones that the weather makes for you.
