Home Popular030 The Boy Who Cried WolfPublished: 01/03/2021 Download the transcript: Welcome to Storytime with Dad. Today we will be reading The Boy Who Cried Wolf. A boy called Peter lived with his parents in a village on the hillside. His parents, like most of the people in the village, were sheep farmers. Everybody in the village took turns to look after the sheep, and when Peter was 10 years old, he was considered old enough to take his turn at shepherding. But Peter was easily bored. He was really not excited to be on the hillside with only sheep for company. So, he’d find ways to amuse himself, running up rocks, climbing trees, chasing sheep, but nothing really kept him amused for very long. Then he had a great idea. He climbed to the top of the tallest tree, and started shouting towards the village: “Wolf! Wolf! Wooolf!” One of the villagers heard him and got all the other men together, and armed with axes, hoes and forks, they ran out of the village to chase the wolf away and save their herd. Of course when they got there, they merely found Peter perched high up in his tree, laughing, and the sheep grazing peacefully. They were very annoyed with him. That night Peter got in huge trouble with his parents and was sent to bed early. For a while life went on again as normal, and people forgot about the incident. Peter managed to behave himself whenever it was his turn to watch the sheep. Until one day, he got really bored again. He picked up some sticks, and running through where the sheep were grazing, he started hitting the sticks together, and shouting: “Wolf! Wolf! Wooolf!” Sure enough, somebody in the village heard and before long the men all come running up the hill again, armed with their sticks and axes and hoes and shovels, ready to chase away the big bad wolf, and save their sheep and the poor shepherd boy. Imagine their anger when they arrived in the field to see their herd grazing peacefully, and Peter sitting on a big rock, laughing uncontrollably. That night Peter got yelled at again by his parents, was sent to bed early, and was grounded. For a few days people in the village went around moaning about Peter and his tricks, but before long things settled down again, and life resumed its normal uneventful course. Peter still had to take his turn at shepherding again every now and then. He decided he should behave himself, he really didn’t want to upset everybody all the time, and he especially didn’t want to get grounded again! Then, one afternoon when Peter was in the fields with the sheep, he noticed some of them were getting nervous, they started bleating and running around. Peter didn’t know what was the cause of this strange behavior, sheep were running all over and making an ever louder racket. He got worried and decided to climb a tree so he could see what was going on. He balanced on a branch and looked around, what he saw almost made him fall out of the tree. There was a great big hairy wolf, chasing the sheep, biting at their legs, snapping at their tails. For a few seconds Peter was speechless. Then he started shouting: “Wolf! Wolf! Wooolf!” In the village an old man heard the shouting. “Oh my goodness, not that Peter again”, he said, shaking his head. “What’s going on?” enquired another villager. “It’s that Peter again, he just can’t help himself”. “That boy needs to be the center of attention all the time”, said another. “Wait till his mother gets a hold of him”, added yet another. Nobody believed that this time there really was a wolf, and nobody got their hoe out, or their axe, or shovel. All the sticks were left in the sheds and nobody rushed up the hillside. It wasn’t until later that afternoon, that the boy sent to take over the shepherding from Peter found all the sheep were gone, and Peter was still up in his tree! He was crying, and the villagers found out there really had been a wolf this time. At last Peter learned his lesson: if you always tell lies, people will eventually stop believing everything you say. Then, when you’re telling the truth for a change, when you really need them to believe you, they won’t. The end. Now that’s a classic story. The Boy Who Cried Wolf is one of Aesop’s fables, number 210, and it’s about 2500 years old! The wisdom it contains is ancient and still rings true today. I’ll admit, we’re not all shepherds anymore and we don’t have a village herd to look after. In fact, we don’t really work together as a small community minding our crops and tending to our livestock either. But, we all do have a community that we’re a part of. For you, maybe it’s your school or church, or maybe it’s a sport or an instrument that you play. It could even be an online community – they all count! In these communities you have a reputation. With every word that you say or type, you are building that reputation for yourself. People are watching what you do and judging whether you’re the kind of person who does what they say they do or not. If you lie, people will know – they may not know immediately, but they will learn over time that you are not someone they can trust. They won’t help you when you need it, and you’ll need help with something eventually, and they won’t look to you for support either. It is your responsibility to tell the truth and build a reputation that you’re proud of. This is good for you and for the community that you’re a part of. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I am saying it is necessary, worth doing, and I know you can do it. Thanks so much for listening! If you can, please drop me a review on Apple podcasts and if you want to send some words of encouragement to: hello@storytimewithdad.com I’d love to hear from you. We’ll see you again next time. Narrated by: Grant Dryden... 029 The Story of the Toy Woolly DogPublished: 04/10/2020 Download the transcript: There once was a little boy who wanted, oh, very much indeed, he wanted a little woolly toy dog with a squeak and a curly tail. He had a little rubber toy dog, and a little china toy dog, and a little wooden toy dog, but these would not go to bed with him at night or walk out with him in the daytime. So, one lovely day when the sun was bright and the birds were singing happily, the little boy started out to try to find a little woolly dog with a squeak and a curly tail. The little boy went, and went, and went until he came to a faraway green hill. And on the side of the hill he found an old, white sheep all covered with a warm coat of wool and eating grass. The little boy went up to the sheep and said in her ear, “Kind sheep, will you give me, without fail, a dog with a squeak and a curly tail?” Then the old sheep stopped eating grass and trotted down the hill with the little boy to a place by the side of a swiftly running, singing little brook were there were a great many sheep. Here, too, were shearers cutting off the sheep’s wool and washing it white in the water. Then, this little boy spoke to the sharers and he said, “Shearers, will you give me, without fail, a dog with a squeak and a curly tail?” So the sheep shears cut off the soft wool from the old sheep’s back, and washed it snow white in the brook, and they put it in the outstretched hands of the little boy. But they said to him, “Go to the carders and ask them to comb out the wool straight and fine.” So the little boy thanked the shearers, then he went on further to a place where busy machines, full of sharp toothed combs went swish, swish combing the sheep’s wool. To the carders who tended the machines he said, “Carders, will you give me, without fail, a dog with a squeak and a curly tail?” The carders took the wool and put it in their carding machine, then they took it out straight and fine and they gave it to the little boy. But they said to him, “You must go to the goatherd who lives in the mountain for a bit of skin to hold your wool.” So the little boy thanked carders and he went on further to a high mountain where the little kids with teetery, tottery legs jumped from crag to crag beside the goatherd who tended them. And the little boy called to the goatherd, “Goatherd, will you give to me, without fail, a dog with a squeak and a curly tail?” The goatherd went into his little house on the side of the mountain and brought out a little piece of smooth tough skin. He gave it to the little boy, but he said, “You must go to the cotton-picker for cotton to stuff the skin.” So the little boy thanked the goatherd and he went on farther until he came to a white, sunny field where the cotton-pickers were pulling off great white cotton bolls and dropping them into their baskets. And the little boy called out to the cotton-pickers, “Cotton-pickers, will you give to me, without fail, a dog with a squeak and a curly tail?” The cotton-pickers held out a basket of soft white cotton to the little boy. But they said, “You must go to the toy man and ask him to put together your wool, and skin, and cotton.” So the little boy thanked the cotton-pickers and went farther until he came to a busy toyman, making dolls and picture puzzles, and airplanes, and toy automobiles, and everything else with which it is pleasant to play in his noisy, clattering workshop. And the little boy said to the toyman, “Toyman, will you give to me, without fail, a dog with a squeak and a curly tail?” “Yes, indeed I will,” answered the toyman. So he got out his glue pot, and his scissors, and his hammer, and his nails, his glass eyes, and his squeaks, and his little curly tails. He fastened them all to the skin, and he stuffed the skin with the cotton, and he very soon handed the little boy a little woolly toy dog. Then the little boy thanked the toy man and ran home as fast as he could, for he was very happy indeed. He had a little rubber toy dog, and a little wooden toy dog, and a little china toy dog, but now he had a little woolly toy dog that would sleep with him at night and walk out with him in the daytime. And it had a squeak and a curly tail. The end. Well that’s an oldie! I just learned that after sheep gets sheared, the wool goes to someone called a carder to be straightened before it can be used! Guess that’s not something we really experience much these days. Life used to be very different than it is today. Much of what we owned was something that we worked for. In this story, we can see that for something as simple as a woolly toy dog, there were at least five different, very experienced people involved in making it: the shearer, the carder, the goatherd, the cotton-picker, and the toy maker. The little boy just wanted the toy, but knowing that so much effort went in to making it probably made him care for that toy a lot more than he would have otherwise. Everything we have today is the same way. Many different professions come together to create the things that we all enjoy. It’s a lot easier to take what we have for granted, though, when we don’t see how it’s made. Whether we see it or not, somebody, somewhere, is still taking time to create these things. The materials come from somewhere, too, and we don’t have an unending supply of everything that we need. The responsibility is on each of us to appreciate the things we have and to take care of them. Be thankful for your toys, your food, the building you live in. Somebody, somewhere, made them for you. I hope you liked the story, please drop me a review and email feedback to: hello@storytimewithdad.com. Or tweet me @DadStorytime Thanks for listening! We’ll see you next time. Narrated by: Grant Dryden... 025 Wilbur’s EscapePublished: 03/16/2020 Download the transcript: Welcome to Storytime with Dad. Today we will be reading Wilbur’s Escape. The barn was very large. It was very old. It smelled of hay and it smelled of manure. It smelled of the perspiration of tired horses and the wonderful sweet breath of patient cows. It often had a peaceful sort of smell as though nothing bad could ever happen again in the world. It smelled of grain and of harness dressing, and of axle grease and old rubber boots, and of new rope, and whenever the cat was given a fish head to eat the barn would smell of fish. But mostly, it smelled of hay, for there was always hay being pitched down to the cows, and the horses, and the Sheep. The barn was pleasantly warm in winter when the animals spend most of their time indoors, and it was pleasantly cool in the summer when the big door stood wide open to the breeze. The barn had stalls on the main floor for the workhorses, tie ups on the main floor for the cows, a sheep fold down below for the sheep, a pig pen down below for Wilbur, and it was full of all sorts of things that you find in barns. Ladders, grindstones, pitchforks, monkey wrenches, scythes, lawn mowers, snow shovels, axe handles, milk pails, water buckets, empty grain sacks, and rusty rat traps. It was a kind of barn the children like to play in, and the whole thing was owned by Fern’s uncle, Mr. Homer L. Zuckerman. Wilbur’s new home was in the lower part of the barn directly underneath the cows. Mr. Zuckerman knew that a manure pile is a good place to keep a young pig. Pigs need warmth and it was warm and comfortable down there in the barn cellar on the south side. Fern came almost every day to visit him. She found an old milking stool that have been discarded, and she placed the stool in the Sheepfold next to Wilbur’s pen. She sat quietly during the long afternoons, thinking and listening and watching Wilbur. Sheep soon got to know her and trust her, so did the geese who lived with the sheep. All the animals trusted her, she was so quiet and friendly. Mr. Zuckerman did not allow her to take Wilbur out. They did not allow her to get into the pig pen. But he told Fern that she could sit on the stool and watch Wilbur as long as she wanted to. It made her happy just to be near the pig, and it made Wilbur happy to know that she was sitting there right outside of the pen. But he never had any fun – no walks, no rides, no swims. One afternoon in June, when Wilbur was almost 2 month old, he wandered out into a small yard outside the barn. Fern had not arrived for her usual visit. Wilbur stood in the sun feeling lonely and bored. There’s never anything to do around here. He walked slowly over to the food tough to see if anything had been overlooked at lunch. He found a small strip of potato skin and ate it. His back itched, so he leaned against the fence to rub it against the boards. When he tired of this, he walked indoors, climbed to the top of the manure pile, and sat down. He didn’t feel like going to sleep. He didn’t feel like digging. He was tired of standing still tired of lying down. “I’m less than 2 months old and I’m tired of living,” he said. He walked out to the yard again. “When I’m out here, there’s no place to go but in, when I’m indoors, there’s no place to go but back out in the yard!” “That’s where you’re wrong, my friend, my friend,” said a voice. Wilbur looked through the fence and saw a goose standing there. “You don’t have to stay in that dirty-little, dirty-little, dirty-little yard,” said the goose, who talked rather fast. “The boards are loose, push on it. Push push push on it and come on out!” “What!” said Wilbur, “say it slower.” “At-at-at the risk of repeating myself,” said the goose. “I suggest that you come on out. It’s wonderful out here.” “Did you say that a board was loose?” “That I did that I did,” said the goose. Wilbur walked up to the fence and saw that the goose was right! One board was loose. He put his head down, shut his eyes, and pushed. The board gave way in a minute. He squeezed through the fence and was standing in the long grass outside is yard. The goose chuckled. “How does it feel to be free?” she asked. “I like it,” said Wilbur. “That is, I guess I like it, actually.” Wilbur felt a little weird to be outside the fence, but nothing between him and the big world. “Where do you think I better go?” “Anywhere you like, anywhere you like!” said the goose. “Go down through the orchard, root up the sod! Go down through the garden, root up the radishes! Root of everything! Eat grass! Look for corn! Look for oats! Run all over! Skip and dance, jump and prance! Go down through the Orchard and stroll in the woods! The world is a wonderful place when you’re young!” “I can see that,” replied Wilbur. He gave a jump in the air, twirled, ran a few steps, stopped, looked all around, sniffed the smells of afternoon, and then set off walking down through the orchard pausing in the shade of an apple tree. He put a strong snout into the ground and began pushing, digging, and rooting. He felt very happy. He plowed up quite a piece of ground before anyone noticed him. Mrs. Zuckerman was the first to see him. She saw him from the kitchen window and immediately shouted for the men. “Homer!” She cried, “Pig’s out! Homer! Lurvy! Pigs out! He’s down there under that apple tree.” “Now starts the trouble,” Wilbert thought. “Now I’ll catch it.” The goose heard the racket and she, too, started hollering, “make for the woods, the woods! She won’t never never never catch you in the woods!” The cocker spaniel heard the commotion and he ran out from the barn to join the chase. Mr. Zuckerman heard and he came out of the machine shed where he was mending a tool. Lurvy, the hired man, heard the noise and came up from the asparagus patch where he was pulling weeds. Everybody walked toward Wilbur, and Wilbur didn’t know what to do! The woods seemed a long way off. Anyway, he had never been down there in the woods and wasn’t sure he’d like it. “Get around behind him, Lurvy,” said Mr. Zuckerman, “And drive him into the barn. And take it easy, don’t rush him. I’ll go and get a bucket of slops.” The news of Wilbur’s Escape spread rapidly among the animals on the place. Whenever any creature broke loose on Zuckerman’s farm, the event was of great interest to the others. The goose shouted to the nearest cow that Wilbur was free, and soon all the cows knew. Then, one of the cows told one of the sheep, and soon all the Sheep knew. The Lambs learned about it from their mothers. The horses in their stalls in the barn perked up their ears when they heard the goose hollering, and soon the horses caught on to what was happening. “Wilbur’s out?” They said. Every animal stirred his head and became excited to know that one of his friends had gotten free, and was no longer penned up or tied fast. Wilbur didn’t know what to do or which way to run. It seemed as though everybody was after him. “If this is what it’s like to be free, I believe I’d rather be penned up in my own yard!” The cocker spaniel was sneaking up on him from one side. Lurvy, the hired man, was sneaking up on him from the other side. Mr. Zuckerman stood ready to head him off if he started for the garden, and now Mr. Zuckerman was coming down towards him carrying a pale. “This is a really awful,” thought Wilbur. “Why doesn’t Fern come!” He began to cry. The goose took command and began to give orders. “Don’t just stand there, Wilbur! Skip around, run towards me, slip in and out, in and out, in and out. Make for the woods! Twist and turn!” The cocker spaniel sprang for Wilbur’s hind leg. Wilbur jumped and ran. Lurvy reached out and grabbed. Mrs. Zuckerman screamed at Lurvy. The goose cheered for Wilbur. Wilbur dodged between Lurvy’s legs. Lurvy missed Wilbur and grabbed the spaniel instead. “Nicely done!” cried the goose. “Try it again, try it again.” “Run downhill!” suggested the cows. “Run toward me!” yelled the gander. “Run uphill!” cried the Sheep. “Turn and twist!” honked the good. “Jump and dance!” said the rooster. “Look out for Lurby!” called the cows. “Look out for Zuckerman!” yelled the gander. “Watch out for the dog!” cried the sheep. “Listen to me, listen to me!” screamed the goose. Poor Wilbur was dazed and frightened by this hullabaloo. He didn’t like being the center of all this fuss. He tried to follow the instructions his friends were giving him, but he couldn’t run downhill and uphill at the same time, and he couldn’t turn and twist when he was jumping and dancing, and he was crying so hard he could barely see anything that was happening. After all, Wilbur was a very young pig, not much more than a baby, really. He wished Fern were here to take him in her arms and comfort him. When he looked up, he saw Mr. Zuckerman standing quite close to him holding a pail of warm slops. He felt relieved. He lifted his nose and sniffed – the smell was delicious. Warm milk, potato skins, wheat middlings, toasted corn flakes, and a popover left from the Zuckerman’s breakfast! “Come pig,” said Mr. Zuckerman tapping the pale. “Come pig.” Wilbur took a step toward the pale. “No, no, no,” said the Goose. “It’s the old pale trick! Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it! He’s trying to lure you back into captivity-ivity! He’s appealing to your stomach!” But Wilbur didn’t care, the food smelled appetizing. He took another step toward the pail. “Pig, pig” said Mr. Zuckerman in a kind voice and began slowly walking toward the barnyard, looking all about him innocently as if he didn’t know that a little white pig was following along behind him. “You’ll be sorry, sorry, sorry,” said the Goose. Wilbur didn’t care. He kept walking toward the pale of slops. “You’ll miss your freedom,” honked the goose. “An hour of freedom is worth a barrel of slops.” Wilbur didn’t care. When Mr. Zuckerman reached the pigpen, he climbed over the fence and poured the slops into the trough. Then he pulled the loose board away from the fence so that there was a wide hole for Wilbur to walk through. “Reconsider, reconsider!” cried the goose. Wilbur paid no attention. He stepped through the fence into his yard. He walked to the trough and took a long drink of slops, sucking in the milk hungrily and chewing the pop over. It was good to be home again. While Wilbur ate, Lurvy fetched a hammer and some eight-penny nails, and nailed the boards in place. Then he and Mr. Zuckerman leaned lazily on the fence, and Mr. Zuckerman scratched Wilbur’s back with a stick. “He’s quite a pig,” said Lurvy. “Yes, he’ll make a good pig,” said Mr. Zuckerman. Wilbur heard the words of Praise. He felt the warm milk inside the stomach. He felt the pleasant rubbing of the stick along his itchy back. He felt peaceful and happy and sleepy. This has been a tiring afternoon. It was still only about 4:00, but Wilbur was ready for bed. “I’m really too young to go out into the world alone,” he thought and he laid down. The end. The story of Wilbur escaping is actually a short section of the book Charlotte’s web by E.B. White. I happen to think it’s a fun story, but the funny episode is a great example of ourselves in real life. Wilbur gets convinced by the goose to escape from his nice safe pigpen. He’d never been out in the world before, and when he escapes he find it to be absolute chaos. Now, we all know this isn’t real freedom, but he has absolutely no other experience to compare it to, and he’s just a baby. So, Wilbur learns through this experience that he needs to grow up a little bit before he goes out into the world on his own. No matter how ready we feel we are for some things, how we feel is not always a good indication for what we’re ready for. This is why it’s important to listen to other people in our lives for guidance, especially people with more experience than us, like our parents. It can be frustrating and annoying to hear their thoughts on our life, but I promise you that the people who love you will give you advice that they think is good for you based on their experience. Of course, the goose was experienced and gave Wilbur advice that was more advanced that he was able to handle. But, geese aren’t really known for their wisdom. So, consider where the advice came from and make your own decision. You are the only person to blame for bad decisions that you make. Peer pressure doesn’t matter, bad advice doesn’t matter, you are the one making the decision, so you need to be OK with whatever outcome happens as a result of your decision. So try your hardest to make good decisions, and if bad things happen then we can always deal with them as they come. But, if you’re trying to make good decisions then that’s really all you can do, and that’s OK no matter what the outcome is. I hope you liked the story, please drop me a review and email feedback to: hello@storytimewithdad.com. Or tweet me @DadStorytime Thanks for listening! We’ll see you next time. Narrated by: Grant Dryden...
