A little story gift to help children get though our Coronavirus isolation.   

One summer, Mr. Hop discovered a big pheasant in his garden. He decided to call him George, the Great Green Gooseberry Gobbler, because he saw him underneath one of his gooseberry bushes—quickly gobbling green gooseberries even though they weren’t ripe!

         Sometimes, when Mr. Hop went to the garden, he would get real close to the gooseberry bush. George would sneak around to the back of the bush and peek at Mr. Hop through the bush’s branches.

        Mr. Hop began following him around the gooseberry bush, all the time fussing with the hoe, pretending he didn’t see his new feathered friend who was—sneakily gobbling green gooseberries.

         Mrs. Hop thought they looked like they were dancing when Mr. Hop would weed around the gooseberry bush, swing his hoe, and sing while George hid at the back of the gooseberry bush, flapping his wings, scratching in the dirt—hurriedly gobbling green gooseberries.

         Mr. and Mrs. Hop were so busy watching George with his colorful feathers, they didn’t see the less brightly-colored mother bird hiding in the brush pile while George was—noisily gobbling green gooseberries.

         The mother bird didn’t know the brush pile she’d laid her eggs in was going to go up in flames when Mr. Hoop finished cleaning the garden. She thought she’d found the perfect place to raise her babies. Meanwhile, George was—fearlessly gobbling green gooseberries.

         At the end of the day, Mr. Hop’s garden work was done and he was almost ready to light the fire under the brush pile. Mr. Hop struck a match. He got closer and closer to the brush pile. Silly George didn’t see what was about to happen. He was—cluelessly gobbling green gooseberries.

         But just then it started to sprinkle. The raindrops got bigger and bigger until they chased Mr. Hop inside. George never stopped—hungrily gobbling green gooseberries.

         Inside the brush pile, the mother pheasant hardly even noticed it was raining. The brush was so thick it kept both mother and her eggs as warm and dry as if the sun were shining. She didn’t know how close she’d come to losing her home and her babies while George was—greedily gobbling green gooseberries.

         Mr. Hop worked in the city all week. The next Saturday, he got up early and looked out the kitchen window. The skies were clear. It would be a good day to burn the brush pile, he thought.

         But just as he was looking out the window, he saw something move. Then something else. At first, it looked as if the ground was moving. It was baby birds! Then he saw George, as always—still gobbling green gooseberries.

         “Well, I’ll be,” said Mr. Hop to his wife. “I can’t burn that brush pile today, look at the baby chicks!” Mrs. Hop laughed.

         Just then, they saw the mother pheasant dart out of the brush pile and chase all of her new babies back inside the brush where it was safe. George didn’t notice. He was—busily gobbling green gooseberries.

         Next spring, Mr. Hop said, he’d make the pheasants a special brush pile at the back of the garden, not far from the gooseberry bush, in case the birds wanted to come back. This brush pile, he would never burn.

         George, The Great Green Gooseberry Gobbler, could come back every year and keep on—endlessly gobbling green gooseberries!

The end

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