Pip Shares the Secret — Beside the red barn, Pip practiced his most serious parade walk: chin high, tail swish, hooves clip-clop on the dusty path. Read the full story →
Beside the red barn, Pip practiced his most serious parade walk: chin high, tail swish, hooves clip-clop on the dusty path. The fence rails smelled like warm pine, and the big tree shook its leaves as if trying not to giggle. Pip wanted every animal in the pasture to share the funny fizz bubbling inside him, so he tossed his mane and made his proudest snort.
A breeze slid through the barn and answered, “Toot-toot!” Pip blinked. The hens froze. The goats leaned over the fence. Again came the tiny trumpet sound, not from Pip at all, but from the square little cupola above the barn door, where nobody ever looked unless rain was coming.
Out popped three field mice wearing acorn-cap band hats, blowing on hollow dandelion stems. “Encore?” squeaked the drummer mouse, tapping a sunflower seed. Pip laughed so hard his knees wobbled, then bowed like the band had played for a king. By sunset, goats, hens, mice, and one very pleased pony were marching in circles, joy too big for one pasture; next time you spot that little barn window, listen for Pip’s clip-clop and a secret toot-toot.
