Critters, Faeries, Farms and Other Tales

By Sandra Novelly

Critters, Faeries, Farm and Other Tales is a compilation of short stories for young folks. Take a journey with a collection of critters, fly and feast with the faeries, go down on the farm, get the kids on their feet as a washer chugga, chugga, chugs; be there as a young boy is nearly stolen by gypsies, help find the fairy in a picture and go bouncing with a ball. It's fun for kids of all ages!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Novelly
• Release date: Jun 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476283005

Sandra Novelly

Sandra Novelly, originally from Northern Kentucky, is the mother of three, grandmother of three and now lives in Laughlin, NV with her husband, Larry and two cats, Smokey and JR. Sandra has loved to read since she began doing so at age four by standing over her mother while her mother read the newspaper. Sandra devours every book that grabs her interest and also loves to write. She has written some award winning stories on Writing.com and also belongs to Absolute Write.

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Critters, Faeries, Farms and Other Tales

A Collection of Short Stories for Young Folks

By

Sandra Novelly

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Sandra Novelly on Smashwords

Critters, Faeries, Farms and Other Tales

A Collection of Short Stories for Young Folks

Copyright © 2012 by Sandra Novelly

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction, unless otherwise designated, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, and names or events is purely coincidental. The characters, unless otherwise designated, are from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

I wish to dedicate these stories to my grandparents about whose farm I wrote so lovingly, as well as, those pets, living and gone, which I chronicled. Many thanks to my husband for putting up with the countless hours I spent in writing and putting together this book of stories. I love you very much, Honey!

Table of Contents

Critters

Birthday Bash Blues

Gas Attack

Hidden Home

Home at Last

Stormy

The Protector

Faerie Stories

A Faerie Tale

A Lesson Learned

Do Unto Others

Enough to Share

From Enemies to Friends

Getting to Know You

Market Day in Faerie Land

Farm Stories

Down on the Farm

My Second Mom

Swinging Summer Time

The Carnival

The ‘Hospital Ward’

Other Tales

Alexa’s Fairy

As The Washer Turns

Stolen By the Gypsies

The White Ball

Critters

Birthday Bash Blues

The poky penguin piddled past a plethora of pines waving in the wild winter wind.

Don’t dawdle, silly Willy, squawked sister Sally. It’s clearly chilly. Let’s hurry home.

You two tire me tremendously. Quit quarreling, warned Wally Walrus, who waddled with them. Your parents would paddle the pair of you if they heard your harping.

Sadly, Willy slowed to a standstill. Sally sailed toward him. Willy began to weep.

Wally slid to a stop near weeping Willy. What worries you, Willy? he quietly queried.

The little penguin’s flippers flapped and his cheeks flamed. He heaved a sigh, then hiccupped as his tears temporarily halted.

Today is Papa’s party. I haven’t procured a present, Willy wailed.

Wait here, Willy, said Wally. He waddled away to return triumphantly with a sleek silvery salmon on one tough tusk. Here’s a present for your papa. Now let’s progress toward the party so we can play.

Willy stopped wailing and hugged the massive mammal. Thank you, Wally, he whispered.

Willy and Sally walked beside their friend who, with the fresh fish stuck on his tusk, weirdly waddled all the way home.

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Gas Attack

My husband and I looked toward the blare of the gas detection device located low on the hallway wall of our RV.

Brows furrowed, I asked, Do you smell anything? even as I uncurled from the couch and took the handful of steps that led to the noisy detector.

No, he answered, bent low to sniff the air.

Our old dog wandered away from where she lay directly across from the detector. The noise had startled her from her dreams.

Phew, my husband and I exclaimed in unison.

My husband began to frantically fan the air.

The odor of the dog’s gas attack slowly dissipated. The last of the noxious fumes were intermingled with the sound of our laughter.

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Hidden Home

Dawn peeped gently over the landscape, gilded gently tossing leaves on bushes and trees with her golden rays and brought a blush to the cheeks of the roses. A multitude of dewdrops, like brilliant diamonds, reflected the colors of a rainbow; and the twitters of sleepy birds filled the air with song as the feathered ones fluffed themselves in the warm breeze, or circled lazily overhead riding currents of air. Those same breezes whispered quietly into Mother Nature’s ear, waking all of her beings to another glorious day.

In one corner of a garden sat a small mound of broken, brownish-red, clay flowerpots, haphazardly piled atop one another. The backs of the pots rested against pillows of rock. A couple of them, toppled from the heap, lay sprawled on their sides. A little garden spade lay next to one of these fallen pots in which still grew beautiful violet and yellow flowers. Other blooms of delicate pink with long tapered leaves of green, as well as deep purple thistles straight as soldiers, grew around one side of the stacked pots as though to comfort them in their dilapidated state. The ground they sat upon gave way to the heaped rocks of a small ledge carpeted with soft green moss and ringed round with tiny flowerets in shades of pink, yellow, blue and deep red. Small yellow daffodils nodded here and there around one of the overturned clay vessels. A small shimmering trickle of water fell from a crack in the top pot, down its side to a crack in the next pot, down its side to a crack in the third pot and down its side to tumble into a small pool at the bottom of the heap.

At first glance, one might think some untidy gardener had left a mess in this corner of the garden. However, this carelessly crafted crowd of cracked crockery held a secret. Had some tedious twit decided to tidy the tower, several small creatures would have been decidedly unhappy.

As morning dawned and the sun rose higher into the heavens, they ventured from their hiding places. One peeked out from the empty overturned pot at the base of the tower. Another sat on its haunches, clinging to the clay of the other overturned pot. A third crept to the top