Animal Stories

Kids love animals, therefore kids love animal stories. Remember those favorite animal books and movies from your childhood? They all seemed to make you cry. Lassie – yep, cried. Benjie – yep, cried. Black Beauty – yep, cried. Born Free – yep. Why all those tears?

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “animal stories.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “Animal Stories”

  1. All animals have stories. Every morning I greet my “girls” (the hens in the pen behind our barn) and my “boys” (my horses) before I see another human soul. The girls greet me with anxious carrying on, tripping over each other to get closer to me. The boys complain about my lateness, nearly every morning, but forgive me with a gentle nudge as they wait for me to throw their hay. They speak their stories with their hearts. If my day allowed it, I would sit with them and listen.

  2. Animal Communicator Debbie Johnstone has some amazing animals stories. The first photo I saw of her was a bird sitting on her head when Debbie was about a year old. She has talked to both of my horses to find out what was bothering them healthwise them over the years and healed an abrasion on one of my cat’s eyes. She is truly the “cat’s meow” when it comes to our companions.

  3. We’ve always had animal stories. They’re what people love. Animals are a way of symbolizing what we are, were or hope to be. They are sad, but they fill us up with emotions that make us love them. So don’t be sad about them all. Don’t cry those tears now.

  4. My eyes sting. Pressure shifts like instinct under my skin. Joy to be alive, no fear of what’s to come; such innocence pricks my ever-present grief of life. I would weep at anything. I must know, so I will do what I can to make it bearable. Forethought hurts.

  5. There are things they don’t tell you.

    For example, no one tells you about the early-morning thumping, little feet pounding so hard against the rim of the cage that I can hear the banging all the way from my bed on the other side of the room.

    No one warns you against the little fibers of white fur that find their way everywhere, scattering across the carpet like strange snow, worming their way into my laundry and peppering my clean clothes with festive white bits.
    You don’t find out until later that when you let her out of her cage, your rabbit will inevitably run beneath the nearest vast behemoth of furniture she can find, requiring massive amounts of pleading and several carrots to be lured back out again.

    They also don’t tell you how incredibly soft the fur is, silky under your fingers, softer than you can imagine. They don’t tell you what it’s like to hold the tiny body against your own, feeling a heartbeat shivering through this small creature.

    Silly rabbit, you think, as you place her down on the carpet and watch her hop away.

An open space for your story

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