by: Wheeler, Les
Brockit wis lyin in een o his favourite places - on tap o an auld milk steel. This wis as far as he’d strayed fae the nest up tae noo an he likit fine tae waatch aathing that wis gyan on roon aboot.
Inside the barn thir wis lots tae see an dee but it wis fit wint on ootside that Brockit likit tae waatch.
Ae day Brockit’s mither set aff tae remind the ferm-wife that she wis late wi thir milk an, because his brithers and sisters wir sleepin, Brockit thocht he micht gyang ootside the barn for the first time an see fit wis gyan on there.
He pokit his wee neb ootside the barn door. It wis affa bricht ootside in the sun, but it seemed safe enuff. Feelin braver, Brockit took twa-three mair steps. Naething happent tae him!
‘This is jist grand,’ thocht Brockit an gaed stridin oot like a sodjer.
Brockit arrived at the ferm pond. Noo he didna ken fit waater wis. He hid a wee look. He pokit forrit wi his paa. Brockit thocht that this wis affa soft land! He wis awa tae poke it again fin he saw his ain face in the waater. Noo fit wis this? He didna ken it wis his ain face. He stoppit: he thocht aboot it, syne he took a muckle loup richt intae the waater on tap o this funny face!
Fit a shock Brockit got! Splashin, an gurglin, an miaowin, an skreichin he wint until alang cam his mither tae see fit aa the stramash wis aboot. Gweed auld mither, she draggit the drookit Brockit fae the pond.
Efter a nae sae saft tap on the heid fae his mither‘s paa, Brockit wis seen back in the barn. He dried himsel on the strae an his mither gaed him a wee lick tee, jist tae mak sure he’d came tae nae real hairm. Aff he ran syne tae get some milk.
As his wee pink tongue wis lappin up the milk Brockit thocht aboot fit his mither hid tellt him efter she got him oot o the pond.
“Bide awa fae waater, Brockit, until ye hae learnt tae sweem!“ Brockit thocht he micht jist dee that.