by: Wheeler, Les
In every fermtoon there is ae place that it’s as weel for aa lively wee kitlins ae bide awa fae an that’s the midden. A ferm wi a lot o coos aye his a big midden for the mair beasts ye hae the mair muck ye‘Il hae tae redd oot.
Noo, Brockit‘s mither hid warned him aboot gyan onywye near the midden, but Brockit, like a lot o ither fowk in this world, didna aye dee fit his mither hid telt him!
The mornin wis passin on an Brockit, as usual, wis oot playin. For it wis a grand simmer day wi hardly a clood an the sun shinin bricht in the lift. Brockit wis busy chasin his ain shadda in atween the flooers fan he foond himsel richt aside the midden.
Brockit stoopit an thocht a bittie tae himsel. “This is the place I’ve tae bide weel awa fae,“ says oor bold hero. “l winner fit it looks like? Can it be aa that bad? I‘ll jist hae a wee lookie,“ Ye can guess fit’s gyan tae happen.
The midden hid an auld wa roon it an on the tap o it some wee flooers wir growin. Thir wis jist a wee puff o win and this wis makkin the wee flooers move back and forrit.
“Jings,“ thocht Brockit, “they wid be a grand thing tae play wi,“ So Brockit clammert up the wa.
He wis dodgin an jinkin alang the tap o the wa fan aa o a sudden he got tae a gie slippy bit an Brockit, try as he micht tae avoid it, drappit, PLOP! richt intae the sappiest bit o the hale midden. There wis a gie lot o skriechen an maiowin afore he got oot o the muck, but he couldna get back on tae the tap o the wa.
There he wis, clortit in muck an nae smellin at aa bonnie like. It wis jist as weel that the fermer, fa wis on his wye hame for his denner, heard Brockit’s yelps an squeals an cam tae his rescue.
He took Brockit tae the ferm-hoose an the ferm-wife gaed Brockit a richt gweed scrub. Brockit didna exactly enjoy the bath, aa that soap in his een, but he lookit an smellt better efter it.
“I‘m aye learnin something new ilka day,“ thocht Brockit, “but maybe, in future, I should jist listen tae fit my mither says!“