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Elphinstone Kist   Stories for Bairns

Brockit an the Muckle Slide     by: Wheeler, Les

Brockit gaed himsel a wee shak an raxed himsel. He streetched his legs, steppit oot o his bed aside the fire, an a wee miaow was rewarded wi a bowl o milk fae the ferm-wife.

Haein suppit the milk he set aff for his mornin danner roon the ferm. He kent afore the door wis opened that it was a gey caul day, but Brockit didna ken jist fu caul it really wis. It had bin snaain aa nicht an, file that’s nae muckle here nor there tae me an you, tae Brockit it wis a hale new world aathegither. Brockit hid nivver seen snaa afore an hid nae idea fit it wis.

He stood at the door for a meenit or twa till he’d made up his mind that it wis safe tae gyang oot. He hadna forgotten his drookin in the waater an wis some feart that this fite stuff micht be the same. But na, it wis caul, but it wis fine an saft.

He loupit up an tried tae catch it fan it wis comin doon an he wis fair bumbazed tae see it disappear fan it hit the doorstep o the hoose. But it didna aa disappear. Awa fae the hoose the snaa wis beginnin tae get gey deep - especially if ye were jist a wee cat!

Weel, Brockit fair likit the snaa. He wint rinnin, an breengin, an loupin, an skitin, an skippin roon the yaird nivver heeding that he wis gettin weeter an weeter.

An eence or twice he got a gey shock fan aa o a sudden his paws stoppit gyan the wye he tellt them an wint slippin aa ower the place. Worse wis tae follow for the wee cat.

Brockit cam rinnin roon the byre corner tae the place aside the waal; that wis aye weet on the driest o days; an went plunk on tae a muckle skelp o ice.

Brockit’s paws were awa on their ain an fit could he dae bit follow? He’d nae idea far he wis gyan. Wi a gey lot o skitin, rummellin, miaowin an slippin Brockit wint yarkin alang the muckle slide like a steen in a curlin match. He could dae nithin but thole it an chunce tae luck. The waater hid frozen richt across the yaird an Brockit went its hale length till he clattert intae a drift that hid gaithert against the hen-hoose wa! Brockit wis jist like a hairy snaa-ba!

He draggit himsel oot o the drift, gaed himsel a shak an ignored the hens fa’s kecklin at the sicht o this wee snaa-cattie soondit affa like lauchin tae Brockit!

He wint rinnin back tae the hoose an the ferm-wife gaed him a gweed rub doon tae dry him oot an warm him up.

“Snaa micht be affa bonnie fan ye see it on the hills an trees, but I think I’ll jist bide close tae hame an my ain fireside till aa this fite stuffs awa,” said Brockit tae himsel as he snuggled doon in his blanket.



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