Little Hoot

by

illustrated by

For my favorite night owl, Justin—A. K. R.

To Sara T, the best owl I know—J. C.

Once, up on a branch, there was a fellow named Little Hoot.

Little Hoot was a happy little owl.

He liked going to school.

He liked playing hide-n-seek with his forest friends.

He even liked it fine when Mama Owl said it was practice time.

“Time to practice pondering, Sweetie.”

“OK, now practice your staring.”

But there was one thing Little Hoot did not like:

Bedtime.

Because when you’re an owl, you have to stay up late, late, late.

That’s just the way it is.

“All my other friends get to go to bed so much earlier than me!

Why do I always have to stay up and play? It’s not fair!”

“If you want to grow up to be a wise owl, you must stay up late,”
said Papa Owl.

“And besides, I don’t give a hoot what time your friends go to bed.

In this family, we go to bed late. Rules of the roost.”

“Stay up and play for one more hour and then you can go to sleep,”

Mama Owl compromised.

“One whole hour?” he boo–whoo’d.

“One whole hour,” she cooed.

So off he went.

“When I grow up, I’m going to let my kids go to bed as early as they want.”

He played swords.

He played on the jungle gym.

He built a fort.

He jumped in the leaves.

He jumped on the bed.

“Can I stop playing now?” pleaded Little Hoot.

“Ten more minutes of playing, Mister. And please don’t ask me again.”