JAMIE THE GIRAFFE LEARNS TO DANCE

O ne sunny April morning as the birds began singing a soft ‘good morning,’ Jamie the baby giraffe was happily munching his juicy leaf breakfast from the lower branches of an acacia tree. Then he was going to meet his mother at the mighty tree of shade. He giggled a little as the acacia’s clusters of tiny yellow flowers tickled his long giraffe nose. “Achoo! Achoo! Jamie paused to catch his breath. But soon, from the thicket of trees he heard the talking drums and the delightful sounds of children singing. Curious, Jamie made his way through the thicket, snapping tiny twigs as he strained his very long neck to see from where the music was coming. There at the edge of a small village Jamie saw a few men with big drums and several children singing and dancing. Never having seen dancing before, Jamie thought the dirt must be very hot and they were jumping around so they wouldn’t burn their bare feet. “What are you doing?” Jamie asked, shyly. “We’re dancing,” the closest child answered. “Does the hot dirt hurt your feet?” Jamie inquired, concerned. “No, silly. The jumping is part of the dance.” “Oh. It looks like fun. Would you teach me how to dance?” Jamie asked the nearest child. The children all roared with laughter and said, “Giraffes can’t dance!” Embarrassed, Jamie hung his head, a difficult task for a giraffe with so far to hang it, and slowly wandered back into the jungle to find his parents. His father was at the watering hole where they frequently went to drink. “Father,” Jamie raised his head and looked up at his father with his sad brown eyes, his very long lashes brushing away a tiny tear. “Father, I saw the children dancing and asked them to teach me how, but they just laughed and said giraffes can’t dance. Will you teach me to dance father? Will you? Please.” His father lifted his head from the pond and said in his gentle fatherly tone, “Jamie, my son, I’m afraid the children were right. Giraffes don’t dance like that.” And Jamie’s father chuckled a bit. “But father, I know I could if someone would just teach me.” 2 “Be on your way now, son. I promised your mother you would meet her at the mighty shade tree before evening. Go on now…Go.” “How frustrating,” Jamie thought to himself, then replied, “All right father. I will go.” But Jamie’s mind was still set on learning how to dance. A short way down the path toward the mighty shade tree, Jamie heard the familiar bark of Jack the Macaque monkey. “I know,” Jamie thought, “I’ll ask Jack to teach me to dance.” Jamie hated to interrupt Jack’s flea pickin’ party, but he had to know if Jack would teach him how to dance. “Jack!! Jack!!” Jamie shouted with excited anticipation. “The children and my father just laughed at me when I ask them to teach me how to dance. So I thought a good friend like Jack will surely be able to teach me. How ‘bout it Jack?!” Jack the Macaque stopped his flea pickin’ and scratched his head, looking a bit puzzled. “Dance, hmmm. Well let me see now. Dance…hmmm…how to dance? I reckon I could try. Hmmm. How do I start this? Hmmm? I know sonny. Here. Just climb on up here and wrap your tail around this branch and we’ll begin.” Try as he might, Jamie’s struggle to get in to the tree was disastrous. When one wobbly long leg got up another wobbly long leg fell down. “Ouch!” Jamie exclaimed as he bumped his cute giraffe chin on a knobby tree branch. And his wispy giraffe tail just would not, could not, wrap around even a teensy, weensy little limb. Jack thought Jamie looked very silly, but he tried not to laugh. He didn’t want to hurt Jamie’s feelings. Baffled by the tree climbing mystery, Jamie walked sadly on down the path, watching Jack the Macaque monkey swinging easily and jumping gracefully from limb to limb as if in a summer stock ballet. Then, up ahead, Jamie noticed a bright yellow glow beside the path. Excitedly he bounded toward it, his long, lanky legs flying awkwardly through the wind. In a sun drenched pool of water, on a huge emerald green lily pad, sat Toby Toad, listing a little to the right, his bumpy toad-cheek brushing the yellowness of a lily bloom.