The Story of Mr. Wrigley

Yesterday it rained a lot, and all the worms crawled out of the ground. It made me think, ‘Wow! This must be a good day for lazy birds!’ Like birds that sleep in and don’t usually get the worm . . . well you know, a day like yesterday just proves that sometimes you can be a really slothful loafer and still cash in big time!

I thought it was sad to see so many worms getting squashed underfoot, but I guess that’s unavoidable, so I don’t know why I didn’t just walk on them too.

I found one really cool-looking worm. He was pretty big and he wriggled around a lot, so I named him Mr. Wrigley; I carried him around with me for a while, but then I knew he needed to go home again, because you know, he’s wildlife.

I talked about the worms with my good friend Karmyn, who was walking with me. She thought the worms were cool; I showed her Mr. Wrigley; she said that those worms would probably make really good pets for children, because they can’t hurt you—like they don’t bite and they wiggle around a lot and if you break them in half they can still wiggle. And if you eat them they aren’t even poisonous. So she thought they would be ideal pets for her children. And I thought, ‘Well Karmyn, if your children looked like birds, you could probably feed them worms.’ I guess she thought that was kind of a dumb thing to say . . .