The Dormouse Family's Big Day: A Story for Kids

This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. Have you ever wondered what it might be like to live inside a pumpkin? Of course you have! Now you can find out. Our story today is about a family of dormice who live in a pumpkin. Let's hear it. It's called the Dormouse Family's Big Day. Take it away, Alia and Elim. Remember, there are no pictures. You have to imagine the pictures in your mind. You can imagine them however you want. Okay, here we go. The Dormouse Family was asleep. All of them, dormice, are champion sleepers. They were all asleep inside their pumpkin when it tipped and began to roll. Mr. Dormouse twitched awake at the first lurch, Mrs. Dormouse at the second. Incredibly, the children remained asleep through the first few rolls until little Johnny toppled out of his bunk and cried. I think our house is going somewhere. One by one, the rest of the dormice startled awake. What is happening? My fur is must. But where are we going? I'm getting very dizzy. This went on for several more seconds. The pumpkin, the dormice, the autumn decorations they'd placed just yesterday, all of it tumbling and tossing in a frightful blur. Until finally, the pumpkin landed with a tremendous plop in the river. It landed upside down, mind you, and went bobbing along with the gentle current. Dormice are not as talented at swimming as they are at sleeping, and there were several long moments of trepidation as the family realized the pumpkin was filling with water and would quickly be lost to the bottom of the river. Then, Mr. Dormouse, coming fully to his senses after the abrupt awakening, remembered his raft. Mr. Dormouse couldn't help but allow himself a small smile as he scurried through ankle deep water to retrieve it from the closet. Mrs. Dormouse had found it a fanciful acquisition, but when would we ever need it? We live on land. To that, Mr. Dormouse had said, yes, yes, but our pumpkin could take a tumble down the hill. It could be knocked by a passing deer or even kicked by a mischievous bear cub. We could roll right into the river. Mrs. Dormouse had eyed the raft skeptically when her husband had trotted in with it, rolled it up like a carpet, and stored it in the closet, but it was soon forgotten. Life went on until Mr. Dormouse's vision of landing in the river came to life, whether from the kick of a bear cub or a knock from a deer, they could not say. And the raft was sorely needed, and Mr. Dormouse fetched it from the closet, which was upside down along with everything else in the sinking pumpkin. And even though the circumstances were less than ideal, he felt a measure of satisfaction at his preparation being proven not only reasonable, but necessary to his family's very survival. And he had another surge of satisfaction when, upon emerging from the closet, raft in paw, he was greeted as a hero by his family. Oh, Papa, you saved us. Yay! Woohoo! Yay, Papa! Mr. Dormouse, Mrs. Dormouse, and their numerous children clambered out the upside down front door of the pumpkin and onto the raft just before their lovely home lurched and dipped and dropped below the surface of the river. What a terrible tragedy is what you might be thinking. That's probably what you sound like, too. They've lost their home, all their belongings. Yes and no. The dormice did love their home in the pumpkin, but pumpkins are not forever. For one thing, they can be eaten. Just three months back, they had been living in a darling pumpkin, the color of a persimmon, for ten pleasant days, when all of a sudden a bear bit through the ceiling. Nothing gets one off one's feet quicker than a bear taking the roof off one's home. Pumpkins can also be carried away. Two years ago, the Dormouse family had been enjoying a spot of tea when they had the distinct feeling of rising rapidly in the air, the same feeling you might get on the way up in an elevator. Then the pumpkin began swaying to and fro in step with whoever had taken it, and the dormice heard cheerful whistling. Mr. Dormouse had swiftly gnawed a hole in the bottom of the pumpkin and descended a rope. You might be noticing he tends to be prepared for such things, and the whole family scurried down the rope one by one to the relative safety of the forest floor. It was only then they learned who had been carrying them, a jolly looking skunk. It was a harrowing episode, but not altogether shocking. Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse could have built a more permanent resting spot, somewhere that couldn't have been plucked up by a passing creature. But pumpkins and gourds and squashes, once cleaned out of course, made such cozy, charming little homes. So they lived with the risks. And there are more risks than being eaten or carried away, even when a darling pumpkin cottage is not eaten nor hauled off, nor pockmarked by hail, nor accidentally sat upon by a moose who misjudges his own heft. Even without any of that, pumpkins are temporary homes, because they go rotten in three weeks. Give or take a few days, depending on the weather. The Dormouse family had only moved into the pumpkin five days earlier, after rolling it to a lovely spot beneath a fig tree at the top of a hill, which gave them a view of the picturesque river down below. The children had only just stopped squabbling over who'd sleep where. Can I switch bunks with you? There's a spider in the upper corner of this one. Sure. I love spiders. I'll name him Sylvester. Oh, he has a name. It's Skip. And the family had only just settled in and adjusted to the pumpkin's particular quirks. Honey, have you seen my knapsack? Oh, the bowl weevil might have gotten it. The move was so recent, the attachment to the pumpkin so mild, that the family of Dormice crowded closely on the raft on what was turning into a marvelously beautiful autumn day, watched their erstwhile home vanish beneath the current with a large measure of wonder and only a small measure of loss. Do you think it will be gobbled up by what, a fish or a frog or a whale? Whales don't go in rivers, silly. The children kept on in this way until Mrs. Dormouse, coming fully to her senses after the abrupt awakening, followed by the shock of the pumpkin's sinking. With her teacup collection, she noted dryly, said, Oh, dear. Oh, no. The cousins will be here tonight. And the raft erupted in gasps and whispers. The cousins, more precisely, on honey cake, Uncle Whiskerly and their 11 children, including the baby, Rosemary Winter, who was said to have the lungs of a first-rate opera singer. They had sent word by Telegram four days earlier. Uncle Whiskerly's longhand was notoriously difficult to read, and Mrs. Dormouse spent several minutes squinting at the letter before working out its meaning. They'll be here in four days at midnight. Four. I think this is a four I'm looking at. Or is it a nine? Mr. Dormouse, peering over his wife's shoulder, agreed it was a four. At that point, the family had been in the pumpkin for one day. Will they stay the night? They always do. Better get a move on, then. At once they commenced cleaning, organizing, arranging for more sleeping bunks, and finally decorating. Mrs. Dormouse believed it was most hospitable to welcome guests into a well-appointed home, even a temporary home such as a pumpkin. But presently, as she huddled on the raft with her family, after the pumpkin sank to the river's murky depths on that lovely autumn afternoon, she felt her standards sink along with it. We must find somewhere, anywhere, to spend the night. Her expectations rose considerably when Mr. Dormouse managed to navigate the raft. Can you believe how well it's held up? Rugged, isn't it? Directly to a nearby pumpkin patch. Well, close enough. The dormice scrambled onto the riverbank bank one by one. Mr. Dormouse brought up the rear, swiftly shaking off his trusty raft, rolling it up, heaving it over his shoulder, and following his long line of children through the tall grass. The whole family gathered beneath the cover of a dense shrub. Mrs. Dormouse oversaw a head count. The children were accustomed to this and called out their numbers one by one. Mrs. Dormouse surveyed her children. The youngest, Winslow, looked bedraggled, but she could not recall a time he had not looked bedraggled. She nodded at Mr. Dormouse, then said, All right, I want you six to come with us. Darcy, she said, to the eldest, a daughter, you take the rest. Yes, mother. Take them to the market. Mrs. Dormouse said, handing over a pouch, she had had the presence of mind to grab amidst the escape. Your cousins, well, you remember how much they eat. Oh, yes. There were hushed giggles all around. By the makings of a feast, you've got plenty of help to carry it all. Meet us at the fig tree in two hours. Yes, mother. Darcy and the others scurried off, blowing kisses to their parents. Now we've got a wonderful harvest this year. If you'll follow me, I have some in mind that may suit you. Just as a note, we are closing in a short while, but we should have enough time to get you the pumpkin of your dreams. Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse and six of their children trailed behind the pumpkin cellar, a plump chipmunk named Yvette, who wore a checkered neckerchief. Any particular qualities you are looking for? Sweet, savory, sun baked, shaded. It was such an abrupt shift, escaping from the pumpkin to the fragile safety of the raft, stumbling ashore. And now this, encountering the decadence of the bountiful pumpkin patch, where instead of being rushed into narrow channels of survival, they were being asked to choose from a cornucopia of shiny pumpkins. Just minutes earlier, Mrs. Dormouse had said anywhere would do, but presented with such a vast array of options. That sentiment seemed quaint, and now that her mind had cleared, and she had remembered the extent of her hosting duties for the evening, she considered that her family should be more selective. Mr. Dormouse was evidently doing a similar calculation. Yvette stopped in front of several sizable pumpkins, her expression one of satisfied calm, as she said, Now, these are, but Mr. Dormouse cut her off. These are too small, I'm afraid. He glanced at his wife, and she smiled and nodded. Too small? Yvette said, her eyes scanning the family, taking in the six young dormice currently engaged in a lively game of tag nearby. You're it! Much too small, Mrs. Dormouse agreed. My mistake? Yvette said gamely. I only assumed, well, with such a small family as you have. At this, Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse laughed, and it felt like necessary laughter. Curitive, truly, after the nightmarish experience they had just had in the river. Oh, you thought? Well, of course she did. We should have said something. I'm afraid our brains are addled from recent events. I see. Yvette said, uncertainly, having no idea what these dormice were on about, she glanced quickly at her wristwatch and frowned. We have twenty-three children, Mrs. Dormouse explained. Oh, then do follow me. Yvette said, glancing again at her wristwatch as she took off down a narrow trail. Come along, children. Yvette led the family to a different area of the pumpkin patch. The children immediately started running in circles around the maze of pumpkins. They were enormous. The pumpkins, that is, the Dormouse children were on the small side, but the pumpkins here were gigantic, though also rather squat and oblong. Immediately, Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse exchanged a hesitant look. Now these are our largest pumpkins. Very sweet. As well as safe-free. You can't go wrong. I see. Mr. Dormouse said, stifling a yawn. He was usually asleep at this time. But, well, Mrs. Dormouse said, they're just so, well, they're misshapen. Misshapen? We were hoping for something more symmetrical, Mr. Dormouse said, and Mrs. Dormouse nodded at his diplomacy. Symmetrical, that's the word. Yvette glanced again at her wristwatch, and her face took on a pinched appearance. Well, it's all going the same place regardless of symmetry, isn't it? The same place, Mrs. Dormouse said, blanking. You are planning to eat this pumpkin. Are you not? Again, Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse burst into a little fit of laughter. Oh, we should have said. Certainly we should have. Yvette glanced again at her wristwatch and began tapping her foot. She lifted her ears as if listening for something. Well, it's funny, actually. It really is. Because we are planning to eat the inside of the pumpkin. Naturally, we wouldn't want it to go to waste. But after that, we're going to live in it. Yvette had kept a faint smile on her face until this moment, at which point she allowed it to fade. You are going to live in it? Yes, they make charming homes. For a time, Yvette immediately headed down another trail through a thicket of trees. Follow me. Oh, come along, children. When they arrived in a well-sunned, open area of the pumpkin patch covered in large, round pumpkins, Mrs. Dormouse insisted on doing a head count, much to Yvette's dismay. One. We really should. Two. Get a move on. Three. We do have limited time. Four. If I could just. Five. Six. There. All done. Mrs. Dormouse said, patting her children on the head and sending them off to play. These pumpkins. Well, they look grand. They are. Yvette exclaimed too loudly. They will do nicely. If you will just select one, it is your liking. I can help you roll it out of the patch. And as I said, we are closing soon in just a few moments in fact. But there were so many to choose from. Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse scampered through the patch, taking time to knock on the sides of the pumpkins, listening for hollowness. For a long moment, they stood appearing at three nearly identical pumpkins, all big enough to house everyone in the family plus the cousins. The Dormice had thought it would be a quick decision selecting a pumpkin, especially given they had nowhere to spend the night. But with all the options, they were almost fixed in place, incapable of choosing. They're all nice, aren't they? That one has an indentation in the side. True. We can rule it out. Meantime, Yvette was becoming increasingly fidgety. I'm so sorry, but we do need to close up for the night. But it's hardly mid-afternoon. Yes, well, we close early every Thursday because... Oh, look at this one. It's the size we need, but... How symmetrical. The color is fetching. This is the one, isn't it? Do you agree? I do. It's perfect. Unfortunately, I think... Absolutely perfect. I'm afraid we're out of time, you see. Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse swept past a worried-looking Yvette to the truly fantastic pumpkin. It was very tall and equally broad. It had a curled green stem and a lovely sheen. Its surface was spotless, no hints of mold, no scratches from passing creatures. It was so big, it would take a long time to empty and clean out. They'd have to get started straight away. Mrs. Dormouse gazed up at her new home, imagining welcoming her sister's family inside. Do come in. So sorry we've no decorations put up yet. Mr. Dormouse stared at the pumpkin and imagined what he might be able to store in it. The closets would be enormous. He could have a raft twice the size of the last one. All of this imagining took place in the span of a second as the Dormouse drew near to the giant pumpkin. But as soon as they reached out and touched the fruit's exterior, they heard a tremendous rumbling sound that grew louder each second. Yvette blushed a deep pink. As I said, we are out of time. I do think you should gather your children and run. As small rodents armed with few natural defenses, the Dormice were used to having to run away from danger at a moment's notice. And so, without understanding why, they did as they were told. They swiftly corralled their Dormouse children and scampered away from the pumpkin patch, just as a horde of human children ran into it. I didn't know they ran in herds, said Mr. Dormouse as he peeked at the rapidly unfolding scene from behind a narrow tree. A herd, Mrs. Dormouse said from her spot further behind the tree. What are they doing, Papa? Called Little Winslow from within the group of children clustered out of sight. They're taking the pumpkins. Taking the pumpkins? Are pumpkin? Are they taking hours? It was the first one they took. Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse couldn't help but allow themselves small smiles as they each silently considered the fact that the pumpkin they'd chosen had been so desirable. But after that passing spark of satisfaction, they were deflated. It was almost as if they had more of an attachment to this pumpkin they'd never even set foot inside than to the pumpkin they'd lived in for five whole days. Mrs. Dormouse craned her neck and joined her husband in watching child after child gleefully heave a massive pumpkin up from the ground and trot off with it. In the distance, a bright green tractor idled in place, hitched to it, was a long wagon with bails of dense hay lining its perimeter. Children carried their pumpkins, their arms stretched to their limits. How do they even see where they're headed? And climbed into the wagon, plopping themselves on the hay. Mama? One of the children said, tugging at Mrs. Dormouse's leg. Will there be a pumpkin left for us? I'm sure of it, dear, she said. But she was not sure of it. Not as she watched so many of the most beautiful pumpkins be picked up and hauled away. She pictured her family scrabbling at the ground, rushing to dig an underground nest in time for the cousins to arrive. The image sent a shiver through to the end of her tail. Look, they've gone, Mr. Dormouse said, and led his family out from behind the tree. Before their chaotic escape from the children, the Dormouse had not noticed the overwhelming quiet of the pumpkin farm. Now, they did. Each of their small footfalls through the grass seemed to crackle in the silence. It was late afternoon, and the sun was sinking towards the horizon. The air, so mild throughout the day, had the faintest chill, hinting of the cool autumn evening to come. The children resumed playing, officially ending the quiet. This sun-filled spot had been crowded with enormous pumpkins. Now, there were large areas of open space between the remaining pumpkins, which Mrs. Dormouse noticed were significantly less beautiful than those that had been carried away. Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse glanced around the desolate pumpkin patch, then looked at each other. Yvette, still red in the face from some combination of embarrassment and exasperation, opened her mouth to speak. But the dormice beat her to it. Any pumpkin will do. Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse shared a small chuckle. It was not uncommon for them to have the same thought at precisely the same time. Yvette sighed with relief. The family rolled their pumpkin away. Thank you, Yvette. Thank you, Miss Yvette. Next time come earlier, will you? The pumpkin did not roll easily, for it was oblong and misshapen, with two flat areas, so that instead of truly rolling, the pumpkin repeatedly turned and toppled and rested, and turned and toppled again, as the family pushed it. The hardest part was they had to push it up the hill they previously rolled down. But in doing so, with all six present children helping, they discovered the first gift of their misshapen pumpkin. It did not try to roll away from them down the slope, and when they reached the top, there was Darcy, along with the rest of the children. Oh, you're finally back. We were wondering when you'd arrive, what a magnificent pumpkin. Can we make pies, Mama? Can we please make pies? Of course, we'll make plenty of pies. Where will my bunk go? We'll figure out all of that later. It took several hours to empty the pumpkin, with all 25 dormice working past nightfall. Half were inside, scooping out its filling into buckets, and then hauling the buckets out through the open top. The rest of the family stood around the perimeter, bringing the buckets to the ground. When the work was finished, Mrs. Dormouse led a third of the children in creating makeshift outdoor stoves with little fires, and boiling great pots of pumpkin soup. Darcy took another group aside to work on making salads and sides and pies with the food they'd purchased at the market. And Mr. Dormouse led the rest of the children in helping him prepare sleeping bunks inside the pumpkin. It is amazing what a single large family can do in a single night. The cousins will be here any minute, Mrs. Dormouse said as midnight arrived, the pumpkin and the pumpkin soup and the bunks were ready. For a few minutes, everyone, Mr. Dormouse, Mrs. Dormouse, and all 23 children sat by the fire outside the pumpkin, waiting for the cousins to appear. Then the children broke off into little groups to play. A full hour passed. The cousins, despite their quirks, were punctual dormice, and as their children ran circles around their new pumpkin cottage, Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse each remembered the conversation they'd had several days earlier. They'll be here in four days at midnight. Four. I think this is a four I'm looking at, or is it a nine? Mr. and Mrs. Dormouse exchanged a knowing look and said it was a nine. Indeed, the cousins did not arrive that evening. Instead, they arrived five days later precisely at midnight. Aunt Honey Cake and Uncle Whiskerly loved the pumpkin, which by then was well lived in and decorated for autumn. We should get a pumpkin. Let's find one tomorrow. Just don't get one that's too round or you could end up in the river. Here, let me get you a raft. I have an extra one in the closet. I hope you loved the story. And if you yourself live in a pumpkin, let me know. I would love to hear about it. Little Stories for Tiny People is Written, Performed, and Produced by Me, Rhea Pector. My in-house tech director, Peter Kay, runs my website and puts my stories on the internet for all of you to enjoy. Thank you to my Little Stories premium subscribers who make it possible for me to keep sharing my stories with families around the world. Thank you to Alia and Elim for the super important reminder message at the beginning. And thank you, as always, for listening in.