Carolyn Beck
After winning a prize for her story “Petulia, the Petunia,” in grade three, Carolyn Beck knew she wanted to write, but it wasn’t until she grew up and had a family of her own that she truly pursued this career path. Previous titles include The Waiting Dog, Buttercup’s Lovely Day, Richard Was a Picker, and Wellington’s Rainy Day. She lives in Toronto, Ontario.

I love this day,
the grass at my knees,
the buzz of the bees,
the fluzz of the flies,
switching my tail
and making pies.
It is so, so fine
to be bovine
to be a cow
right here
right now.

I love this day,
the grass at my knees,
the buzz of the bees,
the fluzz of the flies,
switching my tail
and making pies.
It is so, so fine
to be bovine
to be a cow
right here
right now.





Shoulders, chest, knees and toes—
the rest of Richard slid up his nose.
Richard was in
his half-picked snout,
which was completely inside out.
He looked like a booger,
a big gloopy blob,
an ooey, gluey, goobery glob.

Shoulders, chest, knees and toes—
the rest of Richard slid up his nose.
Richard was in
his half-picked snout,
which was completely inside out.
He looked like a booger,
a big gloopy blob,
an ooey, gluey, goobery glob.

Shoulders, chest, knees and toes—
the rest of Richard slid up his nose.
Richard was in
his half-picked snout,
which was completely inside out.
He looked like a booger,
a big gloopy blob,
an ooey, gluey, goobery glob.

Shoulders, chest, knees and toes—
the rest of Richard slid up his nose.
Richard was in
his half-picked snout,
which was completely inside out.
He looked like a booger,
a big gloopy blob,
an ooey, gluey, goobery glob.

Spark Your Imagination Picture Book Bundle
illustrated by Pierre Pratt; Ninon Pelletier; Gabrielle Grimard; Isabelle Malenfant; Dean Griffiths & Ben Hodson

Wellington Wallaby Withers was most disgruntled.
Curled in his basket by the hearth, he groaned, "Fire's out, Master Horace. Can't bake my back."
Master Horace was asleep in his chair. Sn-ooo-re.
The maddening smell of freshly made meatloaf hung about the house. "But my bowl," Wellington said, "is empty." And, oh, how his nose smarted! Honey, that sour sneak of a cat, had swatted him again.