About the Author

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.

Books by this Author
Buttercup's Lovely Day

Buttercup's Lovely Day

by Carolyn Beck
illustrated by Andrea Beck
edition:Hardcover
also available: Paperback Paperback eBook
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Excerpt

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.

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Dog Breath

Dog Breath

by Carolyn Beck
illustrated by Kerrigan Brooke
edition:eBook
also available: Hardcover
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One Hungry Heron

One Hungry Heron

by Carolyn Beck
illustrated by Karen Patkau
edition:eBook
also available: Hardcover
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Richard Was a Picker

Richard Was a Picker

by Carolyn Beck
illustrated by Ben Hodson
edition:Hardcover
also available: eBook
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Excerpt

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.

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Richard was a Picker

Richard was a Picker

by Carolyn Beck
illustrated by Ben Hodson
edition:eBook
also available: Hardcover
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Waiting Dog, The

by Carolyn Beck
illustrated by Andrea Beck
edition:Hardcover
tagged :
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Wellington's Rainy Day

Wellington's Rainy Day

by Carolyn Beck
illustrated by Brooke Kerrigan
edition:Hardcover
also available: eBook
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Excerpt

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.

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