I was doing homework with my friend Ollie at his home when he randomly started scribbling (乱画) a fish. But not just any fish. This fish was riding a skateboard and blowing a bubble that said “I’d rather be skating!”I laughed and drew a sea star saying “Quit fooling around and get to work!”

Just then, Ollie’s grandma Abuela and her friend Mr. Goldberg came into the kitchen. Mr. Goldberg was in charge of the local animal shelter. Abuela poured their tea and inquired about how things were going at the animal shelter. Mr. Goldberg sighed, shaking his head. He explained that not enough people were adopting pets, resulting in too many animals without homes.

Overhearing the conversation, Ollie offered to adopt some excitedly. But Abuela said that one noisy parrot was plenty for this house.

“Blue isn’t noisy,” defended Ollie. “He’s just musical.”

“I’d have a whole farm full of animals if I could,” I said. “But my parents say two cats and a hamster (仓鼠) are enough.”

Mr. Goldberg said he kept trying to attract people to adopt animals, but found it hard to get people’s attention these days. Ollie drew a sad whale, and I wrote the words “Please adopt me” in the shape of a whale spout (喷水). Mr. Goldberg took a look at our drawings and made favorable comments on them, saying that these clever talking animals just might grab people’s attention. And he asked us if we were willing to design a poster for his animal shelter, a proposal we happily accepted. We decided to draw some ideas on our own and meet up again the next afternoon.

That night, when I was sitting in the living room brainstorming ideas for the poster, my little brother brought in our hamster, Mr. Nibbles, to give him a little run-around time. He made a hamster playground out of couch pillows and Mr. Nibbles began to run around merrily.

Suddenly, an idea formed in my mind.

We decided to make both Mr. Nibbles and Blue the stars of the poster.

Whenever I spread marmalade (橘子酱), I am reminded of my mother, a five-foot-tall angel who even befriended a skunk (臭鼬).

One day, while she was busy picking beans in the backyard, she came across a skunk no more than a meter away. The skunk’s embarrassment was evident as he had undoubtedly been rummaging (乱翻) through the garbage. He still had a marmalade jar stuck on his nose. Mom took pity on him. Instead of worrying the creature would spray something smelly all over her and the beans, she smiled compassionately at the little thing and extended a helping hand. Kneeling on the ground, she inched across the grass, reached out, and twisted the jar—very carefully.

The jar slipped off. The skunk nodded a thank-you before slipping away into the woods at the back of the garden. Obviously, there was no spraying incident, thanks to my remarkable mother. She repeated this tale numerous times, always calling the skunk Marmalade. However, that was not the end of the story. Three summers later, when I was about twelve, another encounter occurred.

It was a rainy morning, and both my mother and father had gone to work. My friend Rob came over to play, and we decided to run the electric train in my room. Suddenly, a scratching sound emerged from the attic (阁楼). Rob assumed that it might be some kind of animal. Curiosity got the better of us, and we ventured towards the source of the sound.

I cautiously opened the attic door in the hall. The noise ceased abruptly. I climbed up the stairs, Rob following my lead. There behind the toy box near the chimney stood the animal—black with a distinct white stripe down his back. Was he scared and trembling? I believe so, at least that’s what I remember. Instinctively, I retreated, fearing the potential spray or bites from the creature. “Hey, Rob,” I whispered urgently, “It’s a skunk. Let’s go to the kitchen and figure out a way to get him out of here.”

In the cupboard, several paper cups and a jar of marmalade caught our sight.

Rob and I followed the skunk as he ate his way down the stairs.

Dion was having a running race. This race would stretch in six stages over seven days and cover almost 155 miles. Gobi, a little she-dog happened to join him. It was their third day.

The sky was clear, the weather was warm: the ground was firm beneath Gobi’s feet. From time to time, Dion would look over at her and smile. The warmth of that smile was even brighter than the sun beating down on them, but in a good way. It filled Gobi up.

As they progressed, a broad river popped into their sight, lying right in front. Dion had no idea how deep it was, but the race markers led right across, so he had to assume he’d be able to make it across as well.

Taking a deep breath, he took a careful step into the water. It was surprisingly cold considering how warm the day was, and he sank down up to his waist, but that was it. At least the riverbed seemed solid. He could make his way across; he just had to go slowly. One wrong step and he’d get completely wet. Plus, he could hurt himself since he couldn’t see where he was putting his feet. This was going to take a while.

Gobi watched as the man jumped into the water. She wagged her tail, but he didn’t look her way. He was clearly busy concentrating. She sat down just before the water and watched. Surely, he would turn around and notice that she wasn’t with him. But several minutes passed, and he got farther and farther away. Finally, Gobi couldn’t take it any longer. She began anxiously running up and down the riverbank. Was the man going to leave her?

At the sound of her bark, Dion stopped. He always made a point of facing forward, always forward, during a race. But this time he did glance back. Gobi was sitting at the river’s edge, barking fiercely. There was no way the little dog could cross that on her own. These days, he’d fed her, given her water, and named her. He had to admit that he liked having her with him. She lifted his spirits.

Paragraph 1: Right now, listening to her barking as he left her behind nearly broke his heart.

Paragraph 2: This became tougher for Dion to cross the broad river.

There once was a stray dog (流浪狗) named Rufus who was the most amazing dog on Kumquat Street. He could hear a ladybug blowing its nose. He could see a pill bug eating a black licorice candy at midnight. Rufus could even smell a caterpillar that hadn’t washed its feet.

You would think that Rufus, being so amazing, was also happy. But he wasn’t. You see, there was one thing that kept Rufus from being adopted by his favorite human. And that was ...Rufus barked backward. Here’s what he sounded like: “Wob-wow! Wob-wow! Fra-fra-fra! Krab-krab!”

Rufus could stand being laughed at by every squirrel and cat in the neighborhood. What he couldn't stand was that his bark kept him from living with Janie Johnson.

Janie never laughed at Rufus when he barked. More than anything else, Rufus wanted to be her pet. He wanted to play catch in her yard every day and sleep at the foot of her bed each night.

But Janie’s father, Mr. Johnson, wouldn’t hear of it. “What? A dog that barks backward? Wed be the laughingstocks of Kumquat Street! we Johnsons didn't get where we are today by adopting dogs that bark backward. No, Janie. It’s out of the question.”

“I’m sorry,” Janie told Rufus one morning as they sat on her front porch. “I keep telling Daddy how great you are. He just won’t listen.”

“Krab-krab!” said Rufus.

“Yes, sometimes he is bad-tempered,” said Janie “I’ll keep trying, though. Don’t worry.”

But Rufus did worry. That evening he talked it over with his friend Bill Bulldog. “I don’t think Mr Johnson will ever like me,” Rufus said. “As long as I bark backward, he’ll never let me live in his home.”

“Have you tried treatment?” asked Bill.

Rufus said, “I’ve tried everything. Nothing helps. It’s just the way I bark.”

“You’re a great dog Roof. Anyone can see that,” said Bill. “It just takes some humans longer to figure it out, that’s all. Hey, want to go with me to Succotash Street? I’ve heard that their garbage is fantastic.”

Rufus yawned. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll take a nap.”

When Rufus woke up, it was late afternoon. As he was lying there, his sharp ears heard Mr. Johnson saying, “It’s almost suppertime. ls Janie still roller-skating? We Johnsons didn’t get where we are today by being late for supper.”

Rufus ran down Kumquat Street to look for Janie.

At the sight of Janie and Rufus, Mr. Johnson ran up.

My sister-in-law Carol said she’d already picked out a kitten for me. I agreed to go with her… just to look. I made no promise to take one home. After all, only two months had passed since I lost my beloved calico cat, Mandi. Maybe I needed to be pet-free for a while.

When we got there, three of the four kittens remained in the litter. Carol picked up one and handed it to me. The beautiful face and white fur on the right side of her nose reminded me of a clown-like mask. How could I resist? Then another kitten, with an evenly balanced white face, jumped into my lap and purred.

Driving home in my British sports car proved difficult with two mischievous kittens. One clung to my left arm and shoulder, watching the fast-moving scenery outside. The other paced back and forth from my lap to the passenger’s seat, making it hard for me to shift gears. Both mewed in a loud duet(二重奏) of protest. Of course, I hadn’t brought a cage. I had not planned to take home a kitten — or two.

The clown-like-masked female earned the name Squeakette with her tiny voice squeaking about each new discovery as she explored her new home. The male, lacking only a black tie in his formal clothes, took the name Sebastian for my favorite composer, Johann Sebastian Bach.

A few weeks later, a neighbor helped me carry down my six-foot artificial Christmas tree from the attic(阁楼). I thanked him with a batch of cookies, and then set up the tree in the comer of my living room.

Sebastian and Squeakette knocked it down before I opened the box of decorations. After setting it upright, I straightened the few bent wire branches back into place. As I checked for any other damage, a quick flash of black-and-white fur passed by me. Up they went, branch by branch. The tree danced around as the two kittens took turns climbing it together. Sebastian made it to the top a moment ahead of Squeakette.

He lunged at me from the top, paws stretched out like wings.

Sensing their interest, I found a smaller Christmas tree for them.

One spring, I was hired as groundskeeper at a Country Inn, a famous bed-and-breakfast located in Washington state. The grand house is in a beautiful place. Many famous people have visited and even had their own rooms there. The owners, Philip and Cecelia, have done a perfect job for the house. However, the gardens were very overgrown. Worse yet, there was another problem: a very persistent doe (母鹿).

Every day when I came to work, there was new evidence of the deer’s big appetite. I tried many preventives: spray, human hair, soap, you name it-but none of those things had effect. Often when I was weeding, I’d look over and there she’d be, munching some tasty pieces. Worst of all, she feasted on the roses, in which Cecelia took great pride. I became so frustrated that I named her “Dinner”— and wanted to serve her on plates.

One morning, I was on my hands and knees pulling out vines and bushes when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. There was Dinner, not five feet away, munching a large leaf and staring at me. I felt a connection with this animal. We did have something in common-we were both mothers. I got the crazy idea of communicating with her and it seemed she wanted the same thing.

What’s up? I asked in my head.

I’m here because I feel safe, was the gentle reply I felt I heard. I have my fawns (幼鹿) bedded down nearby, and there is plenty to eat. When the twins are older after summer, I will move them deeper into the forest.

I understand that, I assured her. People come here too, from far away. I guess they’ll be interested to see you. I promise that nobody will harm you or your children. I don’t mind sharing the vegetation but Cecelia loves roses, too. She is very upset when they are all eaten.

A loud crash broke the magic. Our eyes met again briefly before she leaped off across the driveway, disappearing into the forest. Has I really communicated with the deer?

I went into the kitchen where Cecelia was preparing the evening meal.

Every day, I enjoyed watching Dinner with the twins and my presence never bothered them.

Every few years, humpback whales come to the water area in San Luis Obispo, California, for a few days while migrating, which attracts hundreds of visitors and whale lovers. In November 2020, over 20 whales were around, feeding on silverfish. Each one is huge, about 15 metres long.

At that time, I lived nearby and I was always crazy about whales so I invited my friend Liz Cottriel to go out on a ship to check them out the next morning.

“No way,” Liz hesitated. She was scared of whales and sharks, and was worried that the ship would overturn while we were in it. But I told her there was nothing to worry about and we probably would have an unforgettable experience.

Convinced, Liz joined me and we set off at 8:30 the next morning. For the first half hour we didn’t see anything. Then I spotted two pairs of whales, swimming towards us at fast speed. Though it was the first time we had seen the large creatures at such a close distance, we intended not to turn around immediately we met them. Instead, we chose to wait for their approaching.

One of the whales breached (跃出水面), then went down and hit the water really hard, leaving what looks like a layer of oil and also large waves.The boat started rocking wildly. At that moment, we realized it was too close.

All of a sudden, a large group of fish started jumping out of the water into our ship. Their movement sounded like cracking glass around us. I was terrified. Then I felt our ship lifted out of the water – about two metres, we later learned. I figured the whale was going to drag us down somehow, and I had no idea how deep we’d be sucked underwater.

What I didn’t realise at the moment was that Liz and I were in the whale’s mouth.

It suddenly struck me that whales have huge mouths but tiny throats.

My story started one autumn morning, at the bend on a path.

I was 13 years old, and was on the way to school. It was the first time I had caught sight of a fox. Fascinated to the point that I forgot all fear, I dared to go up to it. I had never come so close to a wild animal. There was nobody else around, only me and the fox.

“Hey, fox!” I tried to greet it, though my voice was so weak that it felt like I was saying hello to myself. It didn’t hear me. It stayed there and I watched it. My heart was beating flat out. It was so cute. For a moment, I thought I might be able to touch it.

Throughout the day at school, I could only think of the fox at the big beech (山毛榉) tree. At my return to the place where we met, I was sure I’d find it there.

And I did. This time I gathered a little bit more courage and called out to it, “Fox!” Of course it escaped. But that only made me long to meet it again. I decided that if I could find its kennel (洞) and catch it, I would try and tame (驯服) it, making it my friend.

Thus, I spent most of my free time in the forests trying to find the fox during the following months. But I never saw it again before winter came. During the winter, I followed its footprints far across the fields. Suddenly I was alarmed by the howling of wolves near me. I ran away frightened, stumbled and hurt my ankle. It healed very slowly, so that I had to stay at home during the winter, reading a book about animals of the forest and foxes.

When spring arrived, I was free again. I looked for fox kennels and waited for my fox. To my amazement, it had got young ones but kept moving because of my observations; therefore I decided to observe the fox from a longer distance.

Finally, it would let me get close.

To my surprise, the day after I took it home, it fled.