The morning sun cast a golden glow over the rolling pastures of Willow Creek Farm. Birds chirped their morning songs, and the scent of fresh hay filled the crisp air. But inside the old red barn, trouble was brewing—or rather, munching.
Big Sam, the farm’s beloved Clydesdale, had already enjoyed his morning grain and hay. But as any true food lover knows, one breakfast is never enough. And so, when Farmer Bill had left the barn door slightly ajar while tending to the chickens, Big Sam saw his opportunity.
With a careful nudge of his massive head, he pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through. His heavy hooves made soft thuds on the wooden floor as he made his way to the feed bins. With the precision of a seasoned sneak, he used his lips to unlatch the grain storage and began feasting on the sweet oats meant to last the week.
The rustling and snuffling didn’t go unnoticed for long. Daisy, the farm’s border collie and self-appointed barn manager, poked her head around the corner, her sharp eyes widening at the sight. With an indignant bark, she took off toward the farmhouse.
Farmer Bill was just about to sip his coffee when he heard Daisy’s urgent woofing. “Oh no,” he muttered, setting his mug down. He knew that bark. He hurried to the barn, his boots crunching against the gravel.
Sure enough, there stood Big Sam, his head buried deep in the grain bin, his ears flicking in satisfaction. At the sound of the farmer’s exasperated sigh, Sam slowly lifted his head, his large brown eyes full of guilt—and oats. The evidence of his crime was written all over his face, from the stray bits of grain on his muzzle to the contented swish of his tail.
“Sam,” Farmer Bill said, crossing his arms. “Again?”
The Clydesdale blinked, then gave his best attempt at an innocent expression, which wasn’t easy with his mouth still full. He gave a soft whinny as if to say, “Well, it was just sitting there.”
Farmer Bill shook his head. “That grain was supposed to last a week, you big mooch. What am I gonna do with you?”
Sam took a slow step back, sensing the impending lecture. Unfortunately, his hefty frame knocked over a bucket, sending it clattering to the floor. Daisy yipped in protest, and Sam, knowing he was truly caught this time, gave a big, dramatic sigh.
“You’re lucky you’re too big to stay mad at,” Farmer Bill finally said, reaching up to pat Sam’s massive shoulder. “But you’re gonna have to work off those extra oats.”
And so, for the rest of the day, Sam found himself put to work—pulling a few extra hay bales, helping with the fence repairs, and generally earning back his second breakfast.
But as the sun set over Willow Creek Farm, Sam stood in his stall, chewing his hay contentedly. Because deep down, he knew he’d try again. And maybe, just maybe, next time he wouldn’t get caught.
