The Golden Guitar

Little Squirrel woke up that morning and knew immediately — today was special. His birthday! He stretched his paws and tumbled out of bed, his tail already twitching with excitement.

"What do you think I'll get?" he whispered to himself, though he was really hoping his mother might overhear.

By afternoon, woodland friends had gathered in the clearing beneath the old oak tree. Chipmunk brought acorns she'd painted with berry juice — red and purple swirls that looked like tiny sunsets. The rabbits hopped forward with a pouch of the sweetest clover seeds. Old Owl had carved a small wooden bird that could perch on a twig, and Little Squirrel loved how its wings seemed ready to fly.

But then Mother Squirrel brought out her gift, wrapped in a broad leaf tied with grass. Little Squirrel's paws trembled as he unwrapped it.

A guitar. Tiny and perfect, made from golden wood that caught the light.

"Oh!" was all he could say.

Uncle Badger, who'd been munching cake in the corner, lumbered over with a smile. "Well now," he rumbled, "looks like someone needs lessons." His own guitar was strapped across his back, worn smooth from years of playing. "Come to my burrow twice a week, young squirrel. I'll teach you everything I know."

Little Squirrel hugged the guitar close, his heart drumming faster than any song he'd ever heard. He had no idea yet what learning to play would really mean.