Who Pooped on My Head?
by Kathleen Meyer
April 2013
April 2013
Last month’s subject of wildlife goo brought to mind my favorite-est of all children’s books, The Story of the Little Mole Who went in Search of Whodunit. Written by Werner Holzwarth and illustrated by Wolf Erlbruch, it first appeared in 1993, and has been enchanting little ones and adults alike ever since. Although it’s labeled by some as elevated bathroom humor, I prefer to call it “leavings edification,” getting to know your species by their calling cards.
Last month’s subject of wildlife goo brought to mind my favorite-est of all children’s books, The Story of the Little Mole Who went in Search of Whodunit. Written by Werner Holzwarth and illustrated by Wolf Erlbruch, it first appeared in 1993, and has been enchanting little ones and adults alike ever since. Although it’s labeled by some as elevated bathroom humor, I prefer to call it “leavings edification,” getting to know your species by their calling cards.
When, one day, Little Mole peaks out of his burrow, something—something gross—lands atop his head and causes his big smile to vanish. Because he is nearly blind from living most of his life underground, even with his glasses perched on his nose, try as he may, he can’t catch a glimpse of whodunit. Already decked out in his shiny black street shoes, he barrels off, indignant, business-like in determination, to find the culprit: the owner of the business on his head. Making the rounds of all his friends, he confronts each one, demanding, “Did you do this on my head?” But his efforts to solve the mystery go for naught at first. Everyone claims innocence and, by way of offering proof, demonstrates how their species does it differently—quite. In the end, help arrives and Little Mole unravels the puzzle, after which he manages to get his proper revenge, dishing out just desserts.
A straightforward and delightful tale with irresistible in-your-face illustrations (nothing hidden, avoided, or metaphoric), this book is more than a children’s story. It’s the perfect primer for grown-up “sensibility adjustments,” ushering adults into a comfort zone on a long sticky subject. It is, after all, the adults—something happens to us—who keep handing down a culture rife with snickers and shame.
The species in The Story of the Little Mole, however, are all barnyard. Which makes me think there’s opportunity here! Perhaps we should broaden the scope and publish our own vignettes about the various turds of wild animals.
What’s your merriest remembrance of, or most unhinged experience with, wildlife poo and what it looked like?
When, one day, Little Mole peaks out of his burrow, something—something gross—lands atop his head and causes his big smile to vanish. Because he is nearly blind from living most of his life underground, even with his glasses perched on his nose, try as he may, he can’t catch a glimpse of whodunit. Already decked out in his shiny black street shoes, he barrels off, indignant, business-like in determination, to find the culprit: the owner of the business on his head. Making the rounds of all his friends, he confronts each one, demanding, “Did you do this on my head?” But his efforts to solve the mystery go for naught at first. Everyone claims innocence and, by way of offering proof, demonstrates how their species does it differently—quite. In the end, help arrives and Little Mole unravels the puzzle, after which he manages to get his proper revenge, dishing out just desserts.
A straightforward and delightful tale with irresistible in-your-face illustrations (nothing hidden, avoided, or metaphoric), this book is more than a children’s story. It’s the perfect primer for grown-up “sensibility adjustments,” ushering adults into a comfort zone on a long sticky subject. It is, after all, the adults—something happens to us—who keep handing down a culture rife with snickers and shame.
The species in The Story of the Little Mole, however, are all barnyard. Which makes me think there’s opportunity here! Perhaps we should broaden the scope and publish our own vignettes about the various turds of wild animals.
What’s your merriest remembrance of, or most unhinged experience with, wildlife poo and what it looked like?
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Who Pooped on My Head?
by Kathleen Meyer
April 2013
April 2013
Last month’s subject of wildlife goo brought to mind my favorite-est of all children’s books, The Story of the Little Mole Who went in Search of Whodunit. Written by Werner Holzwarth and illustrated by Wolf Erlbruch, it first appeared in 1993, and has been enchanting little ones and adults alike ever since. Although it’s labeled by some as elevated bathroom humor, I prefer to call it “leavings edification,” getting to know your species by their calling cards.
Last month’s subject of wildlife goo brought to mind my favorite-est of all children’s books, The Story of the Little Mole Who went in Search of Whodunit. Written by Werner Holzwarth and illustrated by Wolf Erlbruch, it first appeared in 1993, and has been enchanting little ones and adults alike ever since. Although it’s labeled by some as elevated bathroom humor, I prefer to call it “leavings edification,” getting to know your species by their calling cards.
When, one day, Little Mole peaks out of his burrow, something—something gross—lands atop his head and causes his big smile to vanish. Because he is nearly blind from living most of his life underground, even with his glasses perched on his nose, try as he may, he can’t catch a glimpse of whodunit. Already decked out in his shiny black street shoes, he barrels off, indignant, business-like in determination, to find the culprit: the owner of the business on his head. Making the rounds of all his friends, he confronts each one, demanding, “Did you do this on my head?” But his efforts to solve the mystery go for naught at first. Everyone claims innocence and, by way of offering proof, demonstrates how their species does it differently—quite. In the end, help arrives and Little Mole unravels the puzzle, after which he manages to get his proper revenge, dishing out just desserts.
A straightforward and delightful tale with irresistible in-your-face illustrations (nothing hidden, avoided, or metaphoric), this book is more than a children’s story. It’s the perfect primer for grown-up “sensibility adjustments,” ushering adults into a comfort zone on a long sticky subject. It is, after all, the adults—something happens to us—who keep handing down a culture rife with snickers and shame.
The species in The Story of the Little Mole, however, are all barnyard. Which makes me think there’s opportunity here! Perhaps we should broaden the scope and publish our own vignettes about the various turds of wild animals.
What’s your merriest remembrance of, or most unhinged experience with, wildlife poo and what it looked like?
When, one day, Little Mole peaks out of his burrow, something—something gross—lands atop his head and causes his big smile to vanish. Because he is nearly blind from living most of his life underground, even with his glasses perched on his nose, try as he may, he can’t catch a glimpse of whodunit. Already decked out in his shiny black street shoes, he barrels off, indignant, business-like in determination, to find the culprit: the owner of the business on his head. Making the rounds of all his friends, he confronts each one, demanding, “Did you do this on my head?” But his efforts to solve the mystery go for naught at first. Everyone claims innocence and, by way of offering proof, demonstrates how their species does it differently—quite. In the end, help arrives and Little Mole unravels the puzzle, after which he manages to get his proper revenge, dishing out just desserts.
A straightforward and delightful tale with irresistible in-your-face illustrations (nothing hidden, avoided, or metaphoric), this book is more than a children’s story. It’s the perfect primer for grown-up “sensibility adjustments,” ushering adults into a comfort zone on a long sticky subject. It is, after all, the adults—something happens to us—who keep handing down a culture rife with snickers and shame.
The species in The Story of the Little Mole, however, are all barnyard. Which makes me think there’s opportunity here! Perhaps we should broaden the scope and publish our own vignettes about the various turds of wild animals.
What’s your merriest remembrance of, or most unhinged experience with, wildlife poo and what it looked like?
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© 2011 by Author Kathleen Meyer • All Rights Reserved
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© 2011 by Author Kathleen Meyer • All Rights Reserved
Web site design by RapidRiver.us