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Moose Eggs: Or, Why Moose Have Flat Antlers
Two earnest but not very well informed friends attempt to find and incubate moose eggs so that Moose can have some youngsters to raise. No surprise that they are not successful. The characters are bumbling but well-intentioned fellows who get themselves into scrapes that all work out okay in the end. This is a charmingly imaginative explanation of how Moose got his big, flat antlers; droopy nose; and wide hooves.
- GenresPicture Books
32 pages, Hardcover
First published September 25, 2007
3 people want to read
About the author
Susan Williams Beckhorn
8 books33 followersBiography
I grew up in Winchester, Massachusetts, the youngest in a family where kids, animals, and the outdoors were important. I wish every kid could have what we had: a patient old dog, woods and a pond to muck around in, a leaky wooden row boat, plenty of paper and paints and scissors and glue—and books. Mum and Dad read us Wait Till the Moon is Full, The Burgess Books, Charlotte’s Web, The Wind in the Willows, and many more.
For a while, we had a pony named Maple Sugar, but had to give her away when she went lame. It was the first big sadness in my life. When I was eleven, I got to raise an orphaned baby raccoon. Our vet gave him rabies and distemper shots, and a game warden visited and issued me a permit. Only a certified wildlife rehabilitator would be allowed to do that today. Raising Coonie—and releasing him successfully to the wild taught me about letting go and the rightful place of wild creatures.
Mostly I was happy, but I was shy, chubby and freckled, with a miserable lisp. My brothers teased me! I couldn’t say my own name: Susy. All I could manage was Thuthy. My kindergarten teacher called my mother for a conference because I held the classroom door open for my imaginary animal friends. But Mum told her it would have rude if I didn’t. My siblings will tell you I had a bit of a temper. At times, I thought our dog, Spike, was the only one who understood me. I still have a letter that I wrote to him when I was eight. He didn't write back but I knew that he was on my side.
Books were always my friends. As a tiny girl, I built forts with them around me on my bed when I was mad at the world. I read them walking to school, in the car by the light of the headlights of the car behind, under the covers with a flash light or even the light of my electric blanket control—one word at a time! I loved being sent to my room because—you guessed it—I could read in peace! I remember one stormy day when my hands, damp from wiping away tears, were stained red from the leather cover of an old edition of The Jungle Book. After a while I’d forget my troubles in the world of books. I still do.
You know what happens if you read too much? You become a writer! I quickly learned I wasn’t much good at numbers, but words were different! Sometime in elementary school, I discovered that I was pretty good at writing and drawing. I like to tell kids that their ideas are great. As proof, I can show you the original version of The Kingfisher’s Gift which started out as a seventh grade writing assignment.
Becoming a published author and illustrator wasn’t easy, but my siblings will also tell you that I have a powerful stubborn streak! That kept me going despite hundreds of rejections. Today, my husband Fred and I live in a stone house, which we built ourselves, in the wilds of western New York. We have dogs and cats, horses and chickens, and grow most of our own vegetables organically. Fred builds beautiful rustic furniture www.naturalformfurniture.com. Our two daughters are all grownup now, but I loved reading to them when they were little. Today, I roam the world watching people, birds, and animals and writing about what I see. I collect all sorts of things: ideas, rocks, seashells, antiques—and of course, books.
I grew up in Winchester, Massachusetts, the youngest in a family where kids, animals, and the outdoors were important. I wish every kid could have what we had: a patient old dog, woods and a pond to muck around in, a leaky wooden row boat, plenty of paper and paints and scissors and glue—and books. Mum and Dad read us Wait Till the Moon is Full, The Burgess Books, Charlotte’s Web, The Wind in the Willows, and many more.
For a while, we had a pony named Maple Sugar, but had to give her away when she went lame. It was the first big sadness in my life. When I was eleven, I got to raise an orphaned baby raccoon. Our vet gave him rabies and distemper shots, and a game warden visited and issued me a permit. Only a certified wildlife rehabilitator would be allowed to do that today. Raising Coonie—and releasing him successfully to the wild taught me about letting go and the rightful place of wild creatures.
Mostly I was happy, but I was shy, chubby and freckled, with a miserable lisp. My brothers teased me! I couldn’t say my own name: Susy. All I could manage was Thuthy. My kindergarten teacher called my mother for a conference because I held the classroom door open for my imaginary animal friends. But Mum told her it would have rude if I didn’t. My siblings will tell you I had a bit of a temper. At times, I thought our dog, Spike, was the only one who understood me. I still have a letter that I wrote to him when I was eight. He didn't write back but I knew that he was on my side.
Books were always my friends. As a tiny girl, I built forts with them around me on my bed when I was mad at the world. I read them walking to school, in the car by the light of the headlights of the car behind, under the covers with a flash light or even the light of my electric blanket control—one word at a time! I loved being sent to my room because—you guessed it—I could read in peace! I remember one stormy day when my hands, damp from wiping away tears, were stained red from the leather cover of an old edition of The Jungle Book. After a while I’d forget my troubles in the world of books. I still do.
You know what happens if you read too much? You become a writer! I quickly learned I wasn’t much good at numbers, but words were different! Sometime in elementary school, I discovered that I was pretty good at writing and drawing. I like to tell kids that their ideas are great. As proof, I can show you the original version of The Kingfisher’s Gift which started out as a seventh grade writing assignment.
Becoming a published author and illustrator wasn’t easy, but my siblings will also tell you that I have a powerful stubborn streak! That kept me going despite hundreds of rejections. Today, my husband Fred and I live in a stone house, which we built ourselves, in the wilds of western New York. We have dogs and cats, horses and chickens, and grow most of our own vegetables organically. Fred builds beautiful rustic furniture www.naturalformfurniture.com. Our two daughters are all grownup now, but I loved reading to them when they were little. Today, I roam the world watching people, birds, and animals and writing about what I see. I collect all sorts of things: ideas, rocks, seashells, antiques—and of course, books.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
August 10, 2016
While Brhe storyline is a bit silly with moose asking ruffed grouse how to have babies, and his carrying huge stones in his antler "nest" changing his antlers, posture, feet. However Helen Stevens illustrations are lovely and her bird egg illustrations on the inside of the front and back covers are stunning. I've had fun trying to paint some of them this afternoon. The book is a Maine Lupine Honor book.
April 18, 2020
Cute story!
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews