The Fox Who Couldn’t Stop Singing
- LettersLetter
- Apr 5
- 5 min read
In the middle of Whispering Woods, under the roots of a tall oak tree, lived a fox named Rascal.
Rascal was proud of many things.
He was proud of his fluffy tail. He was proud of his bright orange fur. But most of all, Rascal was proud of being the sneakiest fox in the whole forest.
Sneaking was very important to Rascal.
When he walked, he walked quietly.
When he hunted, he crept slowly.
When he jumped, he landed without making a sound.
“Being quiet,” Rascal liked to say, “is the secret to being a great fox.”
One calm morning, Rascal stretched inside his cozy den. A thin beam of sunlight slipped through the leaves above.
Rascal yawned a big fox yawn.
But instead of a yawn coming out…
“Tra-la-la-la-laaa!”
Rascal froze.
He blinked.
“Did I just… sing?” he whispered.
He tried clearing his throat.
“Doo-dee-doo!”
Rascal clapped his paws over his mouth.
“Oh no,” he said softly.
But the moment he removed his paws—
“Tra-la-la-laaa!”
Rascal groaned.
“This is terrible,” he muttered. “Foxes are not supposed to sing. Foxes are supposed to be sneaky!”
Still humming against his will, Rascal stepped out of his den and crept toward the berry bushes nearby.
The berries were big and purple and juicy.
Perfect breakfast.
Rascal lowered his body to the ground and began creeping forward.
One slow step…
Another slow step…
He was almost close enough to grab a berry when suddenly—
“LA-LA-LAAAA!”
Every bird in the berry bush exploded into the air.
Flap! Flap! Flap!
The birds swooped down and gobbled up the berries before Rascal could even blink.
Rascal stared at the empty bush.
“Oh come on!” he cried.
Then, without meaning to—
“Tra-la-la-la!”
From a nearby log came a loud splash of laughter.
Benny the Beaver had been watching the whole thing.
Benny wiped tears from his eyes. “Rascal,” he chuckled, “that was the loudest sneaking I’ve ever seen.”
Rascal puffed up his fur. “It wasn’t my fault! I can’t stop singing!”
Benny snorted. “A singing fox. That’s a new one.”
Rascal huffed and marched away, humming miserably.
“Doo-dee-doo…”
“If berries won’t work,” Rascal muttered, “I’ll catch fish.”
Soon, he reached the quiet river where shiny fish darted through the water.
Rascal crouched low beside the riverbank.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “No singing.”
He carefully dipped one paw into the water.
The fish swam closer.
Rascal held his breath.
Just as he was about to swipe—
“TRA-LA-LAAAA!”
SPLASH!
Every fish shot away like silver arrows.
Water splashed all over Rascal’s face.
Benny the Beaver popped up from the river again, still laughing.
“You scared the fish halfway to the ocean!” Benny said.
Rascal groaned and flopped onto the grass.
“This singing is ruining everything!”
Just then, a small nose peeked out from a bush.
It was Pip the Rabbit.
Pip twitched his whiskers nervously.
“Um… Rascal?” Pip said. “Why do you keep shouting songs?”
“I’m not trying to!” Rascal cried.
Right on cue—
“La-la-laaa!”
Pip jumped three feet in the air.
“Oh dear! It’s happening again!”
Rascal buried his face in his paws.
“This is the worst day ever.”
He stood up suddenly.
“I know! I’ll just stop the sound.”
Rascal stuffed a big pawful of moss into his mouth.
For a moment, it worked.
Then—
“Mmm-tra-la-mmm!”
The moss puffed right out.
Pip blinked.
“That didn’t work.”
Rascal grabbed a long scarf that someone had dropped near the river.
He wrapped it tightly around his mouth.
“Now let’s see singing escape this!” Rascal said confidently.
But soon a muffled tune floated out.
“Mmm-la-la-laaa…”
Pip giggled.
Rascal sighed.
“Maybe if I sing underwater.”
He marched straight into the river and dunked his head beneath the surface.
Bubbles rose to the top.
“Blub-blub-la-la!”
Rascal lifted his head, dripping wet.
Benny the Beaver was now rolling on his back, laughing.
“This is the best day I’ve had all year!”
Rascal stomped out of the river.
“If I can’t catch berries or fish,” he muttered, “I’ll sneak into the farmer’s chicken coop.”
Now that required real sneaking.
Rascal crept across the tall grass toward the wooden coop near the farmer’s barn.
Inside the fence, chickens clucked quietly.
Rascal crouched low.
Step…
Step…
He was almost at the gate when—
“LA-LA-LAAAA!”
The chickens erupted into chaos.
“Squawk! Squawk!”
Clara the Chicken flapped onto the fence.
“FOX!” she screamed.
The rooster crowed.
“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOO!”
The farmer’s door banged open.
Rascal didn’t wait.
He ran.
Fast.
“Tra-la-la-laaa!” he sang helplessly while sprinting through the grass.
The farmer waved his hat and shouted, but Rascal disappeared back into the forest.
When he finally stopped running, he collapsed under a tree.
Pip the Rabbit and Benny the Beaver soon caught up.
Pip tilted his head.
“You know,” Pip said slowly, “your singing is actually kind of… nice.”
Rascal blinked.
“Nice?”
Benny nodded.
“It’s funny. I like it.”
Rascal sat up.
“But it ruins my sneaking!”
Just then, a soft voice drifted down from the branches above.
“Perhaps sneaking isn’t the only way to live.”
Old Owl sat on a branch, blinking wisely.
Rascal looked up.
“But I’m a fox!”
Old Owl nodded calmly.
“And yet you are also a fox who sings.”
Rascal opened his mouth to argue.
Instead—
“Tra-la-la!”
Pip began humming along.
“Hmm-hmm-hmm!”
Soon, the little clearing filled with cheerful sounds.
Birds fluttered down from the trees.
Even the wind seemed to whistle through the leaves.
Rascal blinked in surprise.
The animals weren’t running away.
They were smiling.
“Your singing makes the forest feel lively,” Old Owl said.
Rascal looked around.
The rabbit was dancing in tiny hops.
The birds chirped along with the tune.
Even Benny swayed side to side.
Rascal felt something warm inside his chest.
Maybe singing wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.
He stood tall and sang louder.
“Tra-la-la!A singing fox is what I’ll be! The forest sings along with me!”
The animals clapped and laughed.
As the sun slowly sank behind the trees, the forest grew calm again.
Rascal lay down in the soft grass, humming gently.
“Doo-dee-doo…”
Pip curled beside him.
Benny floated lazily in the nearby river.
Old Owl watched the quiet woods.
And as the stars began to twinkle above Whispering Woods, Rascal softly sang one last sleepy song.
“Tra… la… la…”
The forest listened.
And little by little, the woods grew peaceful and still. 🦊🎶
The LettersLetter "Free Bedtime Stories Club" Team
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