Free Zooman Sam by Lois Lowry

she was going to go to the piano and start the music for the firemen song. But she didn't. She had a book in her hand, and the children became quiet, the way they always did at story time.
    "This is a nice one," Mrs. Bennett said, holding up the book, "and it fits right in with Sam's hats because it's about a particular bird. Who can guess what bird?" She held the front of the book so that all of the children could see the cover.
    "Owls!" All of the children, including Sam, recognized the book.
    "That's right. This book is called
Owl Babies.
"
    All of the children got into their listening-to-a-story positions. Three of them—Tucker, Will, and Jessie—put their thumbs into their
mouths. Eli and Becky curled up in Big Ben's lap. Leah twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. Josh reached into his pocket and took out the small square of faded wool that he always carried there; it was the last piece of his security blanket, and he held it in his hand during quiet times.

    Sam had a listening-to-a-story position, too. He liked to sit with his legs crossed, leaning his head on the big red floor pillow, which was very squishy and soft, with his hands in his pockets feeling the little fuzz that accumulated there.
    But a zooman couldn't do any of that, Sam realized. When you were wearing six hats, you couldn't lean anywhere. You had to hold your head very straight. And a zooman coverall had no pockets.
    Glumly, Sam sat down on a chair, his posture like a soldier, his chin up so that his head was straight and his tower of hats didn't wobble. He poked at a splotch of egg yolk on the knee of his zooman suit. He listened to the story of the owl babies. The littlest owl baby cried a lot in the story, and felt miserable and wanted his mother. Sam felt a little the same way.
    He tried to think about an aviary, and how important he would be, the zooman entering the
giant cage wearing his special clothing and carrying special food for all the different kinds of birds, who would be swooping and fluttering and soaring above his head, and—

    Oh,
no.
Sam had a terrible thought. He could hear Mrs. Bennett's voice, reading the gentle story of the baby owls in their nest, and he heard her read about the sound of the mother owl's huge wings as she came flying down to care for them. But all Sam could think about was bird poop: how it would come raining down on top of him in an aviary; and even if he was wearing his special hat—or
six
hats, even—he would still be pelted with it, and it would be a million, trillion times worse than a little egg yolk on one knee.
    Not for the first time, Sam wished that he had chosen to be a firefighter with all the other boys, instead of a zookeeper, all alone.

16

    "Sam, you don't really need to wear all your hats here at home, do you?" his mom asked. "Why don't you take them off for lunch, at least?"
    Sam thought about that and decided it would be okay. His head had begun to feel a little weighted from the six hats, and it felt good to put them back into the plastic bag that he now kept in the back hall beside the kitchen.
    "I like seeing your hair," his mother told him, and she ran her fingers through it. Then she asked, "You hungry? I fixed some..." She hesitated and looked around. Sleuth was in his usual spot in the corner of the kitchen.
    Sam could smell what she had prepared for lunch, and he knew it would be safe to say it. "Hot dogs," he announced.

    Sleuth opened his eyes, looked up, glanced at Sam, appeared to think for a moment, and to make a decision, and then put his head back down.
    "That's absolutely amazing, Sam. In just a week, you and Steve have that dog's behavior under control. What a great animal trainer you are!"
    "We haven't finished, though," Sam warned her. "There are some casseroles we haven't done yet. And some desserts."
    "Okay, I'll be careful what I say. But here you are: a hot dog." His mom put the plate in front of him. "And after lunch, shall we go to the