Um, yes, I have heard of rabies....

Stellaluna
by Janell Cannon
1993, Harcourt Children's Books
Paperback by Scholastic

I missed storytime three nights in a row, thanks to a business trip to the East Coast, then returned home to a heatwave that left the house unbearable.

So Rosie and I spent this evening out back in the kiddie pool -- she immersed in the hose-cold water that she happily poured from cup to bucket; me dipping my feet from the edge of a lounge chair, sipping chilled chardonnay and making up for lost time admiring my daughter: her small hands, the lovely curve of her neck.

To absolve for my recent absence, I allowed for extra bedtime reading, and didn't protest when Rosie added "Stellaluna" to tonight's book pile. I knew her focus would drift during its 46 pages -- to lock in on this one, she'll need to be either a little older or a lot less sleepy.

Still, Rosie enjoys repeating the title, and the story fit my own mood. I can't help feeling a protective surge on behalf of the vulnerable heroine, an earnest baby bat who struggles to fit in with a nest of birds.

And I relate fiercely to her mother's devotion:

"In a warm and sultry forest far, far away, there once lived
a mother fruit bat and her new baby.

Oh, how Mother Bat loved her soft tiny baby. "I'll
name you Stellaluna," she crooned.

Each night, Mother Bat would carry Stellaluna
clutched to her breast as she flew out in search for food....

To each (bull) his own

Ferdinand
By Munro Leaf, drawings by Robert Lawson
1936, Viking Juvenile
Paperback editions by Puffin Books

Great children's stories enjoy a remarkable shelf life. And the very best become immortal, permanent fixtures that lurk in our collective unconscious, awaiting the joy of rediscovery when we become parents.

"Ferdinand" is one of those.

Before my daughter was born, a stranger mentioned the story in passing -- I can't remember why, or where. Still, her comment made me want to revisit this old friend, and I wound up reading the whole thing on the bookstore floor, delighted anew.

Some months later I bought a copy for a friend's daughter. And when I saw a used paperback edition on clearance at a local bookshop last year, I snatched it up, even though my own progeny could not yet be trusted in arm's reach of anything less sturdy than a board book.

At 2, she is finally old enough to enjoy "Ferdinand." The larger lessons -- diversity, pacifism, a mother's wisdom -- escape her, and may take years to sink in. In the meantime, she'll simply enjoy the story of a gentle bull's insistence on doing what he enjoys best, smelling flowers in the shade of a cork tree.

A final note: At 66 pages, this book at first heft might seem the kind that makes you groan when tiny hands press it into yours at bedtime. Be not afraid: The test is well-aired among the spare pen and ink drawings, and reciting is through in no time at all.

Well if you were a bumble
bee and a bull sat on you what
would you do? You would
sting him. And that is just what
this bee did to Ferdinand...