Peter Rabbit and the Great Garden Heist

Peter Rabbit woke up that morning with mischief tingling in his whiskers.

Mother Rabbit straightened Peter's blue jacket and looked each of her four children in the eye.

"Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter—listen carefully. You may play in the meadow or down the lane, but stay OUT of Mr. McGregor's garden." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Your father had an accident there. He ended up... in a pie."

Peter's sisters nodded obediently. But Peter? His ears perked up. A garden so dangerous it was forbidden? That sounded exactly like the kind of place a brave rabbit should explore.

The moment Mother hopped away to the bakery, Peter's sisters scampered off to pick blackberries like good little bunnies. Peter, however, squeezed under Mr. McGregor's garden gate so fast his brass buttons nearly popped off.

Oh, what a paradise!

Fat lettuces glistened with morning dew. French beans dangled like green jewels. Radishes poked their rosy heads through dark soil. Peter's nose twitched with joy. He munched lettuce until his belly bulged. He gobbled French beans by the pawful.

He chomped radishes with such enthusiasm that juice dribbled down his chin.

Then, feeling rather stuffed, Peter went looking for parsley—Mother always said parsley helped with tummy aches.

That's when he rounded the cucumber frame and came nose-to-boot with Mr. McGregor.

"THIEF!" roared Mr. McGregor, waving his rake like a sword.

Peter's heart nearly jumped out of his jacket. He spun around and ran, his little legs pumping faster than they'd ever moved before. Mr. McGregor thundered after him, bellowing words that would make a scarecrow blush.

Peter zigged through the cabbages. He zagged past the potato patch. But where was the gate? Everything looked different when you were running for your life! His blue jacket snagged on a gooseberry net—RIIIP! Peter wriggled free, leaving his beautiful jacket behind, brass buttons and all.

He lost one shoe among the cabbages. The other flew off near the potatoes. Now he was running in just his socks, and socks are terribly slippery things.

Peter dove into a watering can to hide, forgetting it was full of freezing water.

SPLASH! He leaped out, sputtering and soaked, just as Mr. McGregor's rake whistled past his ears.

A friendly sparrow chirped from a tree, "The gate! The gate! Go left!"

But Peter was crying so hard he could barely see. His eyes stung with tears. His chest heaved. He was cold, wet, and utterly lost.

Then he spotted it—a door in the garden wall! Peter squeezed underneath, sucking in his belly (which wasn't easy after all those vegetables). His cotton tail disappeared just as Mr. McGregor's hand grabbed at empty air.

Peter didn't stop running until he reached the big fir tree outside his home. He collapsed in a heap, panting like he'd run a marathon. His mother was waiting.

She took one look at her son—soaked, shoeless, jacketless, and shivering—and asked no questions. Mother Rabbit simply wrapped Peter in a warm blanket and tucked him straight into bed.

That evening, while Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail enjoyed a delicious supper of bread, milk, and sweet blackberries, Peter got chamomile tea and a lecture.

"Some adventures," Mother said gently, stroking his damp ears, "cost more than they're worth. Your father learned that lesson too late. You, my dear Peter, are luckier."

Peter sipped his tea and thought about his beautiful blue jacket hanging in Mr. McGregor's garden, probably being used as a scarecrow's outfit by now. He thought about his lost shoes. He thought about how his sisters' blackberries smelled infinitely better than his boring chamomile tea.

Most of all, he thought about how his full belly—still aching from all those vegetables—felt less like a prize and more like a punishment.

"Mother?" Peter whispered.

"Yes, dear?"

"I think... I think blackberries might be my favorite food after all."

Mother Rabbit smiled and kissed his forehead. "Wisdom," she said, "often tastes like chamomile tea—bitter at first, but good for you in the end."

Peter Rabbit fell asleep that night, dreaming not of forbidden gardens, but of safe meadows, sweet blackberries, and adventures that didn't involve angry gardeners with rakes.