Barnaby tripped over his enormous, dragging wool and tumbled face-first into the purple wildflowers. A sharp snip-snip-snip echoed across the meadow. He scrambled quickly behind a large oak tree. "I don't want a haircut," he whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
A tall heron wearing a striped bow tie stepped out from behind a wooden stump. He held a pair of shiny silver scissors in one wing. The bird kneeled in the tall grass and gently set the scissors on the dirt. "My name is Mr. Beaks, and I promise we will do only one tiny snip," he hummed in a low voice.
Barnaby peeked around the tree and took one tiny, shaking step toward the stump. Mr. Beaks picked up the scissors and made a soft click-clack in the empty air, far away from Barnaby's wool. "That is the sound of a happy cricket," the heron murmured, pointing the shining metal at the sky.
Barnaby climbed onto the wooden stump, pressing his hooves tightly together. The cool metal bumped the very ends of his fluff. Snip, tickle, snip! Barnaby let out a sudden giggle as a tuft of white wool floated away, and he leaned in to catch the next tickle.
Snip-snip-snip-SNIP! A massive avalanche of wool slid right off his back, landing perfectly on the grass with a giant, pillowy whoosh. Barnaby stared down at his surprisingly skinny legs and gasped. Mr. Beaks clapped his wings, tossing handfuls of the extra sheared wool into the air like snowy confetti.
Barnaby jumped down from the stump, bouncing twice as high as he ever could before. He pranced through the meadow, feeling the warm sunshine fully on his bare back for the very first time. "I'm ready for another cricket-snip!" he cheered, doing a joyful little spin among the flowers.