Oral Interpetation Speech
I'm going to be interpreting a picture book for my public speaking course, so I'm typing up the words from a book so I don't have to use the book itself. Problem is, I can't choose between two books.
"Botts the Naughty Otter" by Don Freeman
Every day was a holiday for the fun-loving otter family who lived on the sunny side of Waldo Pond. By far the funniest and friskiest otter of them all was Botts. Up the snowy hill, little Botts would dash and down into the icy water he would slide and splash!
One morning Botts decided to swim over to the far side of the pond where the beaver family lived. He knew very well that otters ought not to bother busy beavers. This is one of the first things otters are taught.
When Botts popped his head out of the water, there was Papa Beaver busily gnawing on a cottonwood tree while the rest of the family was hard at work helping mend a dam. Some were carrying twigs and branches and others were scurrying back and forth with pawfuls of mud for cement. They never seemed to stop even for a minute.
After watching for quite some time, Botts climbed ashore and said, "Don't you beavers ever have any fun?"
Papa Beaver didn't answer. He just kept on gnawing.
All at once the cottonwood tree began to topple. "TIMBER!" cried Papa Beaver.
The beavers held their breath as they watched the tree start to fall. It was falling straight towards Botts who was balancing a snowball on his nose!
Down came the tree with a thunderous thud!
Quick as a wink Botts had jumped aside. The snowball still twirled on the end of his stubby nose. Never in their lives had the beavers seen such a clever trick. They clapped their paws and flapped their tails.
Papa Beaver only grunted. "Now all you kits get back to work. We have to finish mending our dam before the spring thaw comes."
Botts kept on having fun putting on a show. He scampered up the nearby hillside and came gliding right back down again. He turned a fancy somersault before landing in the water. "It's too bad you beavers don't know how to play. We otters play all sorts of games," Botts said to the busy little beavers.
"Balderdash!" snorted Papa Beaver. "Come, my kits, it's time we showed this frisky-whistered fellow how we play follow-the-leader."
The little beavers flipped their flappers gaily. They dropped their twigs and branches and eagerly followed their father up the steep hill. Botts stood on a mound in the middle of the pond and watched until the beavers were nothing but tiny dots in the snow.
Over the other side of the hill the beavers tried to slip and slide the way otters do. But their fur was so thick they could only roll and tumble in the snow.
Meanwhile, Botts curled up and waited for them to come back. But while he waited the water in Waldo Pond gradually began to rise. And it rose, and it rose until it came all the way up to his nose!
Then Botts heard a terrible crackling sound like branches snapping.
Up he jumped and beheld an awful sight! The beavers' dam was breaking!
Botts knew there was only one thing for him to do. He swam over to the shore faster than he had ever swum before. He gathered up the branches and armfuls of twigs and ran across the top of the rickety dam where he stuck each stick into place just as he had seen the beavers do.
Back and forth he ran. No beaver had ever been busier than Botts!
If only he hadn't tripped and slipped down between the loose twigs and branches right where the water was rushing out!
Poor Botts was caught. He could not budge in all that mud and sludge.
While he tried to wriggle himself loose, all sorts and sizes of sticks and logs kept floating down the pond and piling up around him until finally the dam grew so high and so very strong there was no longer any place for any water to flow through.
Just then the beavers appeared on the crest of the hill. They were covered with snow and they were all tuckered out. "Why, look there!" panted Papa Beaver. "Someone has saved our dam while we've been away!"
"It's that naughty otter!" shouted the little beavers. "He's caught!"
Down the hillside the scrambled and, without waiting to be told, they tugged and pulled and they yanked Botts out!
When Botts stood up on top of the dam and saw what he had done, he said, "Work can be fun, but it's not for us otters."
Then Papa Beaver said, "Well, we've learned something too. Fun can be work, but it certainly is not for us beavers. We thank you, though, for saving our dam."
And the beavers all clapped their paws and slapped their tails as Botts dived into the water with an extra flip-flop. Back home he swam. And from then on he was only too glad to stay on his side of the pond, slipping and sliding in the bright moonlight, just as all good otters ought.
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"Pumpkin Soup" by Helen Cooper
Deep in the woods there's an old white cabin with pumpkins in the garden. There's a good smell of soup, and at night, with luck, you might see a bagpiping Cat through the window, and a Squirrel with a banjo, and a small singing Duck.
Pumpkin Soup. The best you ever tasted. Made by the Cat who slices up the pumpkin. Made by the Squirrel who stirs in the water. Made by the Duck who scoops up a pipkin of salt, and tips in just enough.
They slurp their soup, and play their song, then pop off to bed, in a quilt stitched together by the Cat, embroidered by the Squirrel, and filled with fine feathers from the Duck. And it's peaceful in the old white cabin. Everyone has his own job to do. Everyone is happy. Or so it seems...
But one morning the Duck woke up early. He tiptoed into the kitchen and smiled at the Squirrel's special spoon. "Wouldn't it be fine," he murmured, "if I could be the Head Cook."
He drew up a stool, hopped on top, and reached...
...until his beak just touched the tip of the spoon...
KER-PLONK!
Down it clattered.
Then the Duck trotted back to the bedroom, held up the spoon, and said, "Today it's my turn to stir the soup."
"That's mine squeaked the Squirrel. "Stirring is my job. Give that back!"
"You're much too small," snapped the Cat. "We'll cook the way we always have."
But the Duck held on tight...
...until the Squirrel tugged with all his might...
and--WHOOPS!--
the spoon spun through the air, and bopped the Cat on the head.
There was trouble, a horrible squabble, a row, a racket, a rumpus in the old white cabin.
"I'm not staying here," wailed the Duck. "You'll never let me help with anything."
And he packed up in a wheelbarrow, put on his hat, and waddled away.
"You'll be back," stormed the Cat, "after we've cleaned up." And the Squirrel shook his spoon in the air.
But the Duck didn't come back.
Not for breakfast.
Not even for lunch.
"I'll find him," scoffed the Cat. "He'll be hiding outside. I bet he's in the pumpkin patch."
But the Duck was not in the pumpkin patch. They could not find him anywhere.
So they waited...
All that long afternoon...
The Cat watched the door. The Squirrel paced the floor.
"That Duck will be sorry when he comes home," they muttered.
But the Duck didn't come home. Not even at soup time.
The soup wasn't tasty. They'd made it too salty. They didn't feel hungry anyway. They both sobbed over supper, and their tears dripped into the soup and made it even saltier.
"We should have let him stir the soup," sniffled the Squirrel.
"He was only trying to help," wept the Cat. "Let's go out and look for him."
The Cat and the Squirrel were scared as they wandered down the path in the dark, dark woods.
They feared for the Duck, all alone with the trees,
and the foxes,
and the wolves,
and the witches,
and the bears.
But they couldn't find him.
On and on they trudged until they reached the edge of a steep, steep cliff.
"Maybe he fell down that!" wailed the Cat.
"I'll save him!" squeaked the Squirrel, and he scrambled down on a long, shaky rope. He searched all around on the ground. But he couldn't find the Duck.
Then the Cat whispered in a sad little voice, "Duck might have found some better friends."
"He might," sighed the Squirrel. "Friends who let him help."
And the more they thought about it as they plodded back, the more they were sure they were right.
But when they were almost home, they saw light shining from the old white cabin.
"It's Duck!" they shrieked as they burst through the door.
And the Duck was so happy to see them!
He was also very hungry, and though it was late, they thought they would all make...
...some Pumpkin Soup!
When the Duck stirred, the Cat and the Squirrel didn't say a word. Not even when the Duck stirred the soup so fast that it slopped right out of the pot. Not even when the pot got burnt.
Then the Duck showed the Squirrel how to measure out the salt. And the soup was still the best you had ever tasted. So once again, it was peaceful in the old white cabin.
Until the Duck said...
"I think I'll play the bagpipes now."