The Dog and the Tube Jolly Phonics · Step 3, Unit 8: /ue/ mixed

Each morning I say, 'Hello, hair. What is the plan today?' My hair never says a thing back. But it has a plan, that is true. Two clips, a good brush, and whoosh! I am set for the day.

In summer, my hair goes up. Way, way up. It blocks the hot sun like a big roof. I sip my cool drink from a tube in the shade. My dog pants in his dark specs. Phew, it is hot! 'Enjoy the shade,' I tell my dog.

When the leaves drift down, we run. My hair flies out like a wave full of leaves. It fills the path. My dog pursues me, leaping over each twig in his way. But no pup can beat my hair.

In winter, I do not need a scarf. I coil my hair on my neck and chin and step out in the new snow. Warm as toast! My dog huffs and puffs in the snow. 'I would lend it,' I tell my dog, 'but there is just hair for one.'

One day, I cut it all off. Short. My new short hair is less hard, yes. But less hard is not more fun. My dog blinks at me as if to ask, 'Where did it go?' Now I must wait, birthday to birthday, till it grows back.

In time, it grows back. I lie down flat in the dewy grass and let my hair fan out like a rug. I shut my lids. Little bugs creep up my arms to say hello. My dog curls up by my side. 'We are back,' I say.

On dress-up day, I do a new thing with my hair. A box shape. Yes, a box shape! Pink and green clips go all over it. My dog gazes up at me and blinks. He has never seen hair like this. 'It is art,' I tell my dog. He just sniffs.

My hair is a tool kit too. When I make art, I tuck each pen and wax stick into my curls. Need the blue pen? Grab it from the left. Need pink? Check the back. Then my dog pokes out from my curls. He was in there all this time, and I did not have a clue!

My mom says my hair looks like a bird nest. So I think, what if it was one? A bluebird could nest right on top. My dog could perch up there too, happy as can be. A bird home that can walk! Mom does not say no. She just steps away, step by step.

When the wind blows, my hair flies out like a big flag. All who pass stop and gaze. My dog and I lean into the gust, side by side, as if we rule the street. And guess what? We do.

At bedtime, my mom sits me down and brushes out each twist. She adds bands, pins, and bows in blue and green, and hums a sweet tune. My dog sneaks in and hides in my curls. Then he peeks out. He wants a bow too. Mom gives my dog a bow. She does this each night.

Will I ever cut my hair short? No way! Long hair makes each day feel like my birthday. A rose or two tucks into my curls, as if it grew there. I think even the plants wish they had hair like this. And that is true.