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🩵 Gus and the Blue Ball 🩵
In the heart of a lively zoo not far from New Orleans lived a strong, serious-looking gorilla named Gus. Gus was big, Gus was tough, and everyone knew one important rule:
Don’t mess with Gus’s blue ball.
The blue ball wasn’t just any toy.
It was perfectly round, perfectly squishy, and perfectly bounceable.
It was the brightest shade of blue—like the sky on a perfect summer day.
And Gus loved it.
He carried it everywhere.
He rolled it across the grass.
He bounced it against the rocks.
He sat on it like a throne.
And sometimes, when nobody was watching, he hugged it tight and closed his eyes with a content little smile.
The other gorillas had toys too—ropes, barrels, swings—but none were as special as Gus’s blue ball. And everyone respected the rule.
Well… almost everyone.
One sunny afternoon, a mischievous young gorilla named Pickles spotted Gus taking a nap under a shady tree, his blue ball tucked safely in his arms. Pickles’ eyes sparkled with curiosity.
I wonder what’s so great about that ball, he thought.
Maybe I’ll just take a tiny peek…
He tiptoed over on quiet toes, veeery slowly reached out a hand, and gently tapped the blue ball with one finger.
Nothing happened.
Pickles tapped again.
Still nothing.
So Pickles gave the ball a tiny tug—
RRROOOARRR!
Gus woke up with a roar that shook the tree branches and sent birds flying into the sky. He clutched the ball tight against his chest and glared.
“NO TOUCH!” he bellowed.
Pickles squeaked and darted behind a log, trembling.
Gus held the ball close, heart pounding. He didn’t want to be mean. He just loved his ball so much that the thought of losing it felt like losing a piece of himself.
After a long moment, Gus looked at Pickles’ frightened face peeking out from behind the log… and felt a twinge of guilt.
Maybe Pickles wasn’t trying to steal his treasure.
Maybe he just wanted to play.
Gus took a deep breath, patted the ball gently, and walked over.
“Mine,” he said slowly, “but we can play together.”
Pickles blinked. “Really?”
Gus nodded once. Then he bounced the ball lightly to Pickles.
Pickles caught it—barely—and bounced it back.
They laughed. They rolled. They chased it across the whole yard until both were breathless and giggling.
The zookeepers watching from afar exchanged smiles.
The visitors cheered.
And Gus realized something important:
Sharing didn’t mean losing the thing he loved.
It meant gaining something even better—that warm feeling of playing with a friend.
From that day on, Gus still loved his blue ball more than anything…
but now his favorite thing in the world wasn’t just the ball—
It was playing with Pickles.
And there remained one rule, written on a sign outside the enclosure:
