Flake the Snowman and the Carrot He Couldn't Keep

In the middle of a snowy backyard stood a snowman named Flake. He was round and plump and sparkly all over, and he was especially, extra-specially proud of his nose—a big, bright orange carrot.

“Now that,” Flake liked to say, tilting his snowy chin, “is a nose. Every snowman for miles is green with envy!”

One frosty morning, a tiny white bunny came hopping up to him. “Hello…” he squeaked, ever so softly. “Flake, have you seen… a little carrot? Even a teeny one? I'm so cold, and my tummy is so empty…”

Flake jerked his head back with a jump, as if he could tuck his nose out of sight. “A carrot? You mean… mine? Why, there isn't another like it anywhere! If I give it away, what's left of me? A snowman with no nose—nobody would even know it was me!”

The bunny let his ears droop and turned to go. But he was so tired that he plopped down right beside Flake, just to rest a moment. His little paws trembled in the cold.

Flake looked down at the bunny. Then he looked at his carrot. Then he looked out at the wide, white, empty field. “All right,” he sighed. “But don't gobble it all at once. That… is my pride, you know.”

Very carefully, the snowman lifted the carrot from his face and held it out. “Thank you!” squeaked the bunny, and he nibbled off one small, grateful bite.