The Bull Who Loved Baseball

Max sighed, dropping his **baseball** glove onto the grass. Another afternoon of practicing alone. He lived on a farm where the only other kids were miles away, and his older brother was too busy with high school stuff to play.

Under the swaying **palm** tree that grew mysteriously in the middle of their Iowa farm, Max had practiced his pitching every day since spring began. The palm tree was strange—his dad said it had appeared the night Max was born, as if planted by magic.

"I wish I had a **friend** to play with," Max whispered, tracing a pattern in the dirt with his shoe.

The palm leaves rustled, even though there was no wind. Suddenly, a deep, warm voice rumbled, "I'll play with you."

Max spun around. Behind him stood Barnaby—the farm's massive **bull**, who usually spent his days sleeping in the pasture. Barnaby blinked his kind brown eyes and nodded his massive head toward the glove.

"You... you want to play baseball?" Max asked, his eyes wide.

"I've been watching you," Barnaby said gently. "Your form is excellent, but you need someone who can actually hit the ball."

Max laughed with delight and tossed Barnaby the glove. The bull squeezed it onto his hoof with surprising grace. Max pitched—*whoosh*—and Barnaby swung with his nose. *CRACK!* The ball sailed over the fence, over the barn, and into the sunset.

"Again!" cheered Max, and they played until stars filled the sky.

Barnaby became Max's secret friend. Every afternoon under the magical palm tree, the boy who thought he was alone and the bull who had waited years for someone to see him played the most wonderful baseball in the world.

Max learned that friends come in all shapes and sizes, and sometimes the best ones have been waiting right beside you all along—just hoping you'll ask them to play.