Pippin was a cheerful little piglet who absolutely loved his days. He loved splashing in the biggest mud puddles he could find, rootling for tasty worms in the soft earth, and sniffing colourful flowers until his nose tickled. But when the sun dipped below the rolling green hills, and the sky turned soft shades of sleepy orange and pink, Pippin started to feel a little fluttery in his tummy. Bedtime was coming, and sometimes, bedtime felt… tricky.
Tonight was one of those tricky nights. His cozy straw bed in the corner of the barn felt extra prickly and just wouldn't settle right, no matter how much he wiggled. Pippin tried pushing the straw into a big mound to lie on top of. That felt too high and bumpy. He tried spreading it out thin like a flat mat. That felt too hard and bare. He wriggled and jiggled, trying every spot and every shape he could think of, but nothing seemed quite right. "Oh dear," he sighed, standing up on his little hooves and looking around.
All the other animals were getting ready for sleep. Henrietta the hen was clucking softly as she tucked her fluffy yellow chicks safely under her warm wings, their little peep-peeps turning into sleepy chirps. Barnaby the bunny was snuggling down deep into the soft earth of his burrow, only the tips of his long ears and a twitching nose showing above the entrance. Percy the pigeon was puffed up like a little grey cloud on his perch high up in the rafters, already looking peaceful.
They all looked so perfectly peaceful and comfortable, and Pippin felt more prickly and fluttery than ever. He trotted over to Mrs. Higgins, the wise old sheep who was slowly chewing her cud with a look of deep calm and serenity on her face. "Mrs. Higgins," whispered Pippin, trying not to sound too whiny or loud. "My bed feels all wrong tonight. I've tried making the straw high and flat and everything in between, but it just doesn't feel cozy like everyone else's beds seem to. How do you get so comfortable?"
Mrs. Higgins finished her chew with a gentle sigh and smiled kindly down at the little piglet. "Ah, Pippin," she baaed softly, her voice a low, comforting rumble. "Trying new things is a good thing to do sometimes, but finding comfort isn't always about changing the bed itself. It's also very much about feeling safe and having your special, familiar things around you. My fleece might seem warm to you, but it is also my own familiar wool that makes me feel safe and ready to rest."
Mrs. Higgins continued, her wise eyes twinkling gently. "Do you have something that always makes you feel safe and happy? Something small and familiar? A favorite toy, perhaps, or a soft piece of cloth, or even a smooth little treasure you found that you like to keep nearby?" Pippin paused, thinking hard, tilting his head to one side. He *did* have a favorite smooth grey stone he'd found near the creek one sunny afternoon, which felt lovely and cool in his hoof. And he had a worn but wonderfully soft patch of an old blanket that smelled faintly of sunshine and home. He usually just left them lying about wherever he finished playing.
"Yes!" he squeaked, suddenly remembering them. "I have my smooth stone and my blankie patch!" Mrs. Higgins nodded wisely. "Perfect," she said. "Why don't you try bringing them close tonight? Go back to your own familiar corner. Arrange your straw just the way you usually do, the way that feels normal. Then, place your smooth stone right by your head on the straw, pull your blankie over you, and just be still for a little while in your own space. Sometimes, simple, familiar things, combined with being in your own special place, are the coziest of all."
Pippin thanked Mrs. Higgins and hurried back to his corner of the barn, feeling a little spark of hope. He stopped trying to make the straw into strange shapes. He carefully nudged it back into the familiar, shallow, bowl-like nest shape he usually slept in, the shape that felt most like 'home'. He found his smooth grey stone and placed it right beside his head on the straw, where he could see it. Then, he found his soft patch of blankie and pulled it up to his chin.
He snuggled down into his straw nest, held his smooth stone lightly in his hoof, and settled under his blankie. He closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath, letting it out slowly. It wasn't *just* the straw anymore that he felt. It was his own special nest, in his own special corner, with his special smooth stone right there and his special blankie soft against his cheek. He felt the familiar cool weight of the stone and the wonderful, soft comfort of the cloth. He felt safe, tucked away in his own familiar place.
A wave of quiet comfort washed over him, warm and gentle like the last rays of the sun on his snout. The prickly feeling of the straw didn't seem to matter so much anymore. He was in his safe, familiar spot with his simple, favorite things. The sounds of the barn settling down around him became soothing lullabies instead of distractions. Henrietta's soft clucks turned into gentle, sleepy snores, Barnaby's twitching nose settled into quiet breathing, and Percy the pigeon made soft, contented cooing sounds from high above.
Pippin snuggled deeper, feeling the warmth rise from the straw around him and his blankie over him. He felt his little piggy body relax, from his snout to his curly tail. He thought about his fun day again, but the fluttery, tricky feeling was completely gone. Replaced by a deep, peaceful calm that settled right into his bones. His eyelids felt heavy, heavy, heavy. He held his smooth stone close and let his breathing slow down, slow down, slow down.
And with a contented sigh, Pippin the piglet, feeling perfectly cozy and safe in his familiar spot with his simple, favorite things around him, finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming sweet piggy dreams under the soft starlight filtering into the barn, knowing that bedtime, after all, could be very cozy indeed when you found comfort in your own way.