A Southwestern Folktale — Retold with Giggles, Grins & a Very Silly Plan
Long ago, when the desert was still learning how to grow cacti and the sun liked to nap behind the mountains, there lived a **coyote** named **Too-Clever**.
Now, Coyote wasn’t the fastest.
He wasn’t the strongest.
And he certainly wasn’t the *wisest* —
but oh, how he *loved* to think he was!
He strutted through the canyon every morning, tail high, saying,
“I am the **smartest animal in the desert**!
I outwitted Jackrabbit!
I tricked Roadrunner into running in circles!
I even made a cactus laugh! (Well… it *might* have been coughing.)”
One bright morning, as Coyote preened in a puddle, trying to look majestic, he heard a sound he’d never heard before:
***Hee-hee… hoo-hoo… titter-titter…***
He turned.
On a bright pink flower sat a cluster of **butterflies**, their wings shimmering like stained glass, **laughing**.
Not at the sky.
Not at the wind.
But at **him**.
“**What’s so funny?**” growled Coyote.
One butterfly fluttered up. “Oh, nothing… we just saw you trying to impress your reflection. You winked at it… and it *winked back*!”
The others burst into giggles.
“*Hee-hee!*”
“*Snort-laugh!*”
“*You told it you were handsome — and it *agreed*!*”
Coyote’s ears flattened.
His tail drooped.
His pride? **Punctured like a pricked balloon.**
“No one laughs at Coyote!” he yowled.
“I’ll show you who’s funny!”
And so, Coyote began to **plot**.
---
First, he dug a deep hole by the flower patch and covered it with leaves.
“Aha! Let’s see them laugh when they *fall* in!”
But the butterflies just **floated** over it, giggling.
“Too slow, Coyote!”
Then he tried to sneak up with a net made of spider silk.
But he sneezed — *“Ah-CHOO!”* — and scared them away.
Then he painted himself with bright flowers and pretended to be a bush.
But a real bee stung his nose, and he howled, “I’M NOT A BUSH! I’M A COYOTE WITH A SWELLING PROBLEM!”
The butterflies laughed harder than ever.
***“Hoo-hoo! Snort! Whee!”***
Coyote was *furious*.
And sad.
And a little itchy from the paint.
Finally, he sat under a mesquite tree, panting.
A wise old **tortoise** slowly crawled up.
“You’re trying too hard to be funny, Coyote.”
“But they laugh at me!” wailed Coyote. “I want them to laugh *with* me!”
Tortoise blinked slowly. “Then stop chasing laughter.
Just… *be*.”
Coyote frowned. “Be what?”
“Be *you*,” said Tortoise. “The silly, bouncy, sneezy, winking-you.”
And with that, Tortoise napped.
Coyote sat quietly.
He thought.
He itched.
He sneezed again — *“Ah-CHOO!”* — and accidentally knocked his head on a cactus.
***“YOWCH!”***
He rubbed his head.
Then he looked down.
His nose was red.
His fur was dusty.
One ear flopped sideways.
And suddenly…
he **laughed**.
Not a growl-laugh.
Not a trickster-laugh.
But a real, rolling, belly laugh.
“HA! HA! HA! Look at me! I’m a mess!”
And from the flowers, the butterflies fluttered close.
“**Now** he gets it!” one said.
They didn’t laugh *at* him.
They laughed *with* him.
And soon, the whole desert was giggling —
the lizards snickered.
The wind chuckled.
Even the cactus did a little *cough-laugh*.
From that day on, Coyote still thought he was the smartest.
(He wasn’t.)
And he still tried silly tricks.
(They usually failed.)
But now, when he messed up —
he’d throw back his head and howl:
**“HA! Coyote strikes again!”**
And everyone — even the butterflies —
would laugh…
and laugh…
and laugh.
🦋🦊✨ The End