A Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures
Once upon a time on Cloverfield Farm, there was a little dog named Spot. Despite his name, he didn’t have a single spot on his smooth, white coat. All the other animals had their own unique markings—some had spots, some had stripes, and even Patch the cat had a patch over one eye. Spot often felt left out, especially when the other animals teased him.
“Hey, Spot! Where are your spots?”
the goats would bleat, snickering amongst themselves.
“Spot doesn’t even look like a Spot,”
the chickens clucked, pecking around the yard as Spot’s ears drooped in embarrassment.
Tired of feeling like he didn’t belong, Spot decided he’d make his own spots. One day, he found some mud by the pond and rolled around in it, making little brown splotches all over himself. He trotted proudly into the barn, thinking he looked just like everyone else.
But the cows mooed with laughter.
“Those spots don’t look real, Spot,”
they teased.
“You’re still plain!”
Spot tried again the next day, sneaking into the farmer’s house and dipping his paws in paint from an art set left out on the porch. This time, he dotted his fur with black paint, carefully pressing little paw prints all over his coat. Spot thought he looked quite spotty now, but as he strutted around the barnyard, the animals just laughed louder.
One day, feeling disheartened, Spot wandered to the edge of the pasture and lay down beneath a big shady tree. Just then, a large bull—well, he looked like a bull—ambled over and lay beside him.
“What’s the matter, Spot?”
asked the bull.
“Oh, everyone teases me because I don’t have any spots,”
Spot sighed.
“I’ve tried everything to fit in, but they always laugh.”
The bull nodded thoughtfully.
“You know, Spot, they laugh because they don’t understand. And by the way, I’m not a bull—I’m a steer.”
Spot’s eyes widened.
“A steer?”
The steer chuckled.
“Yes. I may look like a bull, but I’m not. And that’s okay. I learned a long time ago that who you are inside doesn’t need to match what everyone thinks they see on the outside. And it doesn’t have to match what they want, either.”
Spot tilted his head, listening.
“You see, Spot,”
continued the steer,
“everyone has something that makes them different. And sometimes, animals make fun of others because they don’t want their own differences noticed. It’s easier for them to point at you than to face their own insecurities. But those differences are what make each of us unique.”
Spot thought about this for a moment.
“So… you think it’s okay that I don’t have spots?”
“More than okay,”
said the steer with a warm smile.
“You don’t need spots to be special. Being you is what matters. When you’re proud of who you are, those who tease you may just stop because they’ll see that you don’t need their approval.”
Spot felt something warm and happy inside. For the first time, he realized that maybe being himself was enough.
After that, Spot didn’t roll in mud or try to paint on spots. Instead, he ran and played with the animals, joining in with confidence. He still got a few teasing remarks, but now he just wagged his tail and smiled.
And little by little, the other animals started to see Spot differently. The cows noticed how fast he could run, the goats admired his cleverness, and even Patch the cat stopped by to share stories with him under the big shady tree. Spot was no longer “the dog without spots”—he was simply Spot, the friend who was comfortable being himself.
And from then on, Cloverfield Farm was a happier place for everyone.
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