When the dogs come running, Brer Rabbit doesn’t just use his feet — he uses his wits. In this gentle retelling drawn from the classic stories of Uncle Remus, a wise old storyteller named Uncle Remba spins two tales of trickery, laughter, and the kind of quiet cleverness that settles a child right into sleep.
Chapter One – The Creatures Go to the Barbeque
On a warm and drowsy afternoon, Uncle Remba settled beneath the shade tree and called the young lad close.
“Once upon a time…” he began.
“But Uncle Remba,” the boy interrupted softly, “when was once upon a time?”
Uncle Remba chuckled low in his chest. “Once upon a time ain’t about clocks or calendars. It lives right here.” He tapped his temple. “It’s the place where stories wait.”
The boy leaned in, satisfied for now.
“Well then,” Uncle Remba continued, “once upon a time, Mr. Man had himself a garden so fine it near made the moon jealous. Greens lined up like soldiers. Beans climbed high. Cabbages sat proud and round.
“And ol’ Brer Rabbit? He noticed.”
By starlight and moonlight, Brer Rabbit would slip through the fence. Just a nibble here. A nibble there. He never took too much. But he did leave tiny barefoot tracks behind.
One morning, Mr. Man came out and studied those tracks.
He called his dogs.
And off they went, baying through the woods.
Now Brer Rabbit was quick—quick in his legs and quicker in his thinking. He doubled back, zigged and zagged, and before long he reached the creek bank where the world felt still again.
He sat. He fanned himself with a leaf. He listened.
Soon Brer Fox came trotting by.
“What’s all that commotion?” asked Brer Fox.
Brer Rabbit looked thoughtful. “Why, they’re headed to a grand barbecue down by the creek. Biggest feast you ever did hear tell of. They tried to make me guest of honor, but I declined. Too much fuss for my taste.”
Brer Fox’s whiskers twitched.
“A barbecue, you say?”
“Sure enough. If you hurry, you might get there first.”
Well.
Brer Fox hurried.
And when Brer Wolf heard about it, he hurried too.
Brer Bear lumbered along after that, thinking about sweet smells and full plates.
Brer Coon didn’t want to miss out either.
Meanwhile, Brer Rabbit stayed right where he was, tapping at dragonflies with a twig and watching the creek ripple in the sun.
Whether there was a barbecue or not… no one ever quite proved.
But Uncle Remba would always end that part the same way:
“When somebody invites you to a feast, best find out who’s cooking before you start running.”
And the boy would smile.
Chapter 2 Brer Rabbit’s Frolic
That evening, the boy asked, “Did the others ever catch him?”
Uncle Remba leaned back against the tree trunk.
“Catch Brer Rabbit? That little fellow carries a thinking machine under his hat—even when he ain’t wearing one.”
As for the others, they came home tired and dusty from their dash through the woods. Pride a little rumpled. Tails a bit out of sorts. Nothing that rest and sunshine couldn’t mend.
After a few days, they gathered beneath the big oak.
They muttered.
They grumbled.
They decided they’d host a grand dance.
“We’ll invite Brer Rabbit to a dance,” said Brer Fox. “Tell him we need his fiddle. Once he comes… we’ll surround him and give him a fright he won’t soon forget.”
They all nodded. It sounded like a fine plan.
What they did not know—because Brer Rabbit had a way of appearing where you least expected—was that he’d been resting in the tall grass nearby, listening to every word.
When the evening came, before they could even send their invitation, here came Brer Rabbit down the road as cheerful as spring.
“Friends!” he called. “I just left Miss Meadows’ place. She’s holding the grandest dance you ever heard tell of. Said she was hoping to see Brer Bear’s shuffle and Brer Coon’s jig. I’m to bring my fiddle.”
Now this puzzled the creatures.
He tipped his hat and bounced along.
Well now.
The creatures looked at one another.
Miss Meadows?
And off they went to Miss Meadows’ house — only to find no dance at all.
She opened her window and blinked at the gathering crowd.
“Dance?” she said. “Not tonight.”
The woods grew quiet.
And by the time they turned around, Brer Rabbit was nowhere to be found—having neatly untied the knot they’d been trying to tie around him.
That night, tucked beneath his quilt, the little boy stared at the moonlight on the wall.
He thought about how fast feet can run —
and how even faster a clever thought can travel.
Somewhere in the woods, he imagined Brer Rabbit still smiling to himself.
And somewhere deeper still, he imagined the others smiling too — even if they’d never admit it.
The boy smiled into his pillow.
And the night folded softly around them all.
Once upon a time settled gently into his dreams.
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