H in the Alphabet Soup

It was a glorious day. The sun was shining, spreading its golden rays across the field of flowers as they bobbed their heads in the breeze. The birds chirped, matching their tune to the babbling creek as it went merrily along, leaving a perfect spot for Hank.

Hank, a gray hippo with tiny pink ears, loved two things more than anything — wallowing in mud and then wallowing some more.

Every morning, he'd roll, squish, flop, and plop right into the muck with a happy grunt. "I was born for this," he'd say, wiggling his ears and flicking mud with his tail.

One sunny day, Hank was splashing in his favorite puddle with his friends — George the Giraffe, tall and always polite, and Larry the Goat, who wasn't polite but could burp the alphabet. They had joined Hank along the riverbank, but both preferred the green grass to the mud.

While George stretched his long, graceful neck high into the trees and nibbled leaves, Larry happily chewed an old tin can, a straw hat, and what might have been someone's library book. Hank, covered in mud, lay on the edge of the pond, basking in the sun.

Finally, he sighed. "I think I need a girlfriend." Hank rolled over, squishing deeper into the mud.

George blinked, slowly chewing the leaves. "You — a girlfriend?"

Larry burped and laughed. "Sorry, buddy," he said. "Don't see that happening."

George nodded in agreement. "Girls like clean stuff. You know — bows and tea parties and rain showers."

"You're just not the neat-and-tidy type, Hank," Larry snorted.

"Whatever," Hank said with a grunt. "Mud never lets me down. It's always ready for fun."

His friends wandered off, still munching and muttering.

That's when she appeared.

A lovely hippo in a bright pink tutu, carrying a dainty lace umbrella, waddled along the riverbank. Her name was Penelope, and she looked like she was on her way to ballet class.

She stopped right in front of Hank, twirled her umbrella, and gave him a wink. "Hi, Hank," she said with a grin. "Whatcha doing?"

Hank grunted and splashed a little deeper into his puddle.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he said. "I'm getting muddy. You know — having fun." He snorted and splashed, sending droplets in Penelope's direction. "You being a girl — well, it's not exactly your style. I'm fine here alone."

Penelope tilted her head. "Oh? That's a shame." She tilted her snout upward and turned to walk away, but then, to Hank's surprise, she stopped.

Hank grunted, thinking he was being funny, "You don't know what you're missing."

"Y'know," she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Hank snorted. "I do know. Girls don't like to get dirty."

Penelope raised one eyebrow. She tossed her umbrella aside, tiptoed to the edge of the puddle, and jumped right into the mud with a loud PLOP! Her tutu and all.

Mud flew everywhere.

Hank stared.

Penelope giggled, scooped up a squish of mud, and plopped it on his head like a crown. "So—" she said with a wink, "show me what this mud party's all about, big guy."

Hank grinned.

"Now we're talkin'."

Off in the distance, George blinked from the trees, and Larry dropped his tin can. "Well," Larry muttered. "Didn't see that coming."

George smiled. "Guess girls can like a little mud, too."

And from that day on, Hank never wallowed alone again.