Billy had a bulldozer. It was yellow.

It was big enough to sit on.

Billy made a house in the sandbox. It had windows and a door. It even had a little chimney.

Billy bulldozed it down.

Then he built it again and bulldozed it down.


“What did you do all day?” asked Billy’s father. They were eating supper.

“Played with my bulldozer,” said Billy.

“Good boy,” said Billy’s father.

“Billy should play with his friends,” said Billy’s mother. “And eat his brussels sprouts.”

“Billy doesn’t have any friends,” said Billy’s father. “That’s why I brought him that bulldozer.”

“I hate brussels sprouts,” said Billy.

“What did you say?” asked Billy’s mother.

“Nothing,” said Billy.


Billy didn’t have any friends, but he had an enemy.

His name was Vernon. He lived next door.

Billy saw him across the fence. “Want to come over and play with my bulldozer?” Billy asked.

“No,” said Vernon. “Because you are stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” said Billy.

“Yes you are,” said Vernon. “And your bulldozer is stupid too.”


Billy was afraid of storms. He heard thunder and ran into the house.

“You left your bulldozer out in the rain,” said Billy’s mother. “Now it will be ruined.”

“No it won’t,” said Billy. “It’s made out of metal.”

“You’ll see,” said Billy’s mother.


Billy watched out the window. It was raining on his bulldozer.

Maybe the rain really would ruin it!

Then Billy heard thunder and he closed his eyes as tight as he could.


When he opened his eyes the bulldozer was turned over.

The lightning had struck it.

“Oh no!” said Billy.

“Serves you right,” said Billy’s mother.


As soon as it quit raining, Billy ran outside.

The sand was already dry. Some of it had turned to glass.

Billy’s bulldozer was upside down.

He turned it over. The yellow paint was brighter, where the lightning had struck it.

It was bigger than before.

Billy got on the seat and drove the bulldozer back and forth over the sand. It crunched the glass.

The lightning had made it better!

“Come see my bulldozer now,” said Billy. Vernon was in his back yard, practicing spitting.

“I can see it from here,” said Vernon. “And it’s still stupid.”


“Billy left his bulldozer out in the rain,” said Billy’s mother. They were eating supper.

“It’s metal,” said Billy’s father. “It’ll rust.”

“Serves him right,” said Billy’s mother. “Eat your brussels sprouts.”

“Brussels sprouts are stupid,” said Billy.

“What did you say?” asked Billy’s mother.

“Nothing,” said Billy. He ate his brussels sprouts. “Can I be excused?”

May you be excused,” said Billy’s father.

“And now it’s raining again,” said Billy’s mother. “And he left it out again.”


Billy had left his bulldozer out on purpose.

He watched through the window from his room, with a blanket over his head, just in case.

He was waiting for the lightning to strike.

Finally, it did.


The next morning, Billy ran eagerly out to play.

His yellow bulldozer was upside down again. He turned it right side up. It was bigger and brighter than ever.

“Cool,” said Billy.

He climbed up on the seat and drove it back and forth.

It crunched down the side of the sandbox and then crunched over the driveway. It made a neat grinding noise.

“Hey Vernon,” said Billy. Vernon was on the other side of the fence.

Vernon acted like he didn’t hear.

Billy drove the bulldozer through the fence.

Vernon tried to run away but the bulldozer ran over his feet and squashed them.

“I’m sorry!” said Vernon. He was trying to stand up, but he couldn’t because he didn’t have any feet any more. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

Billy pretended not to hear. He drove the bulldozer harder and squashed Vernon. Then he squashed Vernon’s house. Vernon’s parents were inside.

His little sister, too. Her name was Grace.


“What happened next door?” asked Billy’s father. They were eating supper.

“Nothing,” said Billy.
“It was awful,” said Billy’s mother. “Something squashed them all.”

“It wasn’t me,” said Billy.

“Even the little girl,” said Billy’s mother. “Her name was Grace.”

“It wasn’t me,” said Billy.

“Nobody said it was,” said Billy’s father. “I brought you a present. But first you have to eat your brussels sprouts.”

“Deal,” said Billy. He waited till his parents weren’t looking and rolled them under the table. They were like little balls.

He knew his mother wouldn’t see them. She never looked under the table. “What did you bring me?”

“A tank,” said Billy’s father. “It’s metal. You can’t leave it out in the rain.”

“He will, though,” said Billy’s mother.