Benny the Bunny Says, “That’s Not Mine!” - A children's Story

Benny the Bunny Says, “That’s Not Mine!”

By Bill Conley—America’s Favorite Children’s Storyteller

Moral to the Story:
A cheerful home is one where every creature lends a paw.
Saying, “That’s not mine!” doesn’t help keep the den clean.
Even if you didn’t make the mess, you can still fix it.
We all share the space, so we all share the work.
Taking pride in our home shows love, care, and maturity.
Kindness means pitching in—even when no one’s watching.

In a cozy burrow tucked under the roots of a towering old oak tree lived Benny the Bunny with his family—Mama Bunny, Papa Bunny, his little sister Bella, and his baby brother Bo. Their home was snug and warm, with soft moss carpets, a pebble path that led to the front door, and shelves carved into the burrow walls stacked with books, toys, and baskets of fresh clover.

But lately, the Burrow had started to look a little different. Toys were scattered across the floor. Carrot tops were left on the table. Bits of apple cores and empty berry bowls popped up in every corner. It seemed every time Mama or Papa asked the young bunnies to help clean, the same words echoed through the burrow:

“That’s not mine!”

“Not mine either!”

“I didn’t do it!”

One morning, Mama Bunny hopped into the living room and stopped in her tracks.

“Yikes! Who left all these wooden blocks in the walkway?” she asked.

Benny looked up from his coloring. “Not mine,” he said with a shrug.

“I haven’t played with blocks all week,” said Bella.

Bo giggled and tried to hop over the blocks, knocking more onto the floor.

Mama sighed and carefully picked her way through the mess.

Later that day, Papa Bunny found a muddy trail leading from the front door all the way to the family table.

“Can someone please clean this up?” he asked.

“Not me,” said Benny.

“I didn’t even go outside,” said Bella.

Bo squeaked and hid under the bench.

That evening, after supper, Mama and Papa sat their three bunnies down on the moss mat.

“We need to have a family chat,” said Papa gently.

“We’ve noticed something,” Mama added. “Every time we ask for help around the burrow, you all say the same thing—‘That’s not mine.’ But little ones, that’s not how a family works.”

Benny frowned. “But it’s not fair to clean up what we didn’t mess up.”

“Is it fair for Mama to clean up everyone’s mess every day?” Papa asked.

Benny looked at his paws and stayed quiet.

Mama smiled softly. “When we live together, we all help each other—even when it isn’t our mess. That’s what families do.”

“But what if I really didn’t do it?” Bella asked.

“Even then,” Papa said. “Helping out shows you care. You’re not just cleaning up—you're showing kindness.”

Benny thought about it. “So… if I see a mess, I should just help clean it?”

Mama nodded. “Exactly. Don’t worry about who made it. Just do what’s right.”

The next day, Benny saw a paintbrush lying on the floor near the kitchen.

He glanced around. “Not mine,” he whispered… then paused.

He remembered what Mama said.

So, he picked it up and put it in the art box.

Later, Bella noticed a book sticking out from under the moss mat.

She hadn’t read it—but she tucked it back onto the shelf anyway.

And when Bo accidentally knocked over the basket of napkins, Benny was the first to hop over and help him clean up.

No one had to ask.

No one said, “That’s not mine.”

They just helped.

By the end of the week, the burrow looked tidy again. Even Papa noticed.

“You bunnies have really been pitching in,” he said proudly.

Mama nodded. “It feels peaceful again in here.”

Benny smiled. “I guess when we all help, we all win.”

From that day on, the Burrowtailbunnies lived by a new rule:

If you see something that needs to be done, just do it!

It didn’t matter who made the mess.
What mattered was the love behind the help.

And if you peeked inside their burrow today, you might hear a bunny hop by and say with pride:

“I’ve got it!”

Poem to the Story:
When something’s out of place or seems a bit askew,
Don’t ask whose job it is—just do what you can do.
Lend a paw, a heart, a smile—help without delay.
Clean it up or fold it neatly; don’t look the other way.
A helpful home is built with care, with kindness all the while—
So be like Benny Bunny, and do it with a smile.

Three Thought-Provoking Questions:

1.     Why is helping out important, even if you didn’t make the mess?

2.     How can teamwork make a family stronger?

3.     What are three things you can do this week to help around your home?

About the Author
Bill Conley is a dedicated storyteller, life coach, and faith-filled guide whose heartfelt children’s stories have brought smiles and timeless lessons to families everywhere. As the author of hundreds of moral-rich tales, Bill believes in planting seeds of kindness, gratitude, responsibility, and faith in the hearts of children while they’re young. His signature style weaves simple yet powerful truths into colorful adventures featuring animal heroes, each story carefully crafted to impart values that last a lifetime.

Bill’s passion for writing comes from his own journey and years of experience as a father to six children, grandfather to six grandchildren, mentor, and devoted husband. He understands that children need stories that do more than entertain; they need stories that shape character, spark imagination, and open conversations between parents and kids.

Whether he’s writing about a brave little beaver, a wise turtle, a fast cheetah, or a gentle cloud that forgets how to rain, Bill pours his love for faith, family, and old-fashioned values into every word. He knows that small lessons today become big strengths tomorrow.

In addition to his books, Bill is a certified life coach who has helped countless people build stronger relationships, grow in faith, and navigate life’s storms with confidence and hope. His words encourage children and grown-ups alike to be kind, stay positive, honor commitments, and always believe they are enough.

When he’s not writing, Bill enjoys spending time with his six children and six grandchildren, sharing laughter and lessons across generations. He also finds joy in serving his church and community, living out the very values he writes about so passionately.

Bill Conley’s greatest hope is that every story will help families build warm memories together—reading aloud, asking questions, and inspiring children to grow into caring, courageous, and thoughtful adults.

He invites you to keep reading, keep talking, and keep believing that the smallest good things we do can change the world for the better.

 

 

Cheap to the Core: How the PGA Tour Exploits Its Volunteers for Profit

Cheap to the Core: How the PGA Tour Exploits Its Volunteers for Profit

Introduction

Golf has long been celebrated as a game of honor, tradition, and respect—but when you peel back the PGA Tour’s polished image, what you find underneath is corporate greed cloaked in golf attire. The sport may pride itself on etiquette and class, but the PGA Tour has mastered the art of squeezing every last dollar from the very people who keep its tournaments running: the volunteers.

At events like The Players Championship at TPC Sawgrass, volunteers donate upward of 40 hours of their time during tournament week. These individuals are the invisible hands guiding traffic, managing the ropes, welcoming fans, and ensuring every shot happens without chaos. But instead of gratitude, what do they receive? A bill.

Volunteers must pay for their own uniforms. They receive no complimentary meals. They’re forced to park off-site and deal with long, inconvenient shuttle rides. And if they want to attend the so-called "Volunteer Appreciation Party"? It costs money and is capped at 600 people—despite there being over 2,500 volunteers. That means if 300 bring a guest, the rest are simply out of luck. What kind of organization charges for a volunteer party—and then excludes most of the volunteers?

But the most recent slap in the face came after my 40 hours of service: I was offered a round at the Stadium Course for $35—reasonable. But when my wife simply joined me to ride in the golf cart, they charged her $40. That’s right—more than they charged me to play. Had she stayed home, the PGA wouldn’t have earned a dime. But they couldn’t resist grabbing her $40.

This isn’t just bad optics—it’s a deliberate culture of greed. And it’s time someone called it out.

Body: The Bitter Reality Behind the Polished Greens

The PGA Tour loves to talk about tradition, excellence, and gratitude—but the way it treats its volunteers tells a very different story. These men and women, who show up every year to make tournaments successful, are treated less like valued contributors and more like walking revenue streams.

1. Volunteers Pay to Work
Let’s start with the most offensive reality: volunteers have to pay to volunteer. That means paying for required uniforms branded with PGA logos, and in many cases, registration fees just to participate. In what other billion-dollar industry are people charged to donate their time?

2. No Meals—Bring Your Own Lunch
While volunteers do have access to water during their shifts (one of the only courtesies provided), there are no free meals. You’re on your feet all day, often in scorching heat—and unless you pack your own lunch or shell out money at overpriced vendors, you’ll go hungry. Meanwhile, corporate tents enjoy catered buffets and air conditioning.

3. Poor Transportation Logistics
Forget convenient parking. Volunteers must park far from the course and ride shuttles that are frequently delayed or overcrowded. These delays often result in stress and late arrivals to assignments—yet no accommodations are made.

4. A Party with a Price Tag
Every year, the PGA Tour hosts a “Volunteer Appreciation Party.” Sounds nice, right? Except it’s not free. Volunteers must pay to attend—and it’s capped at just 600 people. With over 2,500 volunteers, and many bringing guests, more than 1,900 are left out entirely. What organization charges its unpaid workers to attend an appreciation event—and then excludes most of them?

5. Monetizing the “Reward”
Here’s where the hypocrisy peaks. After 40 hours of unpaid work, I was offered a round of golf at the Stadium Course for $35. That’s fine. But when my wife joined me as a non-playing rider in the cart, they charged her $40—more than my round cost. That’s $75 for a “thank you” gift. Had she stayed home, they wouldn’t have seen a dime. Instead, they saw an opportunity to profit off her presence.

This isn’t generosity. It’s exploitation.

Conclusion

The PGA Tour's treatment of volunteers reveals a stark and disappointing truth: they are not viewed as valued team members, but as free labor to be mined for every possible dollar. From charging for uniforms and meals to monetizing appreciation events and ride-alongs, the PGA Tour has demonstrated that no opportunity to profit is beneath them—even when it comes to the people who make their success possible.

Providing water is the bare minimum—and yet it’s held up as a benefit. But what about meals? What about on-site parking? What about real, unrestricted appreciation for thousands of people giving away their time to ensure the PGA’s events are flawless? It’s shameful that a volunteer needs to pay out of pocket to attend a “thank-you” party—and worse that most can’t even get in.

And the $40 charge for a volunteer’s spouse to ride in a golf cart? That one moment says it all. A professional organization with billions in revenue decided that making an extra $40 was more important than expressing true appreciation. My wife didn’t play golf. She sat beside me in a cart. And for that, they charged more than they charged me, the volunteer.

Volunteers are waking up. We’re starting to realize that the PGA Tour doesn’t see us as partners or even supporters. They see us as a line item on a spreadsheet—another potential stream of income.

Unless something changes, unless volunteers are finally treated with respect, dignity, and fairness, the PGA risks losing its most loyal workers. Because as more people speak out, it’s becoming clear:

The PGA Tour is cheap to the core.

And we’re done pretending otherwise.

 

Eddie the Elephant Learns to Say “I Will” - A Children's Story

Eddie the Elephant Learns to Say “I Will”

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story:
Excuses stop us from growing—effort helps us move forward. Saying “I can’t” often means “I won’t,” but choosing “I will” opens the door to possibility. Success doesn’t begin with talent—it begins with trying. And when we replace excuses with effort, we discover just how capable we truly are.

In the warm green heart of the jungle, where vines danced and parrots chattered, lived a young elephant named Eddie.

Eddie was big, strong, and clever—but he had a tiny problem that caused big trouble.

He made excuses. Lots of them.

When Mama Elephant asked him to clean his room, Eddie groaned, “I can’t. My trunk is sore.”

When Papa Elephant told him to help with chores, Eddie sighed, “I can’t. I’m too tired.”

And when his little sister Ellie needed help reaching the mango tree, Eddie looked away. “I can’t. I’m doing something... really important.”

But the truth was—Eddie could.

He just wouldn’t.

Eddie didn’t realize it, but every time he said “I can’t,” what he really meant was “I won’t.”

One sunny morning at school, Mrs. Giraffe stood tall and proud.

“Next week,” she announced, “we will have our Jungle Talent Show! Everyone will get a chance to share something special.”

The classroom buzzed with excitement.

The monkeys swung from branch to branch, flipping and tumbling.

The parrots began to sing.

Even the shy turtles whispered about doing a slow-motion dance.

But Eddie slumped in his seat.

“I can’t sing,” he muttered.

“I can’t juggle,” he whispered.

“I can’t do anything,” he sighed.

Mrs. Giraffe gently leaned down and said, “Eddie, you can do something wonderful. But first, you must stop hiding behind ‘I can’t.’”

That night at dinner, Mama Elephant asked, “What are you going to do for the talent show?”

Eddie lowered his trunk. “I don’t know,” he started.

But then he remembered what Mrs. Giraffe said.

He took a deep breath. “I will find something.”

Mama smiled. “That’s a good start.”

The next morning, Eddie walked through the jungle, looking and listening. He passed the waterfall, the beehives, and the giant fern trees. Then, near the edge of the watering hole, he noticed something.

His own reflection stared back… and below it, in the soft mud, were the swirly trunk drawings he had made the day before—just for fun.

“That’s it!” he said.

Eddie raced home, gathered leaves, berries, and jungle clay, and began to create. Each day, he woke up early and practiced. No more “I can’t.” No more “Later.” No more “I’m tired.”

Instead, he said, “I will try.”

And he did.

He tried.

He practiced.

He got better.

He believed.

The day of the Jungle Talent Show arrived, and animals gathered under the big banana tree stage. Butterflies fluttered in Eddie’s stomach, but he stood tall.

When it was his turn, he dipped his trunk into a bowl of berry paint, stepped up to a huge canvas, and began to swirl.

Shapes appeared. Colors danced.

In just minutes, he painted the jungle sky, the leafy trees, a troop of monkeys swinging, and a smiling elephant family.

The crowd gasped.

Then they cheered.

Then they stood and clapped.

Eddie smiled widely.

Not because he won a prize.

Not because he was the best.

But because he tried.

Because he stopped saying “I can’t” and started saying “I will.”

From that day forward, when Eddie was tempted to make an excuse, he’d stop and say to himself:

“I will try.”

Even when he didn’t feel ready.

Even when something felt hard.

Even when no one else was watching.

Because trying was enough.

Trying was everything.

Moral Poem to End the Story:
“I can’t” is just a heavy wall
That keeps you from your dreams so tall.
Say “I will try,” and then begin—
You’ll be surprised by what’s within.

Conversation Starters for Parents and Older Readers:

1.     What do you think Eddie was really saying when he said, “I can’t”?

2.     Can you think of a time you made an excuse instead of trying? What would happen if you said “I will” instead?

3.     Why do you think effort matters more than being perfect or the best?

 

Ellie the Elephant and the Joy of Together - A Children's Story

Ellie the Elephant and the Joy of Together
By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story:
The most meaningful moments in life don’t come from what we do—they come from who we’re with. It doesn’t have to be fancy, exciting, or perfectly planned. Simply spending time together, sharing smiles and love, is what truly matters. Because when we’re together, even the smallest things become the biggest memories.

In the heart of Harmony Plains, where tall grass waved in the breeze and birds sang sweet lullabies, lived a cheerful young elephant named Ellie.

Ellie loved adventures—big ones, little ones, and everything in between.

But more than anything, she loved spending time with her family.

One sunny morning, Ellie stomped excitedly into the den. “Mama, Papa, what are we going to do today? Something special?”

Papa Elephant stretched his trunk and smiled. “We thought we’d all go for a walk along the riverbank.”

Ellie’s ears drooped a little. “Just a walk? Not a safari or a picnic or a treasure hunt?”

Mama Elephant gently wrapped her trunk around Ellie’s. “Sweetheart, it’s not about what we do—it’s about doing it together.”

Ellie didn’t fully understand, but she agreed anyway.

As they walked, the breeze tickled her ears. They saw frogs leap from lily pads and a family of turtles sunbathing on the rocks. Papa told funny stories. Mama hummed old songs.

And even though it was “just a walk,” Ellie giggled the whole way home.

The next day, Ellie’s friend Toby the Tortoise was polishing his shell near a shady tree.

“Wanna come build a dam in the stream?” Ellie asked.

Toby shook his head. “I’m helping my grandma sort stones.”

Ellie blinked. “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

Toby shrugged. “It’s not about what we do—it’s that we’re doing it together.”

Ellie paused. That sounded familiar.

Later, she found Penny the Parrot hanging upside-down on a vine.

“Want to go find colorful feathers in the meadow?” Ellie called.

“Can’t!” Penny squawked. “My little brother wants to build a nest out of leaves.”

Ellie raised her brow. “That sounds kind of boring.”

Penny laughed. “Maybe. But I like being with him.”

Ellie walked away slowly, thinking hard.

That night, as stars sparkled across the sky, Ellie asked her parents, “Why do so many animals say it doesn’t matter what we do, as long as we do it together?”

Papa Elephant smiled. “Because together means we’re connected. Together means laughter, love, and memories—even in the simplest things.”

Mama added, “Sometimes the best days come from doing the littlest things side by side.”

Ellie nodded slowly. “So it’s not about the activity. It’s about the company.”

The next morning, Ellie had a new idea.

She didn’t plan a big adventure or a huge game.

Instead, she went to see her little cousin Emmy.

“Hey Emmy,” Ellie said, “want to sit under the acacia tree and braid grass?”

Emmy’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I love that!”

They sat, wove grass loops, and shared snacks. Emmy told stories about school, and Ellie listened with full attention.

They didn’t go anywhere fancy.

They didn’t do anything wild.

But when Emmy hugged her tightly and whispered, “This was my favorite day,” Ellie felt a warm glow in her chest.

That afternoon, Ellie gathered her family again.

“No big plans,” she said with a smile. “Let’s just be together.”

They played a simple clapping game.

They picked flowers and made crowns.

They told silly jokes and shared bites of mango.

And as the sun dipped low, painting the sky with pink and gold, Ellie looked around and whispered, “I think I finally understand.”

Mama Elephant leaned closer. “Understand what, dear?”

“That it’s not about going somewhere or doing something big. It’s about laughing, listening, and loving together.”

Papa Elephant wiped a happy tear with his trunk. “That’s the most important lesson of all.”

From that day on, Ellie stopped worrying about how exciting her plans were.

Whether she was skipping stones, sorting nuts, playing tag, or watching clouds—it didn’t matter.

What mattered was who she was with.

Because even the tiniest moments became treasures…

…when shared with someone she loved.

Moral Poem to End the Story:
We don’t need castles, games, or gold,
To make a memory bright and bold.
Time spent with those we cherish is true,
Makes anything we do feel new.

Conversation Starters for Parents and Older Readers:

1.     Can you think of a time when you had fun doing something simple, just because you were with someone you love?

2.     Why do you think being together is more important than what you're actually doing?

3.     How can we make more time for each other in our daily lives, even when things get busy?

 

Timmy the Tiger Cub Learns the Gift of Time - A Children's Story

Timmy the Tiger Cub Learns the Gift of Time

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story:
The greatest gift we can give someone is our time, because time means attention, presence, and care. When we give someone our time, we’re saying, “You matter to me.” Time spent with others builds love, trust, and memories that last forever. Unlike toys or treats, time is something we can never get back, so giving it is one of the most meaningful ways to show love.

In the sun-dappled jungle of Willow Wilds, a bouncy young tiger cub named Timmy lived with his busy tiger family.

Timmy loved playing hide and seek, chasing butterflies, and inventing new games with his jungle friends.

But more than anything, Timmy wished he could spend more time with his dad.

Every day, Timmy’s dad left early to patrol the jungle trail and didn’t come home until the stars were twinkling.

“Can we play when you get home tonight?” Timmy asked one morning.

“Maybe,” his dad said. “If I’m not too tired.”

That night, his dad returned and gave Timmy a quick pat on the head before heading straight to bed.

Timmy’s shoulders drooped. “All I wanted was some time,” he whispered.

The next day, Timmy visited Grandma Tigra, who was weaving jungle vines into a hammock.

“Grandma,” Timmy asked, “why is everyone always so busy? Doesn’t anyone have time anymore?”

Grandma looked up with kind eyes. “Time is the most valuable thing we have, Timmy. We only get so much of it—and once we spend it, we don’t get it back.”

“Then why don’t we give it to the ones we love the most?” Timmy wondered aloud.

Grandma Tigra smiled and patted the grass beside her. “We forget. We think chores and plans are more important. But love grows strongest when we give others our time.”

Timmy sat beside her for a while, letting her words settle into his heart.

Later, Timmy spotted Benny the Baboon and Lila the Leopard cub playing in the mud near the river.

“Wanna play?” he called.

“I can’t,” Benny grumbled. “My mom says I need to clean the leaves off the cave floor.”

“I’m busy too,” Lila added. “My dad’s teaching me how to stalk quietly.”

Timmy sighed. No one seemed to have time for anything anymore.

So he walked to the edge of the jungle where the stars were just starting to peek out.

He sat on a flat rock and whispered, “I just wish someone would spend time with me.”

A soft rustle came from behind, and to his surprise, it was his dad.

“Mind if I sit?” his dad asked.

Timmy’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

His dad nodded. “I finished early tonight, and I realized something important. I’ve been so focused on everything I need to do… that I forgot the most important thing is just being with you.”

They sat side by side on the rock, watching fireflies dance above the tall grass.

Timmy leaned against his dad and smiled. “This is the best night ever.”

The next morning, Timmy decided to try something new.

He found Benny the Baboon still sweeping leaves.

“Hey Benny, want some help?” Timmy offered.

Benny looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve got time. Let’s get it done so we can play.”

Together, they made fast work of the sweeping and spent the rest of the afternoon jumping in leaf piles.

Then Timmy saw Lila sitting by herself, her ears low.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My dad’s too busy to finish our lesson today,” she said quietly.

Timmy grinned. “Wanna play hide and seek? I’ve got time.”

Lila perked up. “Yes! Thank you.”

All afternoon, Timmy played, helped, listened, and laughed.

And with every moment he gave, something wonderful happened.

His friends smiled more.

They talked more.

And they felt loved—just because someone had given them the gift of time.

That night, Timmy sat with Grandma Tigra again.

“I think I understand now,” he said. “Time isn’t just about minutes or hours—it’s about people. It’s about showing someone they matter.”

Grandma smiled. “That’s exactly right, Timmy.”

Timmy’s dad joined them, and together they watched the sunset in peaceful silence.

And that weekend, something new began.

Timmy’s family started “Together Time”—an hour every evening where no one worked, no one cleaned, and no one left.

They simply sat, played, talked, or walked together.

Sometimes it was silly.

Sometimes it was quiet.

But it was always special.

And for Timmy, those moments became the most treasured part of every day.

From then on, he gave his time freely.

To his friends.

To his family.

Even to the quiet creatures who just needed a listening ear.

Because Timmy the Tiger Cub had learned something not everyone learns:

The most important thing you can give someone…

Is your time.

Moral Poem to End the Story:
You can’t wrap it or tie it with a string,
But time’s the most important thing.
It shows you care, it builds love true—
So give your time to those near you.