Oliver the Otter Learns to Keep His Hands to Himself - A Children's Story

Oliver the Otter Learns to Keep His Hands to Himself

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

Moral of the Story:
Brothers and sisters are treasures to hold close in our hearts.
Hands are for helping, not for poking, pushing, or picking fights.
Words can build bridges or break them—choose kindness every time.
Don’t tease or prod for laughs or attention; it only causes hurt.
Keeping your hands to yourself shows respect and self-control.
Speak with love and play with care—it makes everyone feel safe.
When you stay positive and gentle, you grow friendships that last.
Family is forever—so treat each other with sweetness and care!

In the bright, busy banks of Willow Creek, there lived a young otter named Oliver. Oliver was a fuzzy ball of energy with shiny eyes and paws that always seemed to be up to something. He lived in a burrow with his mom, dad, and his younger sister, Olivia.

Oliver loved Olivia—he really did. But sometimes, instead of showing her love with gentle words or fun games, he found himself poking her side when she walked by, or giving her a little shove just to see her squeal.

To Oliver, it was just playing around. To Olivia, it didn’t always feel like fun.

One sunny morning, Oliver and Olivia were supposed to clean up their play corner. Sticks, smooth pebbles, and shiny shells lay scattered all over the burrow floor. Their mom asked them to work together while she prepared breakfast.

Oliver, being older and taller, quickly gathered a pile of pebbles. But when he saw Olivia slowly sorting the sticks into neat bundles, he couldn’t resist sneaking up behind her and giving her a little poke in the back.

“Hey!” Olivia squeaked, dropping her pile of sticks. “Oliver, stop it!”

Oliver giggled. “It’s just a poke! You’re so jumpy.”

But Olivia didn’t laugh. She frowned, gathered her sticks again, and turned her back to him.

Their mom peeked in. “Oliver, are you helping nicely?”

“Yes, Mom!” Oliver called, crossing his paws behind his back.

But as soon as Mom left, Oliver crept closer again. He gave Olivia a tiny tap on the shoulder. She sighed and moved away. The more she moved away, the more Oliver wanted her attention. He started poking faster, tapping her head, tugging her tail gently.

Soon, Olivia shouted, “Mom! Oliver won’t stop touching me!”

Mom came in, her whiskers twitching with concern. “Oliver, come sit with me.”

Oliver trudged over, dropping his last shiny pebble on the pile. He plopped down beside his mom.

“Oliver,” Mom said gently, “do you know what it means to keep your hands to yourself?”

Oliver shrugged. “I’m just playing, Mom. Olivia’s no fun—she always tattles!”

Mom smiled softly. “You think it’s fun. But does Olivia?”

Oliver looked at his sister, who was sitting on the other side of the burrow, hugging her knees. She didn’t look happy at all.

“Being a big brother means you have an extra big job,” Mom continued. “Your words and your paws can help Olivia feel safe and loved—or they can make her feel picked on and sad. Which do you think is better?”

“Safe and loved,” Oliver mumbled.

“That’s right,” Mom said. “So, how can you show Olivia love?”

Oliver thought hard. “I guess…I can help her pick up the sticks instead of poking her?”

Mom nodded. “And maybe tell her she’s doing a good job?”

Oliver’s whiskers perked up a bit. He scampered over to Olivia and sat beside her. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Then he gently picked up a stick.

“You’re really good at making neat bundles,” he said quietly.

Olivia looked at him, surprised. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I poked you,” Oliver added, his cheeks warm.

Olivia smiled a little. “It’s okay. Want to help me finish?”

Together, they finished cleaning the corner just as Dad called, “Breakfast is ready!”

After breakfast, they went outside to play by the creek. They built a dam with small branches and laughed when water whooshed around it. Everything was peaceful—until Oliver’s paws got itchy again.

He wiggled his paw behind Olivia’s ear to tickle her. But just before he did it, he remembered his mom’s words: Hands are for helping, not for poking.

He stopped himself. Instead, he splashed a pawful of water at a passing leaf and said, “Hey, Olivia! Let’s race leaf boats!”

Olivia’s eyes sparkled. “Okay!”

They found two big, round leaves and placed them in the water. Side by side, they watched the leaves float around their tiny dam.

When Olivia’s leaf got stuck in the twigs, Oliver didn’t tease her or push her aside—he reached out gently, freed the leaf, and gave it a little push so it could sail again.

“Thanks, Oliver!” Olivia said happily.

Oliver grinned. It felt good—really good—not to poke or bug. It felt even better to help.

As the sun began to set behind the tall willows, Oliver and Olivia lay side by side on the soft moss, watching the sky turn pink and gold.

“I like playing with you when you’re nice,” Olivia said sleepily.

“I like playing with you too,” Oliver whispered back.

Mom peeked out of the burrow, smiling at her two little otters cuddled together peacefully. She knew that lessons like these took time and practice, but Oliver was learning—and every kind word and gentle paw would make their family stronger and happier.

From that day on, whenever Oliver felt the urge to poke or prod, he stopped and asked himself, "Will this make Olivia feel loved?"

If the answer was no, he found another way to play—a splash, a race, a kind word, or a helping paw.

And little by little, Oliver discovered that keeping his hands to himself didn’t mean he had less fun—it meant he had more smiles, more giggles, and a sister who always wanted to be by his side.

Moral to the Story Poem:
Hands are for hugs and helping each day,
Not for poking or teasing in play.
Kind words and gentle acts go far,
They show your family who you are.
Speak with love and act with care,
Keep your hands kind everywhere.
Brothers and sisters are treasures true—
Respect and kindness begin with you.