Every hero has an origin story. This one starts with a toot.
Gassy Gabby
Warning: this book contains toots, burps, and one seriously fast motorcycle.
1
Gabby was a kid like any other, it seemed
— cartwheels, chocolate milk, puppies — the usual dream.
But one little quirk set her apart from the pack:
she was the gassiest kid — and that's a fact.
It came out above. It came out below.
POW! ZOOM! CRASH! Away they'd go
— the lamp went spinning, the dog dashing for the door,
the couch went sliding clean across the floor.
At school one day, with kids all around,
out came a toot with a booming sound!
The hamster fainted, papers went soaring,
the teacher's voice went from calm to roaring!
The kids all giggled, scooted their chairs,
Gabby just wished she could vanish somewhere.
Every day, she tried something new.
She held her breath until her face turned blue,
she even stood stiff as a statue.
She blamed the dog, who gave a stare,
and sipped her water with the greatest care.
Nothing worked.
"Why can't I just be normal?" she whispered to Biscuit.
Her mom sat on the edge of the bed —
carefully upwind — and said,
"Gabby-bug, everybody's got something that makes them them.
Yours just happens to make a sound.
Maybe it could be your super power?"
Gabby grew up. The gas grew too.
But so did her nerve — and that came through.
Her cartwheels cleared a five-foot ring,
her balloon car flew without a thing.
Her burp got mistaken for a trombone's tune,
her flight coach swore he'd be sick by noon.
Wherever she went, something strange happened.
Usually something impressive, too.
She decided that if people were going to notice her,
she'd give them a reason to be glad she came through.
She watched an officer stop traffic with a single hand,
carry a scared kitten back to solid land,
help an old man cross before the light turned red —
and something clicked inside Gabby's head.
"That's it," said Gabby, "that's what I'll be —
a police officer, just wait and see!"
At the academy, Gabby topped every test —
fastest runner, sharpest shot, simply the best.
But when it came time to pick partners for the squad car,
not one officer stepped up — not near, not far.
Eight hours in a car is a mighty long ride,
and neither end of Gabby stayed quiet inside.
It stung. But Gabby didn't quit.
"Officer Gabby," said the captain,
"How about the motorcycle unit?
No partner required — just you and the open road."
Gabby grinned. "Perfect."
On her first test lap, she hit a bump,
out came a toot with a mighty thump!
She rocketed forward, fast as could be,
quicker than any race car she ever did see.
She blinked. She tried it again. Same thing.
Turns out, Gassy Gabby had turbo power.
She trained hard, and learned real quick
to time her toots for every trick —
a hairpin turn, a burst of speed,
the perfect toot for every need.
Her burps rang out, loud and clear,
a built-in siren when danger was near.
Beans for racing, broccoli for the chase,
soda for backup, just in case.
Her partner might've complained — but her motorcycle never did.
Soon Gabby was the fastest one on the force,
nobody could catch her — not a chance, of course.
Out in the open air, not stuck in a car,
her toots and her burps didn't linger far.
She'd lend a hand, then be gone in a flash —
yet still rampant were the jokes about her gas.
Then one stormy afternoon, the alarm rang out loud —
a getaway car sped through downtown in a cloud.
Racing wild, reckless and fast,
straight for the school crossing where kids stood, starting to pass.
Every patrol car in town was stuck —
a fallen tree blocked the way.
Every officer watched, helpless, unsure what to do or say.
Every officer — except one.
Gabby swung on her bike, quick as a wish,
grabbed her burrito — her emergency dish.
One big bite, and a burp so grand,
then a toot rocketed her toward where the children stand.
WHOOOOSH!
She zipped between cars and zoomed around bends —
until the fallen tree blocked her path up ahead.
She didn't slow down, not one little bit —
one well-timed toot, and she soared over it!
She landed just right, without missing a beat,
and caught the getaway car right there in the street.
Nobody had ever seen anything move that fast — or smelled a smell quite like that.
Gabby cut off the car just before the crossing.
One burp to stun them, one toot to seal the deal —
the robbers never stood a chance to get away with their big steal.
Windows fogged, hands shot up in the air,
surrendering fast, faces turning green in there.
The kids were safe. The town was saved. All thanks to Gabby — and her gassy flare.
The whole town threw a parade,
with banners, confetti and Gabby leading the way.
They gave her a medal, a key to the city,
and cheered for their hero — so brave, so gritty.
Kids lined the streets, waving flags up high,
chanting for Gabby as she rode on by.
"Gabby! Gabby! Queen of speed!
She's the one that we need!
Toot or burp, she won't slow down —
Gabby! Gabby! Hero of the town!"
The mayor gave a speech, proud and grand,
declaring it officially "Gabby Day" across the land.
That night, Gabby looked in the mirror and smiled.
The things she'd once been embarrassed by
— the things that made kids scoot their chairs away —
were the very same things that made her a hero today.
Maybe being different was never something to hide —
maybe it was always something she needed to learn to ride.
So next time you hear a toot, or see a green cloud go by,
don't laugh, don't stare, don't wonder why —
that's just Gabby, doing what Gabby does best:
turning her "weird" into a superpower, forgetting the rest.
And if there's something odd in you —
a burp, a toot, or something all your own —
don't hide it, don't fight it, let it be known.
Because the thing that makes you different
is the very thing that makes you you.
And that is something worth celebrating —
today, and every day after, too.
THE END
The End
Gassy Gabby
Warning: this book contains toots, burps, and one seriously fast motorcycle.
Every hero has an origin story. This one starts with a toot.
Gabby was a kid like any other, it seemed
— cartwheels, chocolate milk, puppies — the usual dream.
But one little quirk set her apart from the pack:
she was the gassiest kid — and that's a fact.
It came out above. It came out below.
POW! ZOOM! CRASH! Away they'd go
— the lamp went spinning, the dog dashing for the door,
the couch went sliding clean across the floor.
At school one day, with kids all around,
out came a toot with a booming sound!
The hamster fainted, papers went soaring,
the teacher's voice went from calm to roaring!
The kids all giggled, scooted their chairs,
Gabby just wished she could vanish somewhere.
Every day, she tried something new.
She held her breath until her face turned blue,
she even stood stiff as a statue.
She blamed the dog, who gave a stare,
and sipped her water with the greatest care.
Nothing worked.
"Why can't I just be normal?" she whispered to Biscuit.
Her mom sat on the edge of the bed —
carefully upwind — and said,
"Gabby-bug, everybody's got something that makes them them.
Yours just happens to make a sound.
Maybe it could be your super power?"
Gabby grew up. The gas grew too.
But so did her nerve — and that came through.
Her cartwheels cleared a five-foot ring,
her balloon car flew without a thing.
Her burp got mistaken for a trombone's tune,
her flight coach swore he'd be sick by noon.
Wherever she went, something strange happened.
Usually something impressive, too.
She decided that if people were going to notice her,
she'd give them a reason to be glad she came through.
She watched an officer stop traffic with a single hand,
carry a scared kitten back to solid land,
help an old man cross before the light turned red —
and something clicked inside Gabby's head.
"That's it," said Gabby, "that's what I'll be —
a police officer, just wait and see!"
At the academy, Gabby topped every test —
fastest runner, sharpest shot, simply the best.
But when it came time to pick partners for the squad car,
not one officer stepped up — not near, not far.
Eight hours in a car is a mighty long ride,
and neither end of Gabby stayed quiet inside.
It stung. But Gabby didn't quit.
"Officer Gabby," said the captain,
"How about the motorcycle unit?
No partner required — just you and the open road."
Gabby grinned. "Perfect."
On her first test lap, she hit a bump,
out came a toot with a mighty thump!
She rocketed forward, fast as could be,
quicker than any race car she ever did see.
She blinked. She tried it again. Same thing.
Turns out, Gassy Gabby had turbo power.
She trained hard, and learned real quick
to time her toots for every trick —
a hairpin turn, a burst of speed,
the perfect toot for every need.
Her burps rang out, loud and clear,
a built-in siren when danger was near.
Beans for racing, broccoli for the chase,
soda for backup, just in case.
Her partner might've complained — but her motorcycle never did.
Soon Gabby was the fastest one on the force,
nobody could catch her — not a chance, of course.
Out in the open air, not stuck in a car,
her toots and her burps didn't linger far.
She'd lend a hand, then be gone in a flash —
yet still rampant were the jokes about her gas.
Then one stormy afternoon, the alarm rang out loud —
a getaway car sped through downtown in a cloud.
Racing wild, reckless and fast,
straight for the school crossing where kids stood, starting to pass.
Every patrol car in town was stuck —
a fallen tree blocked the way.
Every officer watched, helpless, unsure what to do or say.
Every officer — except one.
Gabby swung on her bike, quick as a wish,
grabbed her burrito — her emergency dish.
One big bite, and a burp so grand,
then a toot rocketed her toward where the children stand.
WHOOOOSH!
She zipped between cars and zoomed around bends —
until the fallen tree blocked her path up ahead.
She didn't slow down, not one little bit —
one well-timed toot, and she soared over it!
She landed just right, without missing a beat,
and caught the getaway car right there in the street.
Nobody had ever seen anything move that fast — or smelled a smell quite like that.
Gabby cut off the car just before the crossing.
One burp to stun them, one toot to seal the deal —
the robbers never stood a chance to get away with their big steal.
Windows fogged, hands shot up in the air,
surrendering fast, faces turning green in there.
The kids were safe. The town was saved. All thanks to Gabby — and her gassy flare.
The whole town threw a parade,
with banners, confetti and Gabby leading the way.
They gave her a medal, a key to the city,
and cheered for their hero — so brave, so gritty.
Kids lined the streets, waving flags up high,
chanting for Gabby as she rode on by.
"Gabby! Gabby! Queen of speed!
She's the one that we need!
Toot or burp, she won't slow down —
Gabby! Gabby! Hero of the town!"
The mayor gave a speech, proud and grand,
declaring it officially "Gabby Day" across the land.
That night, Gabby looked in the mirror and smiled.
The things she'd once been embarrassed by
— the things that made kids scoot their chairs away —
were the very same things that made her a hero today.
Maybe being different was never something to hide —
maybe it was always something she needed to learn to ride.
So next time you hear a toot, or see a green cloud go by,
don't laugh, don't stare, don't wonder why —
that's just Gabby, doing what Gabby does best:
turning her "weird" into a superpower, forgetting the rest.
And if there's something odd in you —
a burp, a toot, or something all your own —
don't hide it, don't fight it, let it be known.
Because the thing that makes you different
is the very thing that makes you you.
And that is something worth celebrating —
today, and every day after, too.
THE END