Your kids will love this dramatized version of the Jolly Solly series, read by Nechama B. 

They can follow along with the video, or the printout, and color the picture too!

Click on the images to download the printable versions of the story and color-in picture

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here was an ambulance outside Mr. Krankowitz’s house. Oh dear! As the children of Sunny Lane stared, two paramedics rapped on the old man’s door.

Fishel and Faivish Friedman tried to peek inside the house. The paramedics shut the door firmly behind them.

“What’s going on?” called Moishy Morris from across the street.

“We can’t say,” replied Fishel. He didn’t let on that the reason he couldn’t say was that he didn’t have any idea.

“It’s top secret,” declared Faivish grandly.

“Oh,” said Moishy, somewhat awed.

Miriam Morris piped up.

“Is Mr. Krankowitz deaded?”

“Shhh! Chas v’shalom,” Moishy said quickly. “We don’t know what happened. Hopefully it isn’t anything serious.”

Two minutes later, the paramedics emerged. They were pushing Mr. Krankowitz in a wheelchair. To Moishy’s relief, the old man looked the same as usual.

“Hey! You’re bumping me,” he yelled at the paramedics. He waved his cane.

“Sorry, sir, the sidewalk is uneven,” replied one of the men. But he slowed down.

“What are you slowing down for? Get a move on, will you!” ordered Mr. Krankowitz.

The paramedics exchanged a look. The sooner they were rid of this patient, the better. Just before they wheeled him into the ambulance, Mr. Krankowitz remembered his rosebushes.

“Hey, you!” he yelled at Fishel and Faivish. “Keep an eye on my roses, will you!”

Just as he said, “eye,” one of the paramedics sneezed and drowned out his words. Fishel was sure he’d said “tie.” His mother sometimes tied back the bushes in her garden to keep them neat. I suppose Mr. Krankowitz wants me to tie his roses back, he thought.

“All right! I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” he called back.

“They’ll need lots of watering,” shouted the old man, but his wheelchair went bumpity-bump just then. Faivish thought he’d said “slaughtering.” I guess he means I should slaughter them. Like, cut off the dead heads like Mommy does with her lilies.

“No problem,” he shouted back.

The ambulance sped away.