Anna straightened the fur on her back with her tongue. Douglas, her rambunctious little brother scampered closer to watch her preen. “Whatcha doin?” He asked, wiggling his pink nose with curiosity.

Anna rolled her large blue eyes and continued her grooming on the other side, “Taking a bath…something you wouldn’t know anything about, judging from the amount of dust in your fur and the crust on your ears!” She wrinkled her nose as if sniffing something awful, “And the stench coming off of you would attract even the stupidest of coyotes!”

Douglas sniffed briefly at his underarms, “I don’t smell anything!” He cocked his head to one side as if waiting for an explanation. Anna grunted and continued her bath. Being the oldest of the brood still at home, she found herself spending a lot of time with her younger siblings, helping her mother with their care and safety. She didn’t really relish the task, and often wished she could move out of the burrow and find a place of her own.

“Trust me, if the coyotes come, I want to be far away from you, because you’ll be their first target!” Anna gnashed her front teeth together as if snapping at Douglas, to drive her point home. It worked, and Douglas ran back to the burrow opening wailing for his mother.

Anna could almost have predicted the timing. She had no sooner set to work finishing her bath when her mother poked her graying head out the burrow hole and scowled at her. “Anna Danielle Swiftfoot! What have you been telling your brother?” Mother’s voice was tired and cross. The new litter must be fussing, and mother was getting too old to care for so many children.

Anna lowered her ears respectfully, “I just told him he needed a bath!” She opened her eyes wider, so the full effect of her innocent look would not be lost on her mother. It didn’t work. Mother glowered at her daughter and wriggled her pink nose in disgust. Her head darted back down the hole and returned a few seconds later, pushing Douglas out in front of her.

“If he needs a bath, then you can give him one!” Mother snorted as she backed down into the burrow and feed the young ones. Anna groaned. She should have seen that punishment coming. She grabbed Douglas by his ears and dragged him closer to her. If she had to give him a bath, she’d make sure he was squeaky clean!

She started in on his head, licking at the dust he was caked in. “How can one little bunny get so dirty?” She asked, gagging on the dirt that now coated her tongue. She redoubled her efforts to get through the grunge to the soft fur underneath.

Douglas squirmed, “You think this is fun for me?” He twitched his ears back and forth as Anna licked them clean, “I’d rather be at the pond with my friends.” He sulked as Anna flipped him over and began cleaning his tummy. Her tongue tickled his ribs, and he laughed, despite himself.

“Stay still!” Anna put her front foot on Douglas to steady him, when she was knocked over by a gaggle of quail. She looked up and watched them flap through the dry field grass, trying to get off the ground and to the sky. She felt the ground shake and tremble, and she realized the quail were running scared! She poked up her ears and sniffed the air. Faintly, above the grasses there floated a familiar, and terrible smell. The ground continued to shake at the smell grew stronger and stronger.

Anna poked her head up above the grass and looked around. All through the prairie animals were scurrying and taking flight. She froze as her eyes fixed on the one thing that could stir up the entire prairie like this. Headed straight for her was a coyote!

“Run!” Anna whispered to Douglas through gritted teeth. But Douglas was too frightened. “RUN!” Anna screamed, as she half carried Douglas toward the burrow entrance. Eight bunny feet scurried as quickly as they could toward the hole that meant their safety from the loping death that now hunted them down.

Douglas reached the burrow and scrambled down to the lower levels and safety. He felt the hot breath of the coyote on his tail as he clambered into the hole. He closed his eyes and whimpered, scared the coyote had truly caught him for sure!

He lay there for what seemed like forever when he felt the cold nose of his mother brush against his whiskers. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his mother. She smiled warmly at him, reassuring him that it was alright. She smiled weakly, her whiskers twitching nervously. “Where’s Anna?”

Hearing a noise at the door, I hastily threw a newspaper over the empty 'In' file, slid the bottle of bourbon into the drawer and called out: "The door's open."
She walked in and my eyes bugged out. She was stacked. She had class, she had money. Her coat was real fur; the kind you don’t get on Hollywood Boulevard, and so was her tail. She looked at me with baby squirrel eyes that would melt the heart of a jungle predator, and said in a husky voice: "Mr. Leopard?"
"The same," I growled, "Like it says on the door Jack Leopard, P.I. We get your guy - and if you like, we can eat him too. Whasammarrer, can't you read?"
A single tear welled up in one those big brown eyes. She wiped it off with a gentle swipe of her tail that revealed a whole lot of thigh, setting my pulse racing. She answered with a slight sob, "Actually, no."
I suddenly felt a heel. I covered up with one of my famous smiles, revealing the rack of teeth that made me famous in The Beast Stalks At Night the one movie I made with Paramount before they realized that, basically, I was just a predatory animal like all the executive staff, and declared me redundant. Well, that’s when I became a P.I.…a guy's got to eat.
She was no patsy. My teeth didn’t even phase her. "It's not polite to yawn like that," she said, admonishingly, "Especially in front of a lady."
I bristled. I raked an inch-deep furrow in my desk with one claw and rumbled: "Look, did you come here to give me a lesson in etiquette or offer me a job?"
Boy, was she skittish. She was on top of the door transom in a flash, her long eyelashes trembling. She said: "I thought maybe I'd found someone who could help me. But obviously your kind are all the same."
That hurt. She must have heard about my escapade in Paramount's canteen when they were on that macrobiotic kick. Jeez. Two whole weeks with no red meat. Anyway, they were going to fire that Mexican cook - and I barfed half of him up, too. Garlic…eeeagh.
"OK, I'm sorry," I said, "Come on down and tell what the problem is, and I promise to be nice."
She leapt from the transom to the seat in one smooth glide. Like the true lady she was, she regained her composure immediately and said: "It's my husband, Mr. Leopard, he's gone nuts."
This time my yawn was involuntary. Boy, don’t I get them, I thought. "Ma'am," I said as evenly as I could, "Would I be right in saying that your husband is of the same, er, ethnic background as yourself?"
"Yes," she said frowning.
"The same guy who had all that trouble with Disney over The Little Mermaid?"
"Ye…es…" she said faltering.
"Elliott Redtail, to be precise?"
"But how did you know?"
"Look ma'am, you are wasting my time. Let's be blunt about it. Elliott is a squirrel, and nuts and squirrels go together just like penguins and ice cream."
"You're overextending a metaphor now," she said haughtily.
"Don't throw that Ivy League education at me!" I snarled.
"I did frequent the branches," she said stiffly, "But I was never a member."
"Look," I said, "Any squirrel who gets blacklisted by Disney is finished in this town."
"How dare you!" she squeaked. "My husband is a star!" Her voice had shot up two octaves putting it in the supersonic range. That's OK I've got good ears.
"Ma'am your husband is also a squirrel," I said wearily. "The Little Mermaid was set underwater and he wanted the lead role. Sure, he is nuts. Come on, out with it now, what do you really want to see me about?"
She dropped her eyes and whispered: "I think he's seeing another squirrel."
I winced. "Oh no, not another divorce case. I couldn't take it - not even for a thousand bucks."
"What about this?" she said, and threw a purse on the table like it held the Kohinoor Diamond. Her eyes were misty. "It was my dowry."
I shook it and out they tumbled onto the desk; acorns - lots of them. I groaned a long deep groan and shook my head.
After she'd gone, I sat musing about her case. I picked my teeth and belched. I always get philosophical after lunch. Another divorce case and all she could offer was acorns!
Anyway, the job keeps me alive. In fact, I could alter the sign on the door…but it wouldn’t be good for business if I put the whole truth, I thought with a sn****r.
I coughed up a fur ball. Gee, she was hairy.

799 WORDS

This entry is in the form of an elder telling a story. The grammar mistakes are made for the sake of landing a colloquial (common-sounding) speech suited to the intended speaker. If you've never met any Native American elders, or have never heard a traditional story... well, sucks to be you... and you also might not fully 'get it'.

---

Back in the day, before Europeans came over, even before man first set foot upon turtle rock, there were animals. Just like the animals we have around here. These animals, they can talk. Most people don’t know that. You know when a pet is hungry because they talk to you... and you understand ‘em. No words. No language. Just talk.

Right. So back in the day, Owl was walking along. Owl’s walking because he can take human shape. Two legs, two arms, just like you and me. That’s part of Owl’s power. Owl’s walking along, and sees spider sitting just off the path. Hears spider calling ‘im over. Spider’s a wise animal, and a friend of Owl’s, so Owl comes over to see ‘what’. Spider says, “You have ideas, yes? Stories? You have a lot to teach. I’ve found a way you can practice... see what stories are good, what stories work.”

Owl didn’t know, but Coyote was sitting in the bushes, watching. Spider wasn’t even really there—Coyote was making Spider there. Coyote, he has powers, too. He just think, and Spider’s there. Only not really Spider.

Right. So Spider tells Owl, “I talk to more wise animals. I get Fox, Eagle, and Wolf here to listen to your story. Then, Fox, Eagle, Wolf, and me, we all give you number. Ten is a good story. One is a bad story. Then we see if any other animals have a story to suggest.” Owl agreed, and Spider called the other three animals out of the bushes.

But Coyote was the only one hiding in the bushes. And he stay hidden, but make the other animals appear with his power.

So the animals all circle around Owl, and all listen. Owl starts off with a great story, working his hardest to make the best story he’d ever told.

The animals all looked unimpressed. “Six,” Spider said. “Seven,” said the rest. Owl said ‘wait, wait, I have more,’ and carried on with another story, telling this one with more passion and zeal than he’d ever thought possible.

Again, the animals were all unimpressed. “Seven,” said Spider. “Six,” said the rest.

Owl began to get angry. He decided to tell a story that was unlike anything he’d ever done—one that was riveting and amazing, but completely made up. You see, stories back then aren’t like stories now. When the white man come, he bring his stories. He says all stories are all fake, just because his are all fake. But not this story. And not Owl’s stories. He felt bad for lying, even just that one time, but he decided that it was going to be worth it, just to get respect from the other animals.

“Six,” they all said once Owl was finished, all at once. Owl became very angry. This would normally frighten the animals around him, because Owl had great power. Still does. You see an owl in the tree, you know that he’s connected to everything. To fate, the white man would say. An omen. But Spider, Fox, Eagle, and Wolf weren’t afraid. They’re not really there, you see. It’s all just Coyote’s power.

So before Owl gets too angry, Coyote comes out of the bushes and asks what they’re doing.

“They’re judging stories,” Owl replied. Coyote asked if he could try, and Owl said to ask Spider.

“Of course.”

And so Coyote began to dance around in circles, pointing to the animals and saying “I agree!” Only he didn’t say it in English, like I do now. He said it in his native tongue, in which it was “Hou!”

The spider and all the other animals laughed happily throughout Coyote’s dance. Once he stopped, they all shouted his praise. “Ten!” they all said.

Owl was amazed. “Did you really like it that much?” he asked.

“Of course,” Spider said. “If only you could tell stories like that.”

“If you really wanted to, you could use it,” Coyote said. “I don’t mind. You’re better at telling stories than I am, anyways. You practice that story, and you tell it to everyone you meet. Spread wisdom. Make people happy.”

Owl thanked Coyote, turned into a bird, and flew off. When Owl had gone, Coyote laughed and said to himself, “Looks like I won’t have to sit through any more of his boring old stories again.”

“Mr. Octopus!”

“Yes, Mr. Puffer?”

“I need you to run over to the Oceanonic Supply Company. We’re low on ink!”

“What? How did that happen?”

“Mr. Shellfish in supply forgot to order it, claims Mrs. Starfish had an unfortunate accident with a paper cutter. He said something about a severed appendage and the next thing he knew he had a new employee to train. So he completely forgot about taking inventory.”

“I really need the extra ink tonight M.P. I’ve got an interview with Sharkbait behind the Clam beds.”

“Sharkbait?”

“My source. His name's not really Sharkbait but it might as well be. He’s the last of his line. I’m going out to talk to him and hopefully convince him to go into the recently enacted Shark Protection Program.”

“Do you know how hard it is to get a soft shell turtle to get a backbone and testify about this shark problem?”

“How did you know my source is a soft shell turtle?” Mr. Octopus asked in amazement.

“I have my sources Mr. Octopus. Maybe...” Mr. Puffer said with a wink, “...you should come down to the coral reef some time and check out the Oyster bars. Every once in awhile you find yourself with a real gem!”

Mr. Octopus shook a tentacle at his boss in playful annoyance, having had this conversation with him before. He just never could find a comfortable place to rest all his tentacles in those places, always seemed to be knocking someone over or tripping someone on the dance floor. (His tentacles just couldn’t help but move in time with the tunes coming from the soulful styling of the rock bass and drum fish orchestra.)He went back to his bosses original question, trying to avoid the heated debate that would come if they continued talking about the oyster bar. “I know how hard it is to get one to agree to go into seclusion and wait for a trial but this one hasn’t any family left. He’s already in seclusion. Every since the chemical leak into the Shark’s territory from the soft shell turtles, Shell Enlargement Company the sharks have been out of control. And when the soft shell turtles refused to help with the clean up, they didn’t realize they’d signed their own extinction papers.”

“Do we prosecute the turtle for the contamination or the sharks for wiping out a species without a license?” Mr. Puffer was thinking out loud again. Mr. Octopus hated when he did that!

“Maybe we can wait until I get him into protective custody before deciding that one! I’m not even sure he’ll show up tonight. And if I can’t get a hold of some extra ink, I’m going to be just as easy to pick off as a floating duck” Exasperation crept into his voice. He hated being without his defenses at full power. This was not a time for an ink shortage!

“Alright, alright! We’ll discuss our options once you get that spineless turtle turned over to the hammerheads for protection!” Resignation in his usually strong voice, he swelled and deflated in an obvious attempt to reduce his stress. Mr. Puffer inhaled again and Mr. Octopus stumbled back on three tentacles as Mr. Puffer swelled to what must have been a record size for him. Mr. Puffer's shocked look was proof that he’d inhaled a bit harder than he’d intended. His mouth formed a brief blurred ‘O’ as he suddenly shot backwards through the room and bouncing off the back wall, came streaming at Mr. Octopus. Mr.Octopus ducked. Turning he watched as Mr. Puffer jetted through the doorway and out into the general work area.

He didn’t wait around to see the outcome. He knew it wouldn’t be pretty. Taking the back exit he cruised over to the Oceanonic Supply Company. Twenty minutes later and thirty clams shorter he headed for the office but then decided against it and headed straight for the clam beds. “Could use some extra clams anyway,” He mumbled. It would be a week before petty cash got around to reimbursing him for the ink.

Gliding through the water, alert for shadowy movements from above was really starting to ruin his enjoyment of his free time. The days of mindless swimming, now long in the past. He couldn’t help thinking of how it would feel to prosecute the sharks and once and for all be rid of their overbearing presence in the city.

Swimming around a large rock cropping he saw the clam beds and his source. A dark shadow fell across him. He jetted behind the nearest large rock, an ink cloud obscuring him and everything beyond. “Damn, didn’t mean to do that!” He grunted.

He heard the squeals and felt the thrashing of the water against his body. “Nooooooo.”

It was one of those days again in my house.
The large male was angry about something.
I heard the short female conversing with him about why he couldn’t get into the clinic they went to. He seemed rather upset that he couldn’t get an examination. I found this to be incredibly puzzling. Why would someone want the examination? Every time I have to go to the clinic I’m coddled by strangers like some sort of small human child, then viciously poked with metal instruments and…well…violated in other ways that are simply too painful to think about. Last time the one who seems the fondest of me was sent back to our dwelling with an orange bottle of what I can only guess to be cyanide tablets for me. She and the blonde male who sometimes visits her tried on numerous occasions to force the death pills down my throat but I fought. Oh how I fought! They will both have scars lasting long after I am gone…but, I digress. I apologize for the tangent, but I was just so confused as to why anyone would voluntarily subject themselves to the clinic. Regardless of his reasoning however, he was unpleasant to be around. I destroyed his cow jacket though, so now he has something valid to complain about. He is the best subject for torture in the house though, and I always jump at the chance to make his day a bit more miserable.
I headed down to the small female’s room next. She claims to be “allergic” to me, though she has pills to counter my most awesome power. At the moment though, she is “out” of her tablets. I knew she would never think to hunt for them under the fridge. Whilst downstairs with her, I proceeded to pull my “cute” stunt. Since she gives the best stomach rubs in the house, covering her pillows with my powerful fur is twice as enjoyable. She gets to pet me and feel special, I get to know that for the next 12 hours she will have no sleep, and without her pills, be in agony while she sneezes. She was on her talking device, discussing finals. Though I am not sure exactly what these entail, I am sure she will need sufficient rest in order to complete them, and I have definitely sabotaged any chances of that! Another job well done.
The medium sized female was next on my list of things to do today. I have discovered that, while she is extraordinarily loud, she is not that bright and often forgets to close the entrance to her space. There is a delightful young hamster by the name of Cookie Dough who resides in there. I had originally intended to have him as a light, mid-afternoon snack one day until I saw him attack the smallest female. When blood was drawn, I realized that the hamster was not an enemy but an ally. We meet regularly to discuss household activities and the best way to torment the large, two-legged creatures we are forced to share our dwelling with. These meetings provide needed intelligent companionship, as well as being an excellent chance to frighten the medium one. She screeches each time I gain access to her quarters, but is slow and dimwitted, thus unable to catch me when I slip stealthy under her nest. Each time I terrify her I am rewarded with treats by the one who is fondest of me, leading me to believe we share a distaste for the medium sized screamer.
I have nothing against the one who is fondest of me, per say. She provides me with dry and tasteless nourishment, yet often offers nibbles of whatever she happens to be snacking on at the time. Though it is disgustingly degrading to be fed leftovers from a two-legged, I am powerless to her efforts to ply me with this “ice cream” she keeps hidden. I must find out how to create my own “ice cream” so that I can regain my independence. Since I have done my rounds of inflicting pain and agony upon the creatures in the dwelling, I choose to go and rest with the one who is fondest. Today, however, she seems angry as well. Each time I try to remove the book from her desk, as I do not wish her to become more intelligent than I, I am subject to a spritz from the bottle of hellfire. Due to my current state of uncomfortable wetness, I am forced to retreat to the closet lair I have created out of clothing and papers I have stolen.
It has been a full two hours, has my day. I shall rest now, and plan the hideous acts for tomorrow’s itinerary.
- Zoy, The Conqueror

The eastern sky warmed to a creamy pink as the rays of dawn flooded the horizon. Tucked away in the lush valley was the Cape Carbunkle ERANS (Extremely Risky And New Science) launching facility. Towering above the scattered buildings and vehicles was the XR-533 Space Rocket, the first ever that wasn't an eleven inch tall model swinging in front of a camera on fishing line, it was the real deal!

Commander Akerban stood facing the barred window in his room. He felt something stir in his throat as the sun clawed its way into the sky, like an annoyed drunk kicked by a policemen after passing out in the gutter. Dazzling rays began to reflect off of the rocket's silver nosecone. Stunned at the poetic beauty he had just conjured, he made a note to write down his thoughts later in his Me Journal.

As he was trying to decide whether he was choked up, or merely throat lumped, his partner knocked on the steel slider that seperated their enclosures.

"Who wishes entrance to my quarters?", asked Akerban.

He heard a sigh from the other side, "You know who it is Bu-, I mean 'Akerban', open the latch!"

"And if you are a spy, spying about, waiting to knock me unconscious with a whalloping device, then what stranger?" he asked rhetorically, "The captain of the most important space mission ever, knocked out, while you create an Akerban-mask, pose as me, and forge an alliance against our planet with alien life-forms?! Not on my watch!!" he raged.

"It's the first space mission ever! Just open the door!" he pleaded.

Akerban reached for a steel rod he kept at his bedside and unlatched the door, it slid down slowly. He glimpsed the fuzzy face of his partner and breathed a sigh of relief.

Gurgan hopped inside and set about doing what he did best: complaining.

"These suits are restrictive, my tail is all scrunched up and I'm going to have to comb out my fur after this, I know it" he said.

"These suits have to be perfect, number two." said Akerban, "Air tight and form fitting, they'll protect us from space germs, and space dust, and space... flu and such."

"I wish you wouldn't call me 'number two', it's very demeaning to be referred to as your 'number two'." said Gurgan.

"What do you mean?", Akerban was confused. Gurgan let it go, it was almost time for them to get into the rocket.

"Today's the big day, think everything will go smoothly?" asked Gurgan.

"I have the utmost confidence and faith in my team, as should you" replied Akerban, ever the robotic soldier.

"Uh huh, 'your' team." Gurgan shot back. As another snarky comment floated to his lips, an alarm went off inside the room.

"My quarters are under attack! Quick, dive in front of me and absorb the laser fire!" Akerban ordered.

"These aren't 'quarters', it's a cell you twit! And you're not under attack, it's time to go to the roOOOOooocket!" Gurgan yelped out the last word as an electric tazer jutted through the steel barred door of their cages, prodding them toward a catwalk adjoined to the side of the room.

The two chimps dashed across the steel grating and entered the craft, taking their places in the appropriate seats and strapping themselves in tight. Gurgan felt the thrum of the engines down below as they geared up to become twin volcanoes that would blow them into outer space.

"You feel that Mr. Gurgan?" asked Akerban, a twinkle in his eye.

Gurgan nodded.

"Imagine how much horsepower is down there..." Akerban mused.

"I don't think it's a matter of horse pow-" Gurgan was cut off.

"And the wheels on this hot-rod must be huge!" Akerban exclaimed.

Gurgan felt sick, "We're not driving anywhere sir, we're going to fly into space..."

"Fly?!" chuckled Akerban, "You're a joker Gurgan"

Akerban leaned toward the console and reached for the levers and buttons there, Gurgan let out a loud groan of protest.

"You shouldn't be messing with those..." he said.

"Nonsense! This is my vessel... where is the gas pedal..." said Akerban.

Gurgan examined the control panel, relieved to see it was a mockup and not the real thing. Most of the instruments were painted on, the buttons unlabeled and dead. There was even a gauge that read "PARTY TIME" with the arrow comically bursting out the far side of the red zone.

He sighed peacefully, things might be okay afterall.

"Nevermind, go to town Bubbles... I mean-" Akerban cut him off.

"How do you know my real name?! Dirty spy!" Akerban yelled.

The steel rod materalized in his hand as the final countdown concluded. Akerban clubbed Gurgan unconscious while the rocket powered up and burst into the sky. Feeling confident that a successful mission was now in reach, he relaxed and fell asleep, dreaming of rollerskates, bananas and heroes parades.

Back on earth, in a sterile room, dissection tools are laid out upon a tray.

It felt like we had been walking for hours, but none of us were sure. We were all kids at the time and we hadn’t reached that point in our lives where we felt the need to invest in a watch. Jimmy the Horse claimed he had found a dead cat in the pond and was leading a group of us through the woods so we could go poke it. It was a childish thing to do, but to be fair we were part of that new generation of animals that were intellectually handicapped by television.

Taking part in this little necrophilia parade were my friends, Tom Mongoose, Pete Pig, Jimmy the Horse and of course, me, Rex Dog. We hadn’t thought of it at the time, but it was kind of weird that everyone had what type of animal they were right after their first name. I suppose it was one of those little things you overlook, like a cancerous lump in your neck or nose hair.

We all strolled through the forest while Jimmy led the way. The sun sprayed through the forest canopy, a cool breeze whisked through our fur and the fresh air was intermittently interrupted by the robust stench of horse manure. By the smell of things, Jimmy had some sort of low fiber oats that day for breakfast. It took some careful dodging to make sure we weren’t taking a fresh sample back home with us. A short time later we had reached the pond.

We climbed down an embankment and came upon the corpse. It was bobbing up and down and face down in some tall pond grass. The site of the cat made Pete faint and we all laughed as he fell face first into some jagged rocks. We later found out he had randomly suffered a brain aneurism and died. We all felt horrible, not because we laughed at him, but because we had poked him with a stick for about ten minutes after it happened. It was sad, but not that sad. He had just moved in the neighborhood and we didn’t really know him well.

We propped Pete up on some rocks and waded into the pond. For the next hour we all just poked away at that poor cat. I’m not sure what it is, but nothing brings a group of friends together like poking a carcass with a stick. We all became closer than a dog, horse, mongoose and dead pig could ever be. I could have spontaneously combusted right there in the pond and I would have died relatively happy (except for the being burned alive part). Some time later we heard a rustling in the bushes behind us. We turned to see a large bear emerging from the forest.

“How ya doing kids?” the bear asked. “Is that a dead body?” We all nodded and looked at the damp cat. “Actually, I know that’s a dead body, I meant that pig floating out away from those rocks.” Pete had somehow slumped over into the pond and had begun to float away. I quickly retrieved him and propped him back up against the rocks.

“How did you know the cat was dead?” I asked.

“Well that’s simple,” the bear said. “I killed him.”

We all gasped. We should have tried to swim for it, but we were paralyzed with fear. My legs were stiff, Tom’s arms were shaking and I couldn’t see Jimmy, but by the smell of things, he was either scared or still recovering from his low fiber breakfast. The bear slowly made his way down the embankment and inched toward us with his arms outstretched. I knew I had to do something and I had to do it quick. I reached down into the water, grabbed the biggest rock I could find, closed my eyes and hurled the rock at the bear.

I heard twigs breaking and leaves jostling and thought I had missed. When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to find the bear lying face down on the jagged rocks next to Pete. Had I some how hit the bear? I didn’t want to wait and find out. We all ran into the woods and home as fast as our hind legs could take us.

It was later confirmed by the police that I hadn’t hit the bear at all. He too had suffered a massive brain aneurism and had died. It was really creepy. In the end, this little adventure had brought the three of us closer together than we had ever hoped. Sure, one of our friends had died and we had defiled two corpses, but isn’t that what being a kid is all about? Poking dead things and not trying to explain the unexplainable.

It was only the second time in the 4 Billion year history of the planet that it had happened. Life spontaneously started. It was that super remote chance of the correct amino acids coming into contact with just the right proteins in a very specific sequence. And the kicker was that it happened at the precise temperature necessary for the process to become self-sustaining. Of course, some would say there was a little bit extra tossed in, some divine intervention, if you will. But will we ever know? Because a short time later...

Rufus came bounding up onto the back deck in response to the call to supper. His nose immeadiately informed him that tonight was a special night. It was leftover night. The night when he gets to eat all the leftovers from the previous week. And best of all on this drizzly night, it is warmed to perfection.