FIRST GOPHER AND THE THREE SISTERS

In the beginning,  First Gopher and First Mate lived on a dark, dank world without any sun or warmth.  All they had to eat were muddy roots and slimy fungus.  Many enemies hunted them, so they lived in holes deep in the ground, never daring to venture outside.

One day, First Gopher was making her weary way through a seldom-used tunnel.  Suddenly, she saw a flash of light above her.  When she searched for the source of the light, she found it came from a small fissure in the ceiling.  Putting put her eye to the hole, she saw a beautiful, world with a blue, blue sky and sunlight and growing things.

First Gopher hurried to find First Mate.  He, too, was thrilled at the sight of the bright new world, but the opening in the ceiling was very small and the rock around it was very hard.  Try as they might, they could not did their way out.

“What shall we do?” cried First Gopher.  “If we cannot get to that marvelous place, I will die!”

“We will help you,” a soft voice called through the opening.

The Gophers looked through the crack and saw three lovely, green maidens smiling down at them.

“Who are you?” asked First Gopher.

“We are the Three Sisters,” one of the maiden’s replied.  “If we help you get into our world, will you promise to help us, as well?”

“Gladly!” cried First Gopher and First Mate.

The Three Sisters formed a circle around the opening and dug their strong toes into the ground.  Soon, the rock began to split and flake away until there was a hole big enough for First Gopher and First Mate to climb through.

When the Three Sisters withdrew their toes from the rock, it collapsed into the hole.  No enemies would be able to follow First Gopher and First Mate from their old world into their new one.

“Thank you!” cried First Gopher and her Mate.  “You have saved us!  What can we do to repay you?”

“We cannot walk about as you do,” one of the Three Sisters said.   “We are very hungry and thirsty but we cannot get to water or good soil, which is our food.  Carry us to a place where there is rich earth.  Water us and tend us well, and we will feed you.”

First Gopher and First Mate carried the Three Sisters to the top of a tall Mesa where the soil was thick and fertile.  They dug irrigation ditches to bring sweet water to the Three Sisters.  They watched over the Three Sisters’ field, pulling weeds and chasing away pests.

The Three Sisters happily dug their toes deep into the earth.  At the end of their first growing cycle, they gave their fruits to the Gophers, and taught them how to cook and preserve them.

“We will sleep through the winter,” the Three Sisters explained.  “But if you save some of our seeds and plant them in the spring, we will grow for you again.”

The Gophers did as they were told and prospered.  The Gopher Tribe–for First Gopher and First Mate had many children who had many more children–built dwellings in the cliff faces of the Mesa.

From that day to this, when Gophers tend the fields, when they prepare a meal, when they look up and see the sun, they say a prayer of thanksgiving for the many gifts the Three Sisters–Sister Corn, Sister Bean and Sister Squash–give them and gave to their ancestors.

NUTS!

“I’d better get the recyles cleared out,” Daddy said.  “I can’t believe it’s October already.  Pretty soon, it’ll be cold enough to freeze an ogre’s toes!”

“Can I go with you?”  Heather asked.

“Of course.  I could use your help.”

Heather and Daddy carried stacks of newpapers and magazines and boxes of cans, jars and plastic containers from the garage to the truck.

“”There!”  Daddy said as they shoved the last box in and closed the tail gate.  “Now I can park in the garage when it snows.”  Heather knew that by spring the stack of recycles would be so big that Daddy would have to start parking in the driveway again.  The recycle place was a hundred miles away, so they only made the trip once a year.

“It’s a good idea to give the truck a workout before winter hits,” Daddy commented.  “We sure didn’t use it much this summer, did we?”

“No,” Heather agreed sadly.  Usually the family went camping nearly every week in the summer.  This year, however, they’d only gone a couple of times in June.  The truck had sat for months under the English walnut tree, looking as forlorn as Heather felt.  Heather sighed as she climbed into the cab and buckled her seat belt.  Maybe next summer Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t have to work so many weekends.

Daddy turned the key.  “R-r-r-r.  R-r-r-r.”  The engine refused to turn over.

“Dang it!”  Daddy popped the latch, got out, and lifted the latch.  “What on earth . . .?”  He exclaimed.  He started to laugh.  “Heather, get the camera!”

“Why?”  Heather hopped out of the truck and ran around front, standing on tiptoe to see into the engine.  “Oh, my goodness!”

The entire engine was full of walnuts!  Nuts had been crammed into ever nook and cranny.  Heather ran inside and got both the camera and Mommy.

After taking several pictures, they all began throwing the nuts out of the engine.  “Ch-r-r-k-k-k!” Heather looked up.  A squirrel was sitting on a branch of the walnut tree.  It chattered and scolded, jumping from branch to branch.

“Daddy, we’re ruining the squirrel’s winter nut supply!”  Heather said.

“Well, he can’t keep his nuts in the truck,” Daddy pointed out.

“But it seems such a shame to spoil all his hard work.”  Heather thought of something she’d seen in the garage as they were clearing it out.  “I know!  Don’t throw any more nuts out.”  Heather ran to the garage and grabbed the big box that Daddy’s computer came in.  There were holes cut in the side for handles.  “Let’s put the nuts in this,” she said, dragging it out to her parents.

“Good idea,” agreed Mommy.

When all the nuts were cleaned out, the truck started right up.

As they pulled away from the curb, Heather grinned as she watched the squirrel scamper down the tree and squeeze through one of the  hand holes and into the box under the lilac bush with “Nuts !  Do Not Move Until Spring!” written in black letters on the side.

“George knows his colors!”  5-year-old Susan exclaimed.   George, her 2-year-old brother stood grinning in the doorway.

“Really?  That’s wonderful, George,” Mother said.

“Debbie and I just taught him red and green and orange and yellow,”  Susan said proudly.  She ran back outside.

“So, George.  What color is this?”  asked Mother, pointing to a red rose in a vase on the table.

“Shoe!”  George declared.

“Hmmm.  What color is this?”  Mother asked, pointing to the green tablecloth.

“Pants!”

“Susan!  Debbie!  Could you come in here a minute?”  Mother called.  The two girls came running.  “Girls, how did you teach George colors?”

“We used Debbie’s clothes, ’cause she’s wearing lots of colors today, ” Susan explained.

“Like this,”  Debbie chimed in.   She pointed to her shoe.  “Shoe, George.  Red.”

Mother looked at Debbie’s red shoes, green pants, orange shirt and yellow hat.

“George, what’s this?” she asked. pointing to one of Susan’s yellow sandals.

“It a red,”  George said.

“What color is it?”

“Hat!”

“Oh, George!  It’s a yellow shoe,”  Susan said.

George shook his head.  “Hat red,” he said firmly.

Debbie giggled.  “George got it all backwards,” she said.

“Never mind,” said Mother.  “It’s lunch time.  Let’s eat.  We can sort George out later.”

“What’s for lunch?  asked Susan.

“Fish sticks, green salad and orange juice,” Mother answered.

“Don’t you mean ‘pants’ salad and ’shirt’ juice?”  Debbie asked with a grin.

“Shoe berries!” added George, pointing to the bowl of ripe red strawberries.

“And shoe berries for desert,” Mother agreed with a laugh.

(NOTE:  I know I said I was going to do these exercises every day but I had a really wierd health issue crop up–vertigo with some facial numbness–which is now resolved, I hope.  I’m getting back to a regular writing schedule, finally, and am also going on with my blog.)

MERVIN

“Above is cold and light and terrible.  Below is warm and dark and safe.  Below  is home,” all the little moles chanted together.

Mervin the mole nudged his brother, Mel.  “Want to go peek out of the tunnel entrance?”  he asked.

“Ugh!  No!  You are so wierd, Merv.  You’re the only mole I know who wants to see what’s Above.”  Mel shouldered his way past Mervin and began digging a new tunnel out of the school space.

Mervin sighed and made his way back  to his family’s burrow.  He could dig, but not nearly as well as the other moles.  He preferred to travel by the old tunnels whenever he could.

“Mervin, there’s something we have to tell you,” his father said that night once all the mole family was together.  It was a tight squeeze in the burrow.  It was nearly time for the young moles to move out.

“What is it, Papa?” asked Mervin.  He tried to get his back leg up so he could scratch his neck, but there wasn’t room.

“The thing is, Mervin, you’re not a mole.”

“What?’

“That’s right, dear” Mervin’s mama said.  “Your papa found you in the entrance tunnel.  You weren’t much bigger than my babies and I had plenty of milk, so we took you in.”

“You’ve been a good son, Son,” Papa Mole said.  “But you’ve grown so big that you just can’t stay here any more.  You dig pretty well, considering how scrawny your paws are, but you’re just not one of us.  You’re not a mole, and that’s that.”

“If I’m not a mole, what am I?”  Mervin asked, swallowing hard to keep from bursting into tears.  He was a big mole–or whatever–and big moles don’t cry.

“We don’t know.   The High Mole says you must leave the colony.”

“Leave?  But where would I go?”

“Above.  The High Mole says no animal who lives Below has your kind of ears.  He says you must seek your fortune up . . .there.”  Papa mole motioned upwards with his snout and shuddered.  Mervin shuddered, too.  But, deep inside, he felt something stirring that felt more like excitement than fear.

All his brothers and sisters nuzzled Mervin one last time.  His mother licked his nose.  His father lovingly bumped shoulders with him.  In a daze, Mervin crawled along until he came to the entrance to Above .  It was night, but even the light of the stars was more than his eyes were used to.  He crawled out of the tunnel and hunched up, shivering and blinking, in the cold air.

“Hello.  I’m Rosebud.  Who are you?”  A soft voice asked.

Mervin looked up and beheld the first creature he’d ever seen.  (It was too dark in the mole tunnels to see anything.)  She had soft fur, a sweet, button nose and big eyes with long eyelashes.   Oh, thought Mervin, she’s beautiful.

“H-hello,” whispered Mervin.  “I’m Mervin the mole.”

Rosebud threw her head back and laughed.  “What a funny fellow you are.  You’re certainly dirty enough to be a mole.  And you do look a little bit like one with your ears plastered back like that.  But you’re most definitely not a mole.  You’re a rabbit, just like me.”

Mervin sat up slowly.  One by one, his ears, that had lain flat along his back all his life, pricked up.  He could hear crickets courting and Rosebud breathing and leaves rustling in the wind.  His button nose quivered.  He could smell sweet clover and juicy grass and acorns turning into oak trees.  He shook himself off and scratched his neck.  He took a tentative hop.  Then another.  Then another.  Soon Mervin and Rosebud were chasing each other all over the meadow.

“I’m a rabbit!” Mervin cried.  “A rabbit!”

“Of course you are, silly,” said Rosebud.  “Come on.  I’ll show you the best place to see the sun come up.”

Mervin the rabbit couldn’t wait to see his first sunrise.

THE DOG GONEDEST BIRTHDAY PARTY

“Happy birthday to you!  Happy birthday to you!  Happy birthday dear Tippy!  Happy birthday to you!”

George’s voice was anything but melodious.  In fact, it hurt my ears nearly as much as a dog whistle.  But what the heck?  As pets go, George was a pretty good one.   He was ten years old, which was the perfect age–too old to pull my tail or try to pick me up by my ears, but still young enough to be able to throw a ball lots of times and go for a good long walk every day.  I’d had him almost all my life.  Ever since I picked him out when he first looked into my mother’s  basket.  I knew right away that he was the one for me and scrambled over my brothers and sister in my eagerness to tell him so.  Had that really been nearly two years ago, human time?  It seemed like only yesterday.

” Oh, oh.  I forgot the candles.  Be right back!”  George hurried into the house.

My next door neighbor, Spike, was at my party.  His pet wasn’t there because he had to go get his teeth tortured at the dentist’s.  Poor kid.

Spike and I eyed each other.  We were sitting on wooden chairs on opposite sides of the picnic table with a napkin tucked into each of our collars.  In the middle of the table was my birthday cake, a cylinder of dog food.  George had cut both ends off a can of my favorite Wooffy Chow and carefully pushed the whole thing out onto a plate.  The coating of grease on its sides glistened seductively in the sunlight.  My stomach rumbled.

“George told us to sit and stay,” I reminded Spike, who was drooling like a leaky faucet and leaning far too close to my cake.

“I am sitting–and staying, “  Spike replied.  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t take a lick, does it?  Just one tiny lick?  Ah, come on, Tippy.”

“W-e-e-l-l-l, I suppose it’d be okay,” I agreed.  The aroma of chopped chicken parts and horse meat was making my head swim.

We both stuck out our tongues and rasped them over the top of the cake.  Oh my Dog!  It was delicious.  I could tell by the glazed expression in his eyes that Spike was taking a trip to taste bud heaven, too.

“Just a tiny bite?  Look, I’m still sitting,”  Spike begged.

I could hear his tail thumping hopefully against the back of his chair. Or was that my heart thudding with desire?  Where was George with those darned candles?

“Just a nibble,” I murmured, my muzzle swaying of its own accord toward the cake.  Spike got there before me and bit a big chunk out of the top.  “Hey!  You said a tiny bite.”

“Shorry,” Spike slurred as he chomped, swallowed and ran his tongue around his chops.  “Yum.”

I wasn’t about to let that glutton get ahead of me.  I closed my teeth around a nice, big glob.  It had a heady bouquet, piquant with just a hint of liver.  I savored the rich aromas and grainy texture for a moment, then swallowed and leaned dreamily toward the cake for another bite.  Spike was already there.

“This is MY cake,” I growled, trying to shoulder him out of the way.

“Well I’m the guest.”  Spike growled back.

“I’ll guest you!”  I barked.  “Keep your big fat muzzle away from my cake!”

“Make me!”  Spike sneered.

That did it.   We  forgot all about sitting and staying.  Jumping off our chairs, we  began snarling and rolling around, tearing off each other’s napkins and scrabbling to get the upper paw.  Suddenly, a stream of cold water hit us.  George had heard us arguing–we were getting kind of loud–and turned the hose on us.  Needless to say, that was the end of my party.

Spike shook himself and slunk back to his yard.  “Sorry,” he mumbled as he went past me.  “Guess I got a little carried away.”

“Me, too,” I said, giving him a quick lick on the shoulder.  “Thanks for coming.  See you tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

George put the rest of the cake in my dish.  For some reason, it didn’t taste as good as it had on the table.  I ate it anyway.