We ought not teach our children fairy tales with happy endings. The children come to expect happy endings to everything and become confused and angry when real life doesn't cooperate. Happy endings do not reflect real life. The story of the mule and his adoption by the old rooster did not end with the happy celebration in the barn that night, as we shall see. Their story is real. Their names have been changed to protect the guilty from further embarrassment...

-- helen (turn_on_the_fan@nd.settle.down), July 23, 2001

Answers

The children were picking up cans by the side of the road when they found the box. The middle child, a thoughtful little savage, squatted down to look at the box carefully without touching it. The youngest child, a brash little savage, rushed up and scooped the box off of the ground to give it a shake. The oldest child, a bigger savage with delusions of leadership, grabbed the box from the youngest and accidentally kicked the middle child in the face. The middle child, a loud little savage, gave forth a scream designed more to communicate with their mother than to express real pain. The youngest child, an even louder savage, added screams of outraged protest at the loss of the box. The oldest child, a savage now worried about parental intervention, contributed loud warnings to the others to shut up.

None of them heard the noise coming from the box clutched to the oldest child's bosom.

-- helen (one@one.one), July 23, 2001.

The frightened hen crouched in the dust, trapped between the garden fence and the shed. She watched helplessly as the drake slowly closed the gap between them. She was too heavy to fly and too scared to cry out.

"Once you try duck," the drake whispered, "you'll never go back." His webbed feet made no sound in the soft, dry dust. His eyes gleamed. He hissed suddenly and enjoyed the hen's added alarm.

He was a beak's length away from grabbing the hen when he was suddenly yanked off the ground by his tail and slung halfway across the barnyard. He landed on his back and got a horrifying glimpse of mule teeth snapping close to his tummy. He twisted, scrambled and flopped madly until he made it to the other side of the gate, with mule teeth snapping at him all the way.

Once he gained safety, the drake turned and spat at the mule. "Your father was an ass!" He stamped his flat feet and spat at the mule again before marching away.

The mule kicked the gate and was pleased to see the drake flinch. He was startled by a low voice near his feet

-- helen (two@two.two), July 23, 2001.

The oldest child gave up trying to quiet the other children and simply ran away with the box. The other children howled in hot pursuit, but being younger and smaller, they were quickly outdistanced. The foolish little savages didn't notice that the bigger savage was leading them away from the house and their mother and all hope of parental intervention.

The oldest child was too busy trying to retreat and plan the next battle to notice the noises coming from the box. The box was shaken hard during the race, and the noises ceased.

-- helen (three@three.three), July 23, 2001.

c'mon helen, don't stop now! This is great (and about time!)

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 23, 2001.

Helen's messing with our collective mind.

-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), July 23, 2001.

"Mule! Thy banging about will crush my head! Be still!" The ancient snake was drawn into as tight a coil as possible around the gatepost. Vibrations from the mule's kicking made his teeth ache to the very roots.

The mule jerked sharply backward and peered carefully at the area around the gate until he located the snake. "Old One! Forgive me! I did not see you -- and I would not expect to find you here. Why are you not in the barn?"

"Hsssst!" said the ancient snake. "The goose keeps me from my work! I came here to ask thee to reason with her. The eggs she has gathered are wasting away underneath her, and I am hungry. Thou knowest how important my work is."

The mule knew quite well why the snake's work was needed. He had stepped on a forgotten egg himself, and the foul smell had clung to him for days. The woman had decided to give the eggs a chance this year, but everyone in the barn knew the eggs still had no life in them. Everyone knew except the goose, that is, and she was delusional.

The mule sighed. "She will not listen, Old One. She wants to hatch eggs so badly that she would sit on a rock, were it round. This is the woman's fault. She bought the goose for the gosling, not knowing the gosling was a drake duckling instead. Now neither of them have mated, and still the woman does nothing for them. Stupid woman!"

The ancient snake puffed up a bit and hissed, "Do not malign the woman! I myself hath known her all of her life since the day that I first -- "

"I will speak with the goose!" the mule said hastily. He backed up quickly and trotted away. The old snake's stories could take a mule's lifetime to conclude, so long that the beginning was forgotten before the end.

-- helen (four@four.four), July 23, 2001.

The oldest child had a hiding place under the edge of a boulder split by a tree. The box was out of sight by the time the younger children arrived. The younger two began the Litany of Victims without stopping to consider that it held no power outside the hearing of their mother. The oldest child, a savage destined to be a motivational speaker in later years, let them cry it out a little while before offering to push the swing four times in a row. The children ran away to play.

Small noises resumed in the box and were drowned out by the Litany, and then there was no one left to hear them.

-- helen (five@five.five), July 24, 2001.

The mule could trot only so far before he came to a fence. He hated the fence more than anything, he thought to himself, and then relegated the fence to second place when he saw who waited for him on the other side.

"I heard you," snarled Old Leather Bags. "The woman ruins everything she touches! You know this is true! Join us, Mule, and help us gain our freedom!" The horrid old doe butted her side of the fence in fury. She calmed herself a bit and went on in a more reasonable tone, "You could lead us yourself. She trusts you, Mule. You don't have to do anything to her. You only have to woo her with kisses and friendliness while we surround her. We will finish the work." She spat at the mule as he turned away. "You are one of us whether you like it or not!" she yelled at his retreating rump.

The mule raced back to the barn and put Satan behind him, but the old doe's words stayed with him long after the sun went down.

-- helen (six@six.six), July 24, 2001.

DON'T DO IT MIKE!!!

-------------------------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 24, 2001.

(Editor's note: Names have been changed to protect the guilty for a reason, Mr. Frank, and the establishment asks that you sit back down and refrain from calling out names in the future. And give your brother a sock to chew on or something.)

-- helen (no@names.here), July 24, 2001.

Seems to me that tempers are short tonite. This is certainly a tense drama.

-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), July 24, 2001.

Sorry, all. I, I guess, I just got carried away in the passion of the moment, or, or maybe something bit me suddenly, and made me yell out like that, or, or maybe Gayla goosed me from the back seat. Yeah, that's it, it's all Gayla's fault. And I didn't actually say "Mike"; it was MATE, "Don't do it MATE". Forget about "Mike", the mule in question is NOT named Mike.

(this was all a little embarrising)

I'll be glad to get a refill for anyone who I made spill their popcorn, too.

--------------------------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 24, 2001.

The night was chilly and damp.

The goose kept her vigil over the lifeless eggs of the hens.

The ancient snake coiled in the barn and brooded on his empty belly.

The mule thought his thoughts.

The children slept the righteous sleep of savages who have no laws and no guilt.

The noises in the box were weakening.

-- helen (seven@seven.seven), July 25, 2001.

"Why must we wait here instead of hunting?" growled the small coyote. "I must eat soon," she went on in a sullen tone. Her swollen belly ached with hunger made more intense by the frosty night air.

"We won't wait much longer," replied her mate softly. It crossed his mind that she was far more patient and respectful before she got pregnant. He was about to say more when they both heard the dog approach.

"Where are you?" called the dog, much too loudly from a wild animal's point of view. "Are you here? I can't see anything!"

"Quiet!" ordered the bigger coyote. "We're here. What is the useful information you promised?"

"Information!" whispered his mate. "I'm starving, and we're here for information? Let us eat this dog instead!" She was silenced by a warning glance from her mate.

"You promised to help me with a little problem of mine," replied the dog more softly. "You help me first, then I'll help you."

"What possible problem could a farm dog have? You've never gone hungry!" The small coyote was angry. "You've never been hunted! You've never had to watch out for traps!" She was on her feet now, forcing the dog to retreat behind a stump.

The dog was frightened, but it was too late to give up. " No one respects me! No one needs me! All you need to do is howl around the barn at night and let me chase you away. You can have my food! You can eat right out of my own dish first, only let me appear to be a guardian!"

Coyotes laugh much like humans do, with a small muffled snort giving way gradually to roaring guffaws. When two coyotes laugh in unison, game is frightened for miles around. These two coyotes laughed until they sobbed.

"May we eat this dog now?" the small coyote gasped at last.

-- helen (eight@eight.eight), July 25, 2001.

That wasn't me! It was um... a really BIG mosquito! Yep, that's it... it was a mosquito. ;-)

What a story!

-- Gayla (privacy@please.com), July 25, 2001.

c'mon, c'mon, this is like an old tv cereal where you have to wait for every ten minute piece of the story. But without the commercials, thank you. I'll bet the coyotes' lunch is in the box.

-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), July 25, 2001.

RUSH my work? Rush MY work?? Rush my WORK??? Horrors! The creative juices are threatening to dry up under pressure! Ack! The pressure!

-- helen don't even know what's in the box yet (strain@pressure.defeat), July 25, 2001.

The mule had promised to speak to the goose. He did not look forward to breaking her heart. He waited until the moon was setting before moving quietly through the jumble of goats and birds crowded into the barn. He nosed the hay just forward of a dark space between two hay bales and was rewarded with a warning hiss from the goose.

"Mule! You need not speak

I will not be dissuaded

I will persevere."

"You know why we must talk," the mule whispered. "There is no life in the eggs. Let the Old One do what he must and rejoin us in the barn. We love you, Goose, and we mourn your lost motherhood. This course, however, you must abandon. The eggs will not hatch."

"Sweet words are wasted

Nothing short of motherhood

Will I settle for.

Should I die trying

My death is preferable

To this empty life."

The goose fell silent. The mule had no further arguments. The goose was right, he thought, that life alone was not enough. He plodded sadly outside and watched the moon set.

-- helen (nine@nine.nine), July 25, 2001.

The bigger coyote stopped laughing with a snap of his jaws. He could see the dog was nervous and ready to run. Though the notion of sustaining himself and his mate on kibble was preposterous, he was beginning to have an idea of his own. "We will not eat our friend the dog. This is a marvelous plan. We will begin this very night."

"Not tonight!" yipped the dog. "I mean -- we need to plan this carefully."

"You've planned it perfectly," lied the bigger coyote. "We will execute the plan -- or you -- tonight. Choose quickly. We are hungry."

A terrified dog led the way to the farm.

-- helen (ten@ten.ten), July 25, 2001.

"Goose!" called the young rooster softly. "Let me sit on the eggs while you stretch your legs and take a drink." This was their nightly ritual. Amazingly, they had managed to keep it a secret from everyone else.

"Thank you, Young Rooster

May kindness be your reward

May your life be blessed."

The goose stepped carefully out of the dark space between the two hay bales, and the young rooster stepped even more carefully in. He settled himself on her nest. "Take all the time you need, Goose, I love doing this," he whispered.

This is how it happened that the young rooster was on the nest when --

-- helen (eleven@eleven.eleven), July 25, 2001.

(pant pant pant -- is this fast enough for ya, Gene?)

-- helen collapses until next time (rushing@the.finish), July 25, 2001.

In a word, helen, "No."

-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), July 25, 2001.

Poor (((((Helen)))))

-- Gayla (privacy@please.com), July 25, 2001.

The rooster settled down on the eggs, and pretended that he was something other than what he really was. Having been raised by his uncle capon, he had a tenderness toward eggs. The rooster had never devoloped the lifestyle of the others of his gender, and neither fought nor crowed.

As he sat on his clutch of infertile eggs, he dreamed of how his life would have been different, if only . . . if only he had been born a . . .

-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), July 26, 2001.

Mother-r-r-r-r! Gene is distracting me and now I can't think of my story!

-- helen seeks mediation (mediate@this.smarty), July 26, 2001.

How about if the coyotes eat the snake, the goat and Gene; there are baby geese in the box for the goose to adopt as her own; and Lon pays for the rooster to have a sex change operation? J

-- Gayla (loves@happy.endings), July 26, 2001.

Mother-r-r-r-r-r!!! Make them quit it!

-- helen (just@went.blank), July 26, 2001.

The cat had returned from the nightly prowl with a gift for the woman. Though the woman seemed to prefer rats, the cat thought tonight's odd gift would please her well enough. The cat tensed at the sound of muffled voices. Strangers! The cat carefully laid the gift down beside the gatepost and went to investigate.

The gift began to make soft noises inside its small box.

-- helen (twelve@twelve.twelve), July 26, 2001.

The coyotes looked at the kibble in the dog's dish. "Sawdust!" pronounced the smaller coyote. "I smell chicken."

"Wait!" pleaded the dog. "We have eggs. You could have eggs every night without killing the chickens. I'll just go explain it to the hens. I'll bring some out to you." The frantic dog was a poor liar.

"I will explain it to the hens myself," giggled the smaller coyote. She slipped silently away.

The bigger coyote grinned in the dog's face. "She won't take long. Then you may "chase" us, Dog." The dog didn't dare make a sound.

-- helen (thirteen@thirteen.thirteen), July 26, 2001.

The dog and the coyote stood in tense silence.

The cat saw a shape creeping cautiously into the barn and decided to follow.

The mule grew weary of thinking alone and headed back to the barn.

The goose had finished her nightly drink and was just climbing out of the water trough.

The young rooster was dozing off atop the eggs.

The children and their mother slept deeply without dreams.

The box had been forgotten again.

-- helen (fourteen@fourteen.fourteen), July 26, 2001.

The smaller coyote slipped into the barn and took a deep breath. The overpowering odor of goat assaulted her nostrils, but underneath was the more palatable smell of chicken, and wafting lightly was the mouth-watering scent of eggs. The smaller coyote decided to gorge on eggs before turning her attention to the more serious business of slaughtering hens. She crept through the barn to the dark space between two hay bales.

The young rooster roused and, thinking the goose had returned, whispered, "Back so soon?"

The smaller coyote whispered back, "Yes." She said nothing else.

The young rooster was alarmed by the uncharacteristic brevity of the response. The goose always spoke in haiku phrases. "Who are you? Where is the goose?" He spread his wings over the eggs protectively. "Old One, is that you? You know she won't let you have the eggs. Neither will I."

The smaller coyote poked her nose into the nest. The young rooster struck at her nose instinctively. Finding that he had survived the attempt, he struck at the nose again even harder, then again.

Brave and foolish young rooster! The story might have ended differently had he cried out a warning to all in the barn. His presence on the nest was a secret betwixt himself and the goose. Revealing their secret never occurred to him.

-- helen (fifteen@fifteen.fifteen), July 27, 2001.

The cat and the goose met at the barn door. "Goose!" whispered the cat. "Who guards the eggs? There may be danger!"

"Young Rooster guards them!

What danger lurks within?

The eggs! The eggs! ACK!"

The cat quickly padded into the barn and followed the wild scent of the smaller coyote. The goose waddled behind less quickly, though no less urgently. Something was going on in the dark space between two hay bales. Creeping closer, the cat was horrified to see the smaller coyote viciously shaking the young rooster. The young rooster struggled wildly in silence.

The sound of a cat entering battle is a horrible, wonderful, awful thing. It is designed to warn all of heaven that a warrior will arrive shortly. The cat sprang to defend his brother.

The animals in the barn were awakened in terror by this sound and further confused by the screeching of the goose.

"Murder! Murder! Help!

The eggs! Save the eggs! Help me!

Murder! The eggs! ACK!"

Old Leather Bags charged for the barn door, breaking bird legs right and left as she thundered through the flock. Her minions pounded at her heels. The herd of goats ran into the mule at the barn door, horns first. Squealing in pain, the mule kicked goats out of his way right and left. The injured goats rushed about the barnyard in confusion, wailing piteously. The hens spilled out of the barn behind the goats and contributed their own hysterics.

The Hornless One and the old rooster did not run away.

The mule arrived at a terrible scene.

The woman and her children woke up. In her haste to defend her animals, the woman forgot to pick up a weapon. She ran out of her house with her children hard at her bare heels.

No one noticed the box by the gatepost.

-- helen (sixteen@sixteen.sixteen), July 27, 2001.

(This will be finished today. This is really for kids and not adults. Sorry about that!)

-- helen (kids@on.my.mind), July 27, 2001.

Well, then, I guess I'm still a kid!

:•)

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-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 27, 2001.

The bigger coyote heard the uproar and started for the barn. The dog thought this signaled the false chase and began barking. The bigger coyote was nearly run over by the woman and her children. He reversed himself and ran away, hoping his mate would follow.

The mule found the Hornless One butting hard at the smaller coyote's flank. The cat encircled the coyote's face, enduring mortal wounds without letting go, his battle cry never faltering. The old rooster rode the coyote's back and pecked hard at her neck. The young rooster lay in a motionless heap in the dirt.

The smaller coyote fought frantically. In her panic, she lost her bearings and stumbled into the legs of the mule. The mule could not use his hooves without endangering his family, but he used his teeth with great effect on her tail. The smaller coyote rolled under the mule, shook the cat away, and bolted for the barn door with the old rooster still firmly attached. The mule wheeled and followed.

She, with rooster aboard, ran through the legs of the woman standing in the doorway. The old rooster fell off. The mule ran into the woman head on, knocking her nearly senseless to the ground. The mule barely noticed the woman as he raced behind the coyote.

In her haste, the woman had left the gate open. Old Leather Bags and her minions charged for the gate along with the coyote.

The children were in the way.

(This unhappy incident had been brought about because the dog sought honor through contrived acts of courage. How different this day might have been, had the dog realized that courage is never planned!)

The dog, traitorous instigator of these foul deeds, sought redemption by joining the children at precisely the moment that Leather Bags, her minions, and the coyote charged.

The children screamed. The dog met the charge at the point of greatest danger, which was the point of Leather Bags' nearest horn. The force of the impact caused Leather Bags to swerve slightly, and her minions swerved behind her. The children were knocked down by bony goat shoulders, but not impaled on sharp goat horns.

The smaller coyote escaped with the mule still chasing her. When she reached the trees, the mule could not follow her. He turned back to the barn and realized he could see the early glow of dawn.

He was free.

-- helen (seventeen.@almost.done), July 27, 2001.

The cat embraced the young rooster in their final cuddle. Both were still.

The old rooster stood over them in dumb misery.

The grieving goose searched through the remains of her nest.

The Hornless One fainted.

Hens of all sizes and colors limped aimlessly on broken legs and crushed feet.

The bleeding dog licked tears from the children's faces.

The woman struggled to her knees.

The sun peeked over the eastern horizon.

The middle child spied the box.

-- helen (eighteen@tiring.out), July 27, 2001.

"FREEDOM!" brayed the mule. "WE'RE FREE! Everyone look! We're free!"

Leather Bags looked. She saw unfenced space about herself. She saw the woman kneeling in the barnyard. Her violent hatred for the woman drew her back. Her minions had always followed her blindly, and they followed her now.

The mule saw what Leather Bags was about to do.

"Leather Bags! RUN! Run away!" he called to her. He trotted back to the gate but could not bring himself to step back into the hated barnyard. "We're free!" he called again. "You don't have to do this!"

Leather Bags paid no attention to the mule. She and her minions circled the kneeling, frightened woman. The plan had been practiced often. Each goat knew what to do. Leather Bags paused to savor the moment of her triumph. "'When I finish you, Woman," she hissed, "I will finish the children too. THEN we will be free. Will you join us now, Mule?" she called over her shoulder. "It would be a pity if you missed it."

The woman saw the mule step into the barnyard. He rose onto his back legs, front hooves poised to strike.

The mule had chosen sides.

-- helen (nineteen@wearing.down), July 27, 2001.

(The last installments will be made this evening. The whole thing was here briefly, but I couldn't get the #$%! formatting correct on the battle scene and had start over. Got to run. Be back soon.)

-- helen (almost@done.lon), July 27, 2001.

nyaah, nyaah, I saw it while it was up. And I know how it ends. And I know what is in the box!

But don't bother askin', Gayla, 'cause I AIN'T TELLIN'!

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-- Lon Frankenstien (evil@the.bayou), July 27, 2001.

Well, I heard that the box contains a red rubber nose, size large-tall.

(imagine that!)

This is great, helen. I want the screen rights. Babe-the-pig can eat our dust! Oh, and I want to be the voice of the old rooster, OK?

----------------------------------------------------------------

-- Lon Frank (lgal@exp.net), July 27, 2001.

Lon, get the deal made and I'll cut you in for 50% of the gross and you can be any voice you want. So I swear here before our friends.

-- helen (about@to.bring.this.to.an.end), July 27, 2001.

The woman screamed. Startled, Leather Bags stepped back. She took the mule's crushing blow on her head instead of on the back of her neck. The head of a goat is designed for impact, and though she was stunned, Leather Bags had the presence of mind to run away. Her minions fled behind her. Back to the gate they raced, and to freedom.

The children had closed the gate. The dog was inside the gate with every tooth bared. The dog lost no time in driving the goats to the far corner of the barnyard and holding them there. The goats had never developed a secondary plan. They milled around in confusion while Leather Bags hurled threats and spat helplessly.

The woman slowly got to her feet and limped to the gate. The mule stepped carefully beside her. He tried gently to push his way through the gate with her, but the gate was shut firmly in his face. The woman gathered her children and limped to her house.

No one noticed the middle child was cradling a small box.

-- helen (twenty@almost.over), July 27, 2001.

The loss of his brief freedom cost the mule his sanity. He kicked the gate. He screamed. He raced up and down the fence. He threw himself onto the ground repeatedly until he wore himself out. He stopped moving at last, his body lying in a heap, his face pressed into the dust.

His father joined him there. "The young rooster is dead, the cat with him," said the old rooster numbly.

"I envy the dead," the mule groaned.

"As do I," replied his father. "When next we spy a bit of rope, I will help you tie it about your neck, and you may hang yourself from the gatepost at night. My own death will be more easily arranged. I will remain to make sure you are taken care of because I love you, and because I hope to see the look on the woman's face when she finds you, and then I will die too." The old rooster's voice was full of fury, grief, and despair.

The mule sat up. "The woman will come to take away my brother rooster and the cat. We may have a chance at the gate. If that doesn't work, we will try again daily. Meanwhile, I will endeavor to communicate to the woman what we want."

"If you insist," sighed the old rooster. "Personally, I believe she is beyond understanding anything important."

Rising, the mule shook himself and helped his old father onto his broad back.

A heavy rumbling sound announced the arrival of a truck towing a trailer. The steel bars of the trailer reminded the mule of a bear cage he had seen long ago when he was with the carnival. A wave of nostalgia for his old life on the road swept over him. He hadn't been a free mule in the carnival, but at least there had been a change of scenery often. He had never had friends there either, but he had been spared the loss of a friend. Remembering again the little bodies in the barn, the mule dropped his head.

Two burly men got out of the truck. The woman came out of the house and spoke to them, pointing at Leather Bags and her minions. Then she pointed at the mule. The men nodded and entered the barnyard. The woman closed the gate firmly behind them.

Leather Bags squealed with frightened rage when the men grabbed her, a man to each horn. She spat at the woman as she was hauled out of the barnyard and tossed unceremoniously into the trailer. She bit savagely at the bars and hissed her hatred at the woman. One by one the other goats were tossed into the trailer with her. The Hornless One and her baby were spared. The men drove away.

-- helen (twentyone@hang.on), July 27, 2001.

The woman stepped inside the gate and faced the mule. "Thou wilt be removed also, inasmuch as thou didst save my life, thy hatred I will not bear the more."

The astonished mule brayed excitedly. "WONDERFUL! This is great!" In the back of his mind he noted the woman's speech sounded much like a snake's, but it was communication and he was joyful.

The woman misunderstood the source of the mule's joy. Her eyes filled with tears. "Prithee contain thy joy whilst my countenance I bestow on thee. I gave thee a home, despised by thee, yet a home. Have compassion on me, Mule! I loved thee well!"

"What?" asked the mule. "I do not fully understand you, Woman."

"She is saying," came a low voice by the gatepost, "that she thinks thou art happy to be taken to sale." The ancient snake slowly flowed to the woman's feet. She stooped to pick him up gently. "Shame on you, Mule! She has always understood thee well enough! I tried to tell thee my story of how I met the woman when she was a child -- and how I taught her to speak!"

"Sale? I'm to be sold?" cried the mule. "No! Let me stay and teach you what we want! Let us start over! We need to talk!"

"Think, Mule! There is something thou must say to her first." hissed the snake.

The mule thought. "I am sorry, Woman, for hating you -- but even you must admit things are constantly awry here!"

The woman consulted briefly with the snake. "She also apologizes. She will attempt to take care of things properly, Mule, but thou must give up thy opposition entirely," said the snake.

The mule agreed. He and the woman kissed, since they could not shake hands as men do.

They were startled by the loud cries of the goose.

"LIFE! Oh, hurry! LIFE!

One only, but indeed LIFE!

My joy overflows!"

The goose waddled slowly out of the barn, gently urging a small chick in front of her. One small chick had emerged from the chaos where thirty eggs had once been cared for. The goose was a mother.

The old rooster hopped to the ground and slowly approached the chick.

"Careful!" hissed the goose. It would be the only time in her long life that the goose did not speak in prose. The occasion was that important.

"LIFE!" crowed the old rooster. "LIFE! I have been given another son!"

"Thinkest thou yon birdling is the chip from thy brother's block?" the woman asked the mule. "Or the old rooster's?"

"I think it does not matter," replied the mule. "Around here, it doesn't matter. It is a pity this little one will never cuddle a cat."

The middle child had joined them unnoticed. "Mule," the middle child said shyly, "yon birdling hath this day been paired with a foundling from a small box!" Carefully, the middle child set a full-fed and drowsy kitten on the ground beside the chick. "Thus balance is restored. What passeth for balance in this place, anyhow."

The whole motley bunch took up the call -- LIFE!

-- helen (finish@the.end), July 27, 2001.

Bravo Helen! Or as we say in these parts, when someone has done something especially good: QUE BUENO! Nice job of writing Helen. I must tell you how much I appreciated your writing for the last five days. Thank you so much for sharing your story, and your imagination/life!! (And as you well know, I am NOT a kid!!)

: )))

-- Aunt Bee (Aunt__Bee@hotmail.com), July 27, 2001.

The coyotes got away. I wanted them to bump into an old conybear trap and have their necks broken. Then the rooster's cousin, the vulture, could have them for lunch.

Personally, I never did trust the snake, and I don't think anyone else should, either. helen seems quite comfortable with him, and I wonder why.

This story was a tense drama, but it left me wondering about many things. I think the gender-confused rooster could have had a couple more chapters devoted to him/her.

-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), July 27, 2001.

Mike Mule extends his thanks to his fans.

Gene, the snake is real. He's older than I am. He was living here when my grandparents moved us onto this farm. He was about six feet long and glossy black when we met. He likes to sun himself in the yard just off the east porch. He also can surround thirty eggs at one time. He used to lie around waiting for the goose to doze off. He made her nervous, so we would take him to a barn farther out. He always came back. One night he got tired of waiting and just slid into the nest underneath her and ate every egg. She was really unhappy with him that time.

Everything in the story happened, except the kids being down by the road. I would never allow that. Well, okay, not quite everything. Try as I might, I've never been able to speak in iambic pentameter. Oh, and Tiger Cat died from a tick bite and not a coyote bite. Other than that, s'true, every word. Almost.

Tricia Goose and Lon Duck have been relocated to a farm a few miles away where there is a flock of geese and a flock of ducks. Tricia Goose tried to walk home, but she saw one little baby goose in the flock and decided to stay there. Lon Duck refuses to leave Tricia's side, but the flock of ducks visits him regularly. He appears to be happy in a place with no chickens to tempt him. We considered bringing more geese and ducks to our place, but the predator problem here is real and -- well, Lon Duck did have a thing for chickens.

We have one little bitty baby chick out of over thirty eggs that Tricia Goose was caring for. We can't tell which rooster fathered him, but one of them was sneaking around with the hens behind my back.

Edna "Leather Bags" Goat taught three other goats a particular routine that had to have been communicated for it to have worked so well. She hit me in the stomach at the precise instant that two hit me in the back of each leg and a fourth stood up and shoved my shoulders backward. I hit the dirt every time. She kept it up and nearly killed me. She and the others were taken to sale in a cage built to hold cattle. She escaped from the man hired to take her, and instead of running away, she came after me again. I never did understand why she hated me so much. She was last seen showing some other old does in the sale barn corral how to pick the lock on a gate. I left before anyone could demand his money back.

Grace Hornless One Goat is an elderly fainting goat. She recently gave birth to twins. She appears to be having trouble taking care of them, so we're keeping her away from the new buck. However, the new buck doesn't want to breed the nubile and extremely enthusiastic young doe in the pen with him, so Grace Goat is probably in no danger of getting preggers. We do have strange luck with animals.

The old rooster often joins me here and stares at the screen. I tell him that I'm writing about him, so he ought to do something interesting. When he isn't staring at the computer screen, he's wandering beside the bookshelves. He stops and peers at titles. If a human baby were doing what he's doing, we'd be calling Grandma with the news. I suppose any rooster might appear to be dumber than he is if no one ever reads to him.

There are coyotes living in the ravine north of the house. They sing right outside our windows at night. There are also a doe and her fawn, two raccoons, and a red fox hanging around here. Redtail hawks build their nests on our place. Rabbits play in the yard in the day time, and this time of year the dog lets deer drink out of the water dish under my bedroom window in broad daylight. This time of year the deer sleep in the orchard outside our back door, and the dog pays no attention to it. We find cougar sign nearby, and my grandfather said he saw bear here too a few years ago. In the fall, the Canadian geese fly so low over our place that we can see their eyes.

What I'm trying to say is, there are many predators and even more prey here. We have that old circle of life spinning like a top.

I've got a horrendous schedule for the next ten days and won't be around much, but while I'm gone I hope more people start telling stories.

-- helen (tired@old.eyes), July 28, 2001.

Bravo!

helen, you have the gifted talent for the story of the heart. Whatever your trials, keep this refuge as your very own.

-- helenisdabomb (long@time.admirer/lurker), July 28, 2001.

Wow! I guess I must be a kid too, cause I always enjoy stories. :-) Helen, your real life is a drama too! Thanks for sharing part of it with us. You're a terrific writer!

-- Gayla (privacy@please.com), July 28, 2001.

I don't care how much seniority he's got. I'd never trust that snake.

-- gene (ekbaker@essex1.com), July 28, 2001.