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Moose Gallery
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Own your Store for $13 Join us here for Just $13 a Year and own your Piece of the internet. Get a Store for your own items for just $13. Order yours today by clicking on the button below. Welcome to the tales of a Moose Named Clarence Willoughby Moose. Written by B. Howells. A hard copy of these tales from the Author herself for just. As shipping will be from Canada. We will send you an updated Shipping fee before shipping your Book $9.99 + shipping Or if you would like to send a donation to the Author to help continue the stories, just click on the link below. What a wonderful time of year is fall. I wake up every morning to the glorious beauty of my little part of the world. For example; my nest is an absolute painting by Picasso or Monet (whoever they are, I happened to hear those names once.) Some of the surrounding trees have turned a wondrous deep maroon. The ferns in front of my dwelling are varying shades of gold, scarlet and orange with a touch of brown for contrast. Above them, rise the spear- like reeds of green. Imagine this- the lagoon, colourful ferns, thick gorgeous towering reeds and next, great trees decked out in fall splendour. I wish I could paint it for you. Look closely and you will see Yours Truly with his nose just peeking through the reeds. Just being alive in this majesty is overwhelming. I could weep with the beauty. Enough of that! Getting far too sentimental for my own good, for sure. Yesterday, while idling in my nest, a young rabbit, named Robert, came dashing up shouting, “Clarence, Clarence, bad news, your help is needed, Now!!” “No need to scream my ears off, I have extremely good hearing, for your information,” I retorted. “It’s important enough for me to scream,” he rejoined. “What is so all fired important?” I grumbled. “A couple of skunks are running amok, creating all kinds of problems.” “A few of the birds have been encouraged to join in too!” “If it doesn’t stop, the humans will have our heads, that’s what the other animals tell me.” “I’m really worried, Clarence, help us, please.” “What are the little beggars up to? I queried “There has never been a problem in these woods before. “ “Well, he replied, I’ve heard some things about you." “Never you mind about that you little whipper snapper!” “First, what are the birds playing at?” “The skunks have banded some into a poop ring.” “A poop ring? What might that be?” “A huge group of them sit on the edges of the bridges and wait for some unsuspecting boater to pass beneath and—“ “Never mind, I get the picture, poop dee doop!” “They like to do it best at night on unsuspecting lovers, who, of course would never see such a thing coming, too busy.” Just then, one of my dear deer friends came bounding up. “Clarence, Clarence Willoughby, HELP!!” “If ever you were needed, the time is now,” she bellowed. (This was a normally calm, extremely quiet, self-effacing animal. To get her that het up, something was direly out of place.) Actually, if I really think about it, I’ve barely heard young Robert put more than a couple of sentences together. Hmm interesting. Something had surely gone wrong, as the old, old song says. “Well, my lovely, just what is tearing at your sensibilities?” I asked. “It’s one of the skunks, he’s gone mad!” she answered breathlessly. “So I’ve been informed,” I rejoined. “But what besides the naughty bird business is going on?” “It hasn’t happened yet, but he plans to form a band of renegade skunks that will spray anyone in sight.” “But that’s what skunks do if frightened.” “No, they plan to sneak up on folks and give them the old squirteroo.” “This was getting out of hand, defence is one thing, sheer foolishness, another. “Point him out to me, I said.” “Okay dokey, will do, gladly.” We searched the woods all through that day. It was a gorgeous place to be even if one was on a mission. The birds sang. The wind sighed in the tree tops. The colours touched my heart. I almost forgot why we were wandering in such beauty, on such a marvellous day. The deer kept me focused, with a few jabs at some of my past follies. (Remember this, think about that. Here’s how the people reacted-all that stuff.) Finally we found the wee scoundrel. “I hear you are up to no good,” I gruffly remarked. “Nah, Clarence, just a spot of fun, is all.” “Just what are you planning?” “Have you seen those two hammocks strung between the trees down at the beach?” “Yeh, sure, who hasn’t?” “Well, he giggled nastily, we are going to wait for some sleepy dudes to lay their weary heads on them, we sneak up under quietly, and splatto, we skunk em!!” “Quite the nasty little plan,” I remarked, thoughtfully. “In fact, he replied, “my buddy has just headed off to do so” “He’s after that miserable guy who threatened us with extinction after our cement boat escapade. The wood’s telegraph has placed him in the hammock nearest the beach. Boy is he going to get it!!” A shriek of giant proportions clued me in that we were too late. Much splashing in the lake was another hint. The thundering of human feet directed toward the pitiful victim, denoted the deed had been done, the crime committed. “The skunk had collected a few buddies by this time, which were rolling in the dirt hooting with laughter. (They also emitted an unrefreshing fragrance that kept me and the deer, as far away as possible. In fact, to keep ourselves from being suspected by our nearness to the situation, we headed for the deep woods. Talk of these nasty deeds was soon spread to every part of town and surrounding countryside. The forest folk were indeed in TROUBLE. My friends gathered around to review the situation. “If this doesn’t stop, the nut will get his way and we’ll be removed in one way or another,” wailed one. “We’ll be exterminated!” squealed another. “Just calm down and think clearly,” I begged. “There must be a way out of this, quit worrying.” “I know, we’ll go enmasse and confront the skunks.” “They’ll listen to reason, they always have.” “Hope you’re right, you know, in the past—“ “Never mind any recollections of deeds misfiring,” I rejoined. “This will work.” “It has to.” I had one idea up my sleeve (Well not exactly my sleeve, of course, but you understand my meaning) that I intended to try. We met in a lovely glade deep in the forest. Everyone and their uncle, aunt, cousins, nieces, nephews, family friends, remote ancestors, came, including the problem skunks and their myriad bird buddies. We all surrounded the wee pesties. They seemed appropriately alarmed. We stated the problem clearly and as unemotionally as possible. If the nonsense continued, we would all be in jeopardy. They laughed in our faces. “The humans are only getting what they deserve, hmph!” stated one. “Yes, yes, tweeted the birds, just what they deserve.” “How can you say such a thing,” I bellowed. “Remember the wedding, they invited us and treated us royally.” “They have forgiven many of our foibles and fed us many treats,” Robert squeaked up. “We don’t care, it’s a whopping lot of fun and no one is going to stop us, so there!!” The out cry of the group played no part in their great scheme of things called fun, and we could see their determination to continue the foolishness. A lot of paw wringing occurred. I still had my ace in the hole. I bellowed in a specially coded way, and suddenly an apparition appeared from the woods behind the skunks. At its coming; birds fled, animals scattered to and fro and far and wide, hither and yon. The strange thing roared mightily, beat its chest, swayed terrifyingly towards the skunks. “I am the Spirit of the Woods.” “I let all creatures dwell in peace until someone screws up big time!” “I have been summoned by all the woods dwellers to punish those that are terrorizing the humans.” I will wreck my terrible destruction on those who are bringing nasty consequences on my furred and feathered friends,” it roared. The skunks knelt in obeisance to the greater power. “Forgive us,” they begged. “We’ll never do it again.” “What about the birds?” it growled. “We’ll stop them, they didn’t like it all that much anyway, oh great one!” “All right, see that it’s so.” Now be off with you and think of what you’ve done.” They were gone in a flash. Tylor, the bear, for that’s who it was, ripped off the giant black plastic I had wrapped him in, and sneezed hugely. “Thank goodness that’s over, that thing had me nearly roasted to death.” “Think they bought it?” “Oh no doubt in my mind at all,” I said. “If they had pants, they’d be scared right out of them.” “All our other buds did a marvellous job at looking frightened.” “Good job you let them in on our little secret.” he laughed Oh Oh. A small detail had skipped my memory.( Lucy, you’ve got a lot of splainin to do.). |
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