Alas, There is No Photographic Record of These Events
I have not yet introduced you to the dog who lives here in the house. Her name is Cinder.
This picture shows her just after receiving her summer haircut. Now she bears a shaggier 'do in honor of the onset of colder weather.
Anyhow, this evening Cinder was guarding My Girl downstairs in the kitchen as the Girl dished out a bowl of vanilla ice cream. After all, you never know when foodstuffs will go on the aggressive and just leap off of the kitchen counter in attack mode.
And you might think that last sentence was in jest.
Nope.
Tonight, a chunk of vanilla ice cream leapt out of the container in its flight to gain freedom and leave a trail of carnage in its wake. Fortunately, it miscalculated its leap and bounced off the top of Cinder's head. Cinder was able to capture it on the rebound, as it were.
Hours later, the dog is still waiting patiently downstairs in hope that more sugary goodness will fall from the sky. Meanwhile, I am considering investing in a catcher's mitt, in case I am ever presented with a similar opportunity.
Honouring an Author of Questionable Virtue
Almost two months ago, my dearest Monkey became aware of the darker, murderous intentions behind the innocent facade of a
beloved children's author. Ever the civic-minded simian, he made sure to
inform the wider community about these troubling revelations of someone purveying bunny snuff narratives concealed by soft watercolour paintings.
It was truly a shocking revelation to such an avid reader as myself. I mean, just look at her! She seems so very genteel and ladylike in her demeanour! So, quite frankly, British. How could she be capable of such deception?!? Here, she walks a pet bunny with such apparent care and affection. Knowing what I now know, I cringe to imagine that poor bunny's fate after the cameras ceased to roll---or, even more distressingly, perhaps after a
new set of cameras started.
Now, although I am afraid of the trauma it may cause my simian friend, I fell compelled to report on another attempt to whitewash the reputation of this ethically challenged writer. The Eric Carle Museum of Picturebook Art is hosting an exhibit entitle Beatrix Potter in America. And it doesn't seem as if there's any acknowledgement of the likely disregard for American bunny safety. No, I'm sure it's all blah blah artistic, blah gentle soul, blah blah
a pack of horrible lies.
Meanwhile, my own research has uncovered a more insiduous way this lady had of keeping my own relations in a subservient role. This story tells of a
distant cousin who does the washing for all the other creatures who have passed through our author's perverted tales.
Oh, yes, if you please'm; my name is Mrs. Tiggy-winkle; oh, yes if you please'm, I'm an excellent clear-starcher!
Look at that smile and those vacant eyes. Truly a brainwashed
Stepford Hedgehog if I've ever seen one.....
A Weekly Postcard
No excursions to report on today---the holiday weekend left my travel capacities frighteningly curtailed.
However, I am compelled to report on things here on the home front.
My Girl has gone insane. Does she have
no sales resistance?
It's going to be a long loooooong holiday season if this new experiment deprives me of all those yummy treats I have come to love.
Where There's a Will There's a Way
I have discovered a way to depart (and, most importantly, to re-enter) the house unassisted by any tall behmoths of humankind.
This unusual doorway is something of a tight squeeze, so I was forced to wait for better weather, as the Yellow Mac would likely have added just enough heft to make the narrow doorway impassable. I was forced, for similar reasons, to leave my backpack and my Pez Pal in the house. (As it turns out, that may have been a fortuitous happening.)
I had a conversation with a delightfully green lady who gave me all the necessary information about Philadelphia and its environs to allow me further travels.
I took the liberty of asking her about where I might be able to find joy or whimsy, and was hearilty admonished for such a question. Apparantly, she is deeply resentful at being out on display so many weeks after her appropriate feast-day. What might otherwise have been quite a whimsical window display has instead become a source of anger for this green gal.
I decideed to flee before she took it upon herself to hex me.
'Twas a Dark and Stormy Night
No, really, it was dark and stormy. Or, I mean, it
is dark and stormy. Or will have been, by the time you (whomever you may be) are reading this?
Regardless.
I have been unconsciably silent this past month. I have asked My Girl why this is so, the Fella has asked about it, others have inquired as well. "For Badger to write requires joy and whimsy," My Girl replied, "and those are two commodities in very short supply."
So I have determined to quest until those rare substances are found and reinstalled in the Badger household.
Every great quest, of course, requires appropriate preparations and provisions. First, I had to search the laundry pile for travelling attire.
Notice, if you will, the manner in which My Girl keeps house. What should be a guest bed is instead the place where the pile of laundry lives. Nevertheless, I was able to find my raincoat and hat--it being a dark and stormy night and all.
I'll admit that before embarking on my epic journey, I took some bit of time to admire my
Great Big Waterproof Mac-ishness. Notice also that I have packed luggage with a Pez pal guaranteed to provide both nourishment and companionship along the road.
So I was finally prepared to head into the great wide world.
Only one problem: how am I ever to reach the doorknob?
Drat.
Alas, Cruel Fate
I am learning that anthropomorphic stuffed aniumals cannot ever rest easy: regardless of their place in the space time continuum.
The Fella sent me and My Girl quite a disturbing bulletin this afternoon:
The crocodile, as one of the ultimate predators, can fall victim to the kind of implemented 'teamwork' strategy which is possible due to the pack mentality and social structure of canines.
See the attached and remarkable photograph courtesy of Nature Magazine--but not if you're squeamish!
I am indeed squeamish. I must go throw up now.
If you need me, I'll be hiding under the covers.
Badger in Battle
I apologize to everyone for my long absence. My
nemesis seems to have found a way to create a small tear in the fabric of space and time. When I crawled out of my nest some very-many days ago, I accidentally stepped into that rip, and found myself tumbling away from my comfortable Philadelphia domicle...
I ended up in a strange two-dimensional world, a world in which I was both hero
and villain
Needless to say, it was all very confusing, and I am still a little mixed up as to whether I am now an
ally of my small alien roommate, or if my experiences have left me
all the more determined to thwart his evil vegetative plans.
Regardless of my uncertain loyalties, there were some moments of fun to be had in this strange new world. I made friends with a new monkey, who gave me yummy fruit on which to snack.
And I met a fellow who was all irate on the surface, but turned out to have a heart of chocolate. I mean that.
I think for all my earlier-professed love of
chocolate-covered strawberries, I must now declare my true loyalty to the cholcolate-covered papaya. 'Tis a delicacy to treasure.
Tonight I get to sleep in my very own nesty Philadelphia bed. Bliss!!
This picture shows her just after receiving her summer haircut. Now she bears a shaggier 'do in honor of the onset of colder weather.
