I wrote a story.
Born On Christmas
There once was a little boy who was born on Christmas Day.
One day, his mother told him he was born on Jesus’ birthday.
Finally understanding, he began to cry.
When asked why, he said, “Because I don’t deserve it.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Jesus must love me very much to share his birthday with me.”
Thank you for reading this. I hope it bought a smile to your face. Again, Merry Christmas.
If you’ve ever had a dog, you’ll know how they can sometimes just go crazy, running around the house for no reason whatsoever. Well, perhaps the truth behind that is much bigger than you ever would have thought. Perhaps…
The Legends of Good Girl: Volume One
It was 1:32 in the morning when she sensed it. The danger. The great enemy. Puppy leapt to her feet in an instant. She’d heard stories of the enemy from her mother her whole life, all eight weeks. She’d listened wide-eyed to fantastic tales of her mother bravely battling the enemy, the dangerous enemy. Now it was her turn.
“What’s wrong, puppy?” Human Kylli asked from her position on the couch, rising up on one elbow.
Puppy ignored her. The humans had no idea the danger they faced. They were oblivious to it, even when it was staring them in the face. Only dogs could see it.
Puppy started wagging her tail. If the enemy thought she didn’t know it was there…she could still have the element of surprise. She hopped out of her basket and trotted off, pretending to be getting a drink of water. Human Kylli got there before she did.
“No water for you at night, puppy, you’ll have to pee.”
Puppy didn’t want water anyway. She walked slowly back to her basket, stalling for time. Where was it? It had to be close. She could smell it. Puppy stifled a gasp. There it was. Perched on her favorite toy. She pounced.
“This. House. Is. Protected.” She growled through the mouthful of stuffed pheasant. The coward had retreated inside her toy. She shook it fiercely, hoping to force it out. With a terrifying shriek, it burst out. Puppy dropped the toy and the chase began. It was a long and glorious chase. They ran through the living room, galloped through the kitchen, sprinted down the hallway, tore through the library, and circled back towards the kitchen.
“You can’t escape! Surrender now and I’ll let you leave this house unharmed.” Puppy barked furiously.
The enemy stopped. “No, you won’t.”
“No.” Puppy agreed.
The chase continued. They swung around a corner, heading straight towards the door. Puppy grinned. With the door closed, it was a dead end. The enemy came to a stop. There was nowhere to go.
“It’s over, enemy.” Puppy said. “You’re trapped.”
The enemy looked at her…and smiled. “I’m never trapped.”
And with that the enemy jumped up and perched on the doorknob.
Puppy leapt up, trying in vain to catch it. She didn’t realize what she was doing. You see, the humans of that particular house had a specific potty training method they liked to use. They hung bells on the doorknob and trained the dog to ring them when the dog wanted to go to the bathroom. Can you guess what Human Kylli, poor Human Kylli who’s been chasing her dog around for 20 minutes trying to get her to go back to sleep, thinks Puppy is doing?
“Oh, Puppy wants to go to the bathroom?”
“Nooo!” Puppy howled as the enemy, with a grin, disappeared into the night.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it. I enjoyed writing it! Now a quote from one of my previous posts,
Todd had gained untold fame among the cubs as The Guy That Woke Up A Hibernating Bear. (Todd was not later sure it was worth it, but there’s no sense worrying about the past, his mother told him)
(P.S. You may have noticed no explanation is given for why it’s called The Legend of Good Girl. That’s volume two.)
Did you think I was done writing about raccoons? Surprise.
The Myth of Todd
When Ben Didn’t Come Back
When Ben didn’t come back. Many years later, just as “remember when ben” was basically a greeting, “when Ben didn’t come back” became a farewell. They said it at first as a warning. Don’t go there, Ben didn’t come back from there. Then they said it to honor him.
When Ben didn’t come back the raccoons were not that worried. Not at first. It wasn’t too uncommon for Ben to disappear for a day or two and come back talking about how he’d once again outwitted the humans. But when a week had gone by, the raccoons knew something had to be done. Luckily there was a volunteer.
Todd was Ben’s quite concerned nephew. Todd had grown up in a world where the best and most common way to prove your bravery among the young raccoons was to listen to Ben. Todd had gained untold fame among the cubs as The Guy That Woke Up A Hibernating Bear. (Todd was not later sure it was worth it, but there’s no sense worrying about the past, his mother told him).
But despite all the danger his uncle had gotten him into (because of it, possibly), Todd was very fond of his uncle, and I can only wonder what he’ll do when he finds out what happened to Ben. Something reckless, probably.
On to the adventure. Todd set out at the crack of dusk. It had been confirmed Ben had attended a party immediately before his disappearance, so Todd started there and worked his way towards Ben’s home, thinking, where would I go if I was Ben? Todd soon found himself standing at the edge of an area he had not intended to go. Where Cousin Kyle disappeared. Who’s cousin Kyle was is not clear, but it was not advisable, if you were a raccoon, to step foot anywhere near a place a fellow raccoon had disappeared. Disappearance usually meant death.
Todd stood there a while. War was raging in his head. Should he go onward, into certain danger, to find what out happened to Ben? Or should he say he did his best and leave? After several long minutes, during which he made as if to leave, or go on, several times, he decided. He decided to go on.
Todd made his way warily through the weeds. He sniffed as hard as he could, but he could smell no sign of Ben. If he had been here, it had been too long, the scent had dissipated. Todd was about to turn and go another direction when he stumbled out of the underbrush and found himself looking at a shed. And he smelled marshmallow.
I believe you have an idea as to what is going to happen.
Todd cautiously walked towards the source of the smell. He stopped in front of a small metal cone. The marshmallow was inside. Todd could not resist. Few raccoons could. Todd reached his hand in, grasped the marshmallow, and attempted to pull his hand back out. I say attempted because it didn’t work. It only took a second or two for Todd to realize what had happened to him. Then, twisting around, he saw what happened to Ben. A pool of blood lay next to a second metal cone.
“Uncle Ben….” Todd stared wide-eyed in horror. Uncle Ben was dead. How…..he could not form any coherent thoughts. The one word running through his mind was dead. Dead. For many long minutes, which seemed an eternity to Todd, he stared at the pool of blood feeling his heart break.
The loud hoot of a nearby owl startled him out of his melancholy thoughts. Looking at the metal cone, he realized he needed to begin the work of escaping. He almost didn’t try. If the great Ben could not escape from this terrible trap, how could he? Eventually, however, his instinct for survival won out. Todd began tugging at the cone. He tugged and tugged, yanked and yanked, but the only thing he succeeded in doing was pulling the cone out of the ground. The cone was still attached to a large stake drove deep into the ground.
Todd sat back and stared emptily at the stake. There was no way he could get that out. None. Jumbled thoughts and memories ran through Todd’s mind. Uncle Ben laughing at a joke while a very young Todd sat perched on his knee. The sight of a sleeping bear waking up. Growing up Ben’s nephew, always known, never in the background. The way grass looked peeking out from the last bits of snow in spring. The one thing Uncle Ben told him constantly, above all else.
“Don’t give up,” Ben admonished his nephew. “Don’t give up, it’s exactly what them humans want ya’ to do. You give up, and you’ve lost the battle before it’s begun.”
“Don’t give up.” Todd said. His voice seemed unnaturally loud. He blinked. Don’t give up. He looked at the stake. Don’t give up. Under different circumstances, he would have smiled. He had a plan.
Alternately digging and pulling, Todd began to work the stake free. It was slow progress. It was hours before he was done. With one last yank, Todd pulled out the stake. He ran off without a backward glance as the sun started to creep over the horizon. (When That Guy came out later, he was extremely puzzled as to why one of his traps had disappeared).
The trap dangling from his paw hindered his progress. Many times the trap got caught on sticks or tangled in weeds, and Todd had to work the trap free. But, finally, he walked into his parents house. It was daytime, so they should have been asleep, his mother was, but his father was getting a midday snack. Once Todd had told him what happened, he, in this order, woke up his wife, woke up all the raccoons nearby and told them to wake up more raccoons, and then stopped on his way home to go to the bathroom.
Soon all the raccoons in the area, all the raccoons for miles in each direction, all the raccoons that knew Ben, were gathered in front of Todd, who sat on a tree stump looking very much like a raccoon who had just escaped the jaws of death, for he had.
When the last raccoon had arrived, Todd began to speak. At first in a low, quiet voice that all had to strain to hear, then gradually talking so loud as to be almost shouting, he told them what had occurred, that night, and the night that Ben…..
When they heard of Ben’s fate, the raccoons wailed in sorrow, and the sound was heard as far away as That Guy’s house, where That Guy sat on the porch telling his wife about the raccoon that got away. Dozens of raccoons in the daytime, mourning, was not a usual sight, and before long the raccoons agreed they must all take their leave, before some curious human came to see what was the matter.
Todd’s parents took him to the doctor, a old gray raccoon who looked at his paw with a serious expression on his face, “hmm”ing every so often.
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s the only thing to be done,” said the doctor, shaking his head sadly.
“What’s the only thing to be done?” asked Todd’s mother nervously.
“I can’t get the trap off his paw. But I can get his paw off his leg.”
“What!” Todd’s mother screeched.
“It’s the only possible way,” said the doctor. Directing his attention to Todd, he said, “Son, do you want to go around in life with four paws and a trap stuck to one of them, or three paws and no trap?”
Todd did not like either option. It did not matter what Todd liked. I shall skip over this part, as I am sure you understand what transpired.
The next night, Todd sat on a rock at the edge of a clearing, looking at the stars and trying to ignore the throbbing pain where his paw used to be. Todd had lost both a paw and an Uncle, and gained a new nickname, Three-Paw Todd, in the same night. As Todd gazed up at the sky, his sorrow turned to cold anger and hatred, hatred for the one that had taken his uncle from him, That Guy! Standing up on his hind legs, Todd reached his remaining paw to the sky and vowed, “I shall avenge you uncle! If I have to travel to the ends of the earth, I shall avenge you! That Guy will paaaayyyyy!!!!” Todd’s voice rang out over the countryside, and all who heard it shivered, for raccoons don’t break promises. Unfortunately for That Guy.
To be continued.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it. I do think That Guy has an interesting fate ahead of him. A raccoon just declared war on him. How do you think Todd will get his revenge? I have some ideas. But the real question is, who is That Guy? I shall leave you to ponder that.
“Surprisingly, while the craziness of the plan was not disputed, all immediately agreed to carry it out.” -Kylli Berg
I would like to state that this story I have written is entirely fictional. As far as I know this has never happened.
The Tales of Ben the Raccoon: Volume One
Ben the Raccoon met an unfortunate end at the hands of That Guy only a short while ago, and he is greatly missed by raccoons everywhere. (Well, maybe not everywhere, although tales of Ben had spread far and wide, and spread even wider after his tragic death). The usual “remember when Ben,” was now tinged with sadness. The raccoons still told stories about Ben, and I believe they will still be telling stories about him, many, many, years from now. The legend of Ben lives on. Why, you may ask, are we talking again about a dead raccoon? The answer to that question, is that I feel the world ought to know more of Ben, as his adventures are worth knowing, and it would be tragic indeed if his story was lost.
So here we are again, to hear the tales of Ben the Raccoon! To get a firsthand account, we shall sit down and listen to Helen tell us about the time Ben got stuck in a chimney- although I must warn you, Helen likes to talk, we may be here for hours. You don’t mind? Good. Follow me.
Helen: It was Bob-that-lives-in-a-barrel’s birthday, and all his friends had come to celebrate-including Ben. My husband Jake and I were there too. It was a wonderful party, but Bob had forgotten to get a good supply of adult beverages and they soon ran out. Now, I told them we could just pop over to my friend Mary’s house, she sells whiskey, but did they listen? No, they did not. They wanted to steal whiskey from this house across the street, a human called, um, what’s-his-name, That Guy or something. I told them it was a bad idea, I said to my Jake, “be the bigger raccoon, Jake dear, don’t let them do it.”
He then suggested they sneak in through the chimney. And they thought it was an excellent idea, but what it really was was an immature and foolish idea! Hmm. But full steam ahead they went, I tried to stop them, I am not responsible for what happened.
At any rate, they strolled across the street and stopped in front of the house scratching their heads, because, just imagine, they didn’t know how to get to the roof.
“We could build a flying machine,” said somebody, I won’t say who.
“We could stand on each others’ shoulders,” said somebody more intelligently.
“We could climb up the gutters.” said Jake. That idea was met with unanimous approval, and the plan was immediately carried out. Once standing on the roof, they realized they needed a rope to aid in their venture down the chimney. The rope was fetched, and one by one they climbed down inside the chimney. After several anxious minutes, they began to reappear one by one, each clutching a bottle. Soon they were all safely standing on the roof except for Ben.
“What’s wrong, Ben?” Jake called down.
“I might be a bit stuck.” Said Ben finally.
“I can’t get this barrel o’ whiskey up the chimney!”
“A barrel of whiskey?!” Bob exclaimed in surprise. “Why didn’t you just get a bottle like everybody else?”
“And leave all this good whiskey for the humans?” Ben snorted. “Nah, That Guy has had it coming for a long while. Remember when he blocked up Joe’s old home under the shed? Joe was still in there…..”
Ben would not be convinced to leave the barrel behind, and a debate on how to get him and the barrel out ensued.
“We could take the chimney apart brick by brick until Ben was free.”
That idea was not met with much enthusiasm.
Ideas were running short.
“You know, there’s some fireworks in this garage here.”
Everybody turned to look at Jake.
“Well, see, we could get some fireworks and put them in the fireplace and set them off, and Ben would come shooting out of the chimney like a cannonball out of a cannon.” He looked around to see how many people thought that was crazy. Surprisingly, while the craziness of the plan was not disputed, all immediately agreed to carry it out.
Now, by that time every raccoon for five miles had found out Ben was doing something crazy again, they felt it in their bones. Most of them thought they would just pop over to see what was going on, and so there was a rather large crowd gathered in front of the house as Operation Cannonball was executed.
The garage was entered easily through a tunnel made by Ben himself a long time ago, so he could- no, that’s another story. The fireworks were then quickly gotten, carried to the house, and set down while the raccoons discussed the latest problem to come to their attention concerning Operation Cannonball. They couldn’t get in. They had originally entered through the chimney, but seeing as that entrance was now blocked by Ben and one large barrel of whiskey, another entrance was necessary. Eventually it was discovered that a window had been left open on the lower floor, a small window, but a window. Two teams of raccoons, each team composed of multiple raccoons standing on each other’s shoulders’, worked together to remove the screen. The screen was removed, and one by one three raccoons dropped down onto the toilet, perfectly positioned under the window. It would have been more perfect if the lid had been down, for then Jake wouldn’t have fallen into the toilet bowl and nearly woken up That Guy and That Guy’s Wife, for that bathroom was their bathroom, and the adjoining room their bedroom. Nevertheless, neither That Guy nor his wife woke up, not when three raccoons slipped nearly noiselessly through their bedroom, not when three raccoons dumped a box full of fireworks into the fireplace, not when three raccoons searched through the house for a lighter, not when three raccoons dropped the lighter in the hallway, not when three raccoons attached a bit of string to the fireworks to serve as a fuse, giving them enough time to get out, not when three raccoons lit said fuse, and not when three raccoons quickly and quietly exited the house through the bathroom window. In fact, they didn’t wake up until the fireworks went off.
There have been many spectacular events in history. Many awe-inspiring occurrences. But Operation Cannonball was one of the greatest. The moon and the stars shone brightly down on the amazed crowd as a raccoon clutching a barrel of whiskey shot out of a chimney into the sky, sparks streaming from his tail, fireworks bursting all around in the most glorious display of foolish bravery the raccoons had ever seen. Operation Cannonball was a success.
I can’t stop picturing a raccoon clutching a barrel of whiskey flying through the air, fireworks bursting all around!
Perhaps now That Guy’s resolve to rid the world of raccoons can be understood. Partially, at least, there is another important reason That Guy doesn’t like raccoons, but I cannot reveal that. Not yet.
Now, once again, the amazing, the incredible, quote from one of my previous posts!
“Run across Helen and she’ll chat with you for hours about the time he tried to get in a human’s house to get some more whiskey (they ran out at the party across the street) and got stuck halfway down the chimney.” -Kylli Berg
I took forever on this post. Woe is me. But, I did write it, although it should be noted that the events related in this Chicky Chick adventure happened quite a while ago in real life. (Actually, this Chicky Chick adventure is a combination of two real life events, with, as always, a heaping amount of creative license).
So here it is. A Chicky Chick story.
The Adventures of Chicky Chick: Volume Four
Chicky Chick vs The Hand
It was another unremarkable day. The chicks were conducting their usual routine of eat, drink, poop, sleep, repeat. The only interesting thing that had happened that day so far, was Fluff Fluff announcing that as she was now three weeks old, everyone must refer to her as either Miss Fluff, or Lady Fluff. Her sisters did not fancy the idea.
Chicky Chick sighed. She plopped her head on her sleeping sister in despair. (Which was a rather rude thing to do, as Chirp Chirp did not appreciate being woken up). She was. So. Bored. She wished desperately for something exciting to happen. Anything. Even the horror of The Hand coming down from the sky to grab one of them only to set them down a few minutes later would be better than this tiresome nothingness.
Chicky Chick was not aware of this, but her wish was about to be fulfilled.
The Hand appeared. The Hand started picking up the chicks one by one and taking them to- well, that’s the terrifying part. Chicky Chick didn’t know where.
The chicks were panicking.
“The end has come!” shrieked Bawk Bawk. “Run for your lives!” (Bawk Bawk took her own advice, although where she was running to in the small tub I can’t say).
Similar opinions were being voiced by the other chicks, only Chicky Chick and Chirp Chirp remained silent. Chirp Chirp because she was too stunned to say anything- not that she said much of anything when not stunned- and Chicky Chicky because she was thinking horrified that this was her fault, she’d wanted this, they were all going to die! That last part was a bit over the top in my opinion. But that’s just me.
The Hand reached down again and snatched up Fluff Fluff. I’m sad to say, the other chicks were not particularly sorry to see that particular sister go. Fluff Fluff’s parting words were, “It’s messing up my feeeeaaaathers!“
One by one, The Terrible, Terrifying, Utterly Fear-inspiring Hand, swooped down on petrified chicks, until only Chicky Chick was left. With only seconds left, Chicky Chick made a choice. She would not run like her sisters had. It was useless. As The Hand loomed closer and closer, Chicky Chick stared bravely at impending doom. Then she flew straight up and pecked impending doom.
The Hand withdrew for a brief second before finally grabbing Chicky Chick. Chicky Chick fought the urge to chirp in terror. She would not give The Hand the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid- and, oh, she was very much afraid. She was so afraid, Chicky Chick forgot how brave she was being and thought herself a coward. She didn’t know how courageous she was. She thought courage was just another word for brave. No one had ever told her courage was being brave when you are afraid. It’s easy to be brave when you’re not afraid. It’s harder if you’re scared.
The Hand loosened its grip almost imperceptibly. (The Hand felt Chick Chick was behaving herself rather well. The Hand was about to revise that opinion). Chicky Chick saw her chance. It was now or never. Flapping her wings like she was on fire, Chick Chick, with one great leap, defied The Hand, and soared to freedom. Those few moments were the happiest moments of Chicky Chick’s short life. For a brief time, Chicky Chick was free. Free. She could go where she wanted, do what she wanted. (Chicky Chick did not yet realize that a free chicken is a not-fed-by-anyone-but-herself chicken. She had yet to realize what many animals already knew. They sacrificed their freedom for safety. Independence for regular food. Liberty for a comfortable bed…… All right, enough philosophy).
Chicky Chick would not need to truly make the choice between freedom and security for a while yet, for she was not, in fact, as free as she believed. The Hand snatched up Chicky Chick, depositing her in the midst of her sisters. Chicky Chick, once again, had lost her freedom before she had it. A sad twist of fate, that the chicken who longs most for freedom should have it ripped away from her so often and so cruely. Is Chicky Chick destined to live out her days trapped in this terrible prison? Will she ever escape? And if she does…..will she find that freedom is worth all the hardship that comes with it? Or will she, like so many of her kind before her, return willingly to her life of servitude. Time will tell…..hopefully. Time doesn’t always feel like chatting. Enough of this philosophical wondering. Back to, (in a deep voice) The Adventures of Chicky Chick!
Chicky Chick was heart-broken by the loss of her freedom. She could think of nothing but her lost freedom for several seconds, which in Chicken Time, is like many long minutes. At last she came to a conclusion. She may have come close to freedom several times only to lose it, but that, at least, was more than her seven sisters could say. They cared nothing for freedom. (This was not entirely true, but we cannot expect Chicky Chick to know what thoughts go on in Chirp Chirp’s mind). She, Chicky Chick was determined, she would not give up, not ever. Soon the whole world would know her name, Chicky Chick, the chicken who fought for, and won her freedom!
Done with her musings, Chicky Chick turned her attention to where she was. She was stunned by what she saw. They were in…….in…..in the biggest tub ever!!! At least in Chicky Chick’s mind. It was not a tub, The Hand would call it a playpen.
Chicky Chick gazed around in wonder. But then, all of a sudden, the ground moved! It was like the “tub” was being dragged somewhere…..in a second or so, they stopped moving. Chicky Chick thought she recognized where they were. They had been placed right where the old tub had been.
Chicky Chick’s sisters were chattering excitedly, but Chicky Chick simply stood in quiet contemplation. In the space of a few minutes, the day had been transformed from a boring and uneventful day, to a very, very, very, eventful day. Maybe…..no, Chicky Chick quickly dismissed the idea. It was an absurd thought. One she couldn’t put out of her mind. If The Hand had put them here, in this spacious tub, and, oh, a most daring thought had just occured to Chicky Chick, The Hand was responsible for giving them fresh food and water, and changing their bedding so they didn’t walk around in poop! (They did walk around in poop, but not as much as they would without The Hand’s interventions). Chicky Chick was shocked by her radical conclusion. The Hand was the chicks’ most feared enemy! The Hand had stolen her freedom time and time again! The notion that The Hand could be good, why- unfortunately, at that exact moment, Bawk Bawk, feeling the need to peck someone, fixed her beady eye on Chicky Chick and went into attack mode. Chicky Chick’s extraordinary discovery was forgotten in the skirmish that followed.
I leave the reader, once again, to contemplate this newest adventure of Chicky Chick’s.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it.
Now for a quote from one of my previous posts,
“(There are many chickens that disagree about the innocence of raccoons).” -Kylli Berg
Are you expecting another Chicky Chick story? Well, that isn’t what I have for you today. Today I have written a fanciful story about a raccoon. Raccoons like to eat chickens. People like to stop raccoons eating their chickens. I like to write about the above. So, blog post. I hope you like it.
The Mournful Demise of Ben the Raccoon
Ben was a good sort of raccoon. He was well liked among his family and friends, although nobody ever quite believed his fantastic stories. His stories were always about how he outwitted the humans, narrowly escaping danger, and while the bare facts of the tales may have been true, everyone agreed he exaggerated a bit. It was widely acknowledged, however, that Ben was the craziest raccoon in the state. The truth of the matter was, he was more than a little hurt, because he faintly realized nobody believed him. So after a bit or so of stolen whiskey, Ben would get brave enough and mad enough to try to prove his bravery and truthfulness. Everyone who knew Ben had seen foolhardy displays of good ol’ raccoon daring many, many times. It was not an uncommon occurrence for one raccoon, upon meeting a friend, after pleasantries were exchanged, to say something along the lines of, “You remember when Ben….”
“Remember when Ben” was so common a phrase among the raccoons of that area, it has been debated whether it should actually be considered a greeting in the local dialect. They’re still arguing about it, and my guess is, they’ll still be arguing about it twenty years from now, when the raccoons have forgotten why they even say it……although, I don’t quite think they’ll ever forget Ben.
There was a thousand and one stories about Ben, and nearly as many raccoons eager to tell them. Go find Bob- not Bob-that-lives-in-a-tree-stump, I mean Bob-that-lives-in-a-barrel- and ask about Ben, and he’ll tell you about the time Ben tried to parachute off a shed with a plastic bag. Run across Helen and she’ll chat with you for hours about the time he tried to get in a human’s house to get some more whiskey (they ran out at the party across the street) and got stuck halfway down the chimney. Track down Todd and he’ll talk about how when he was a kid his Uncle Ben got him to wake up a hibernating bear, which leads us to another common phrase among the raccoons, specifically raccoon parents. “Don’t listen to Ben,” mothers whispered in their childrens’ ears and fathers lectured to teenagers. The children had grown up hearing those words, and it was really out of tradition they were spoken more than anything else, because both they and their parents knew full well they weren’t going to listen, just as their parents hadn’t listened to their parents before them.
Once in a while a raccoon would try to leave Ben off the guest list for a party or barbeque or so. Despite not being invited, despite the raccoon in question trying as hard as any raccoon ever had to keep the gathering a secret from Ben, inevitably Ben would saunter in, making bad jokes and talking about how he’d just narrowly escaped death.
Despite Ben’s shenanigans, nay, because of them, every raccoon in the area knew and liked Ben, and every raccoon in the area missed him when he was gone. And here we have arrived at the mournful part of our story, which, up until now, has been rather humorous, I hope.
It was a dark and stormy night. Ben was coming home from a late night at a housewarming party, informing the new raccoon family of his many adventures. (The family had been told about Ben, and had already heard about his more comical and much more truthful escapades). Ben had had a good time, but the food wasn’t to his liking, and he was strongly considering going to the chicken coop at Crazy Lady’s and grabbing a bite to eat, but it was more than a mile detour. He was deep in thought on this subject when it happened. That sad, terrible thing happened. He smelled a marshmallow.
Ben had a notorious sweet tooth and he especially liked marshmallows. He was well known for sticking a marshmallow or two (or three or four, it depended on many marshmallows he had and how long the party had been going on), in his adult beverages. As this account shall prove, his fondness of sugary treats was his downfall.
Ben instantly began following the smell, never hesitating. Another raccoon might have, especially after Cousin Kyle disappeared near that very same area the marshmallow smell was coming from. But Ben was too brave to turn back. At least, that’s what he’d like you to think. Really, not to speak ill of the dead, he was just too foolish.
Ben followed the smell to a shed. Behind the shed was a small metal cone. Ben saw the marshmallow inside. He reached his paw in, and, oh, the horror, he started to pull out the marshmallow- and he couldn’t! His hand was trapped.
At first, Ben didn’t realize what danger he was in. But as he tugged and tugged, then yanked and yanked, he realized…..he had been tricked. The marshmallow was a cruel scheme, designed to lead unsuspecting, innocent raccoons to their death! (There are many chickens that disagree about the innocence of raccoons). It seemed Ben had found out what happened to Kyle.
Ben began to shout for help. He no longer cared if the humans heard him, if he didn’t shout for help, he was done for, but if he shouted for help and someone heard him, he would be saved! Ben did not stop to think how his rescuer would free him. It was futile, at any rate. No one could hear him scream. Except for That Guy.
That Guy had been woken up by Ben’s cries, and was now trudging to the shed. He was rather grumpy at being woken up. He was in no mood for mercy. What happened next I’m sure you know, it is too terrible for me to describe in much detail. The end result of Ben’s encounter with That Guy, was Ben being unceremoniously stuffed into a garbage bag and tossed in the trash.
Alas, that was the end of Ben the Raccoon! Ben was unique. There had never been a raccoon like him, never has been, and never will be. Farewell, Ben, you will be missed.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it. It was fun to write, no offense to raccoons. Then again, why do I care if raccoons take offense? They want to eat Chicky Chick. Go away, raccoons.
“…one should never underestimate a chicken.” -Kylli Berg
Today I shall not be posting anything. Pauses dramatically. Then bursts out laughing. April Fool’s! Yes, it is that day. Or at least it was yesterday. I took a while editing this.
Anyway, apparently even the chickens celebrate April Fool’s, because when I went downstairs yesterday, guess what I found? The chicks had knocked their feeder over and it was lying in the middle of the brooder while a chick was standing proudly on the big-stone-brick-thing where the feeder was supposed to be. They seemed quite impressed with their feat.
In all seriousness, I wrote another chicken story.
I like writing chicken stories.
The Adventures of Chicky Chick: Volume Three
Bawk Bawk’s Revenge
It was a quiet night in the brooder. All the chicks were sleeping, dreaming happy chicken dreams. All but one. Bawk Bawk surveyed the insulting sight of her sleeping sisters with an air of disdain and barely concealed anger. How dare they sleep so peacefully when she, the great Bawk Bawk, could not, simply could not, get to sleep! She thought angry thoughts such as these for several long minutes before coming to a decision. Bawk Bawk’s mind was made up. If she could not sleep, nobody could. She began to formulate a plan.
Meanwhile, in the land of dreams, Chicky Chick was dreaming about the sky. She did not know that was it’s name yet, she only knew that when she was young, she had caught a glimpse of the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. A blue expanse that seemed to go on forever. She dreamed of flying up to it, of perhaps, eating it, if it was food. Chicky Chick was sure it would taste better than anything else in the world.
In her dream, she was flying, soaring, up to The Blue. She stretched her neck, straining to get close enough, for just one peck. Just one peck……
Back in reality, Bawk Bawk was ready to make her move. Everything was in place. Bawk Bakw was perched on the very top of the feeder. A grim smile crossed her beak. She stood up straight, her head held high. History will remember this day, thought Bawk Bawk. The day the legendary Bawk Bawk got her revenge. She stretched out her wings and jumped.
Chicky Chick never pecked The Blue, at least, not in that dream. Sensing danger, she awoke in time to witness her sister Bawk Bawk soaring through the air, chirping madly. Chicky Chick’s eyes opened wide in amazement. She thought fast. Jumping up, she flapped her wings frantically, propelling herself into flight. She aimed straight for Bawk Bawk. Chicky Chick collided with her sister just in time, pushing them both away from the rest of their sisters, and shoving them both to the ground. Bawk Bawk let out an angry screech. “Noooooo!”
Now, while Chicky Chick did stop Bawk Bawk from landing on her sisters with her brave act of daring, the noise both parties made woke all the chicks nevertheless. Sleepy chicks raised their heads in confusion and annoyance. Who had woken them up? The sight the chicks saw was certainly an interesting one. Chicky Chick and Bawk Bawk were circling each other, both chirping angrily. The chicks’ eyes widened. This could only mean one thing. Chicky Chick and Bawk Bawk were going to have a Chicken Duel. This strange custom was centuries old, and how chickens through the millennia had settled disputes. The two chickens dueling circled each other, but the duel could not begin until another chicken stated the reasons for the duel.
Chirp Chirp stood up. The other chicks slowly got to their feet. Chirp Chirp walked forward and stopped directly between Chicky Chick and Bawk Bawk as her sisters watched in stunned amazement. Surely Chirp Chirp did not intend to state the reasons? Chirp Chirp had a well earned reputation for being quite shy. I’m telling you, think of the shyest soul you know, and multiply it by a hundred or so, and that might, might, come close to how shy Chirp Chirp was. I should, perhaps, tell the tale of why Chirp Chirp chose to abandon her timidity………..but not now. Later, maybe. For now we are following the heroic adventures of one Chicky Chick, and we cannot go down side roads such as these, or I fear we shall become lost and never return to our intended destination.
“Will the opposing parties please state their reasons for dueling.” Chirp Chirp peeped in her high voice.
The two chickens began chirping at the same time.
“She was going to-“
“She shouldn’t have stopped-“
“I barely stopped-“
“I can’t believe-“
Chicky Chick and Bawk Bawk stopped and stared in surprise at their shy sister.
Chirp Chirp took a deep breath. “All right, Chicky Chick, you go first.”
Bawk Bawk opened her beak to protest this, but one look from Chirp Chirp silenced her.
Chicky Chick sighed. “I am dueling because Bawk Bawk here,” she glared at her sister, “was trying to wake everybody up. She was chirping loudly and flying straight for us, I barely stopped her in time.”
Somebody muttered that as they were all awake now, she didn’t do a very good job. That somebody was quickly shushed by her sisters.
Chirp Chirp turned her attention to Bawk Bawk.
Bawk Bawk raised her head defiantly. “Chicky Chick was the one trying to wake you up. I’m the one that-“
Chicky Chick cut her off. “So now you’re a liar, too!”
Everyone started talking at once. Some believed Chicky Chick, some believed Bawk Bawk, others weren’t sure what to think, and really just wanted to go back to sleep.
“Quiet!” Chirp Chirp commanded.
The chicks fell silent.
Chirp Chirp quietly related the reasons for dueling.
“The reasons,” Chirp Chirp said, “real or not, have been stated. Let the duel begin.”
So the greatest duel the chicks had ever seen (the only duel the chicks had ever seen, but that wasn’t the point), began. The two combatants flew at each other with fierce determination. The first to be knocked to the ground lost. You could flap wildly, peck, or anything, really, there were few rules in Chicken Duel. Bawk Bawk pecked and pecked. Chicky Chick flapped her wings in Bawk Bawk’s face, hoping to unbalance her. The duel continued. (If this were a movie, I promise you epic fight music would be playing).
After several minutes, the end seemed near. Chicky Chick could barely stay on her feet. Bawk Bawk smiled evilly, and reared back her head for the final blow. Chicky Chick knew one push would knock her over. Chicky Chick closed her eyes sadly.
But then she remembered. She remembered her past. The long trip to the brooder, which she recalled only in bits and snatches. Her first sip of water. Her first bite of food. Endless games of “Who Can Fly The Highest” with her sisters. Discovering the Grey. Wishing for freedom. Trying to escape. Failing. Failing. She discovered the Grey only to have it disappear. She wished for freedom only to see what little she had taken from her. Chicky Chick opened her eyes. She would not fail this time. The tale of Chicky Chick would not be one of despair.
She remembered. She remembered the future, her dreams of the future. She would find freedom. She would peck The Blue. She would fly higher than any chicken before. She would not fail. Not this time.
The chicks watched in amazement as Chicky Chick flew straight up into the air, higher than any of them had ever flown before. Chicky Chick came back down to earth, landing right on top of Bawk Bawk. Bawk Bawk tumbled to the ground. Chicky Chick was the victor.
Here this story ends. It ends, not with defeat, but with victory. Remember the story of Chicky Chick. It is a story of a chicken who dreamed, hoped, and persevered with that endless determination of chickens. It is the story of a chicken that- well, we’ll get to that eventually. Eventually Chicky Chick will face her greatest challenges, her greatest hopes, and her greatest fears. Eventually she will face an enemy so great………some will wonder if she can win. But I believe one should never underestimate a chicken. It’s usually a bad idea.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it. Chicky Chick certainly has interesting adventures, does she not? But the greatest adventures are yet to come….
Now for a quote, again, from one of my previous posts,
“In the north,
when the snow is melting and the birds are singing.” -Kylli Berg
Were you expecting a poem? I’m afraid you shall be disappointed. For I am at this point in time more interested in Chicky Chick’s adventures. Perhaps Chicky Chick should become a poet………what would chickens write poetry about? Delicious bugs? I know, I know, you are all so happy I have brought to your attention a most important question, what would a chicken write poetry about, if a chicken could write poetry.
However, in this exciting edition of The Adventures of Chicky Chick, Chicky Chick shall pursue a different occupation…
Well, here is what you have all been waiting for. Another chicken story.
I hope you like reading it. (I liked writing it).
The Adventures of Chicky Chick: Volume Two
Chicky Chick Wishes for Freedom
Chicky Chick the Remarkable Explorer
The Great Explorer
It was a warm and food-filled day. The other 7 chicks were content with their life in the little green storage tub, but Chicky Chick dreamt of more. Chicky Chick dreamt of freedom. For many hours now, Chicky Chick had begun to think of what lay beyond their tub. Were these plastic walls and floors all there was to the world? No! Chicky Chick could not believe, would not believe, that this was all there was to life! Chicky Chick yearned for more. Her mind was made up. She would do what her sisters had not the strength to do. She would venture beyond these green plastic walls. She would leave her home. She would explore what lay beyond!
Chicky Chick’s brave thoughts were rudely interrupted by a strange, terrible sight. A giant stretch of shiny mesh was being stretched over the tub! Chicky Chick stood rooted to the spot in horror. Her plans were shattered before her eyes. Her dreams and hopes were broken into dust and swept away by the wind.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Chicky Chick chirped in terror.
Chicky Chick watched as the tub was completely covered by the wire mesh-almost. There was still a space at the end of the tub with nothing over it! Nothing was there to stop her from taking flight and hopping right out of the tub. How she was to get back in never crossed her mind.
Chicky Chick backed up to the opposite edge of the tub. She would need a running start if she was to fly high enough to clear the wall of the tub. She fixed her eyes determinedly on her goal. Nothing could stop her now. Chicky Chick took a deep breath and started running. The world seemed to slow around her as she started on what could very well be the greatest feat of her young life. Her heartbeat sounded loudly in her ears. One foot in front of the other. She was almost there. She passed the feeder. Her sisters abandoned their dinner to stare in uncertainty at Chicky Chick’s glorious feat of daring. Chicky Chick continued. Soon her dreams would be realized. Nothing stood between her and the wonderous thing we call freedom. She passed the waterer and tensed in preparation for flight. Time slowed to a crawl for Chicky Chick as she began to flap her wings. She was off the ground, she was flying, she was-
A large piece of plywood slid over the opening. Chicky Chick’s sisters watched as Chicky Chick flew straight at it, hitting it and falling to the ground. And in that long fall, Chicky Chick saw everything she had hoped for, everything she had worked so hard for, fall with her. Dreams of freedom, of exploring what lay beyond, turned to dust. There would be no “Chicky Chick the Great Explorer.” She would never return in triumph to lead her sisters out of the tub that was their prison, out into the wonderful world Chicky Chick knew in her heart lay beyond. It was all gone, vanquished by a single piece of wood. Her heart shattered into a million pieces as she fell. If chickens could cry, Chicky Chick would. Instead, Chicky Chick closed her eyes in sorrow and waited to hit the ground.
Hit the ground she did not, instead landing on top of her sister, Chirp Chirp. (Chirp Chirp was not pleased about her role in softening Chicky Chick’s fall, but that’s a different story). Chicky Chick struggled to her feet. Her heart broken, she stared in grim silence at the plywood that had sent her crashing back to earth. Chicky Chick was lost in mournful thoughts of hopes shattered.
Until the thought occurred to her that she was really quite hungry, and her sister Bawk Bawk was eating out of HER feed hole. This she could not let stand. Chicky Chick raised her head high in determination and ran over to inform her sister of her mistake, all thoughts of freedom and exploration gone.
So here our story ends, and the one chronicling Chicky Chick’s great adventures leaves the reader to contemplate the brief career of Chicky Chick the explorer. Will Chicky Chick ever escape? Is she destined to see nothing but the tub? What lies beyond the tub? Does chicken food taste good? I mean….um……bye.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked my attempt at humor. It was amusing to write. Chicky Chick the Explorer…….(chuckles).
Now for a quote from one of previous poems, as always.
“The sun peeks out,
throwing back the curtain made of clouds
to gaze upon the earth.” -Kylli Berg
My basement smells like a farm.
It doesn’t smell that much.
Are you wondering, “what in the world is she talking about?”
I’ll tell you.
Baby chicks are so cute. They’re cute when they sleep. They’re cute when they drink. They’re cute when they eat. They’re cute when they make short little daring flights that usually result in them waking up and otherwise annoying their sisters/cousins/distant relations/they might not even be related. They’re cute when they try to peck each other’s eyes out- just kidding, that is NOT cute. It is very rude, and I would much rather them peck the doodles I stuck on a piece of cardboard and put in their brooder. But they have different ideas. That is what I am writing about today. After you have read it, I think you will agree these chickens are crazy. Crazy cute. And just plain crazy.
The Adventures of Chicky Chick: Volume One
The Great Discovery
It was a warm and food-filled day. The chicks were happily chirping in their brooder. Life was good. Lots of food, water, and a nice lamp to keep them toasty warm. Sure, there was the occasional fights between siblings, (after all, everybody knew only the three holes closest to the heat lamp were worth eating from) and eyes might have been mistaken for nice tasty bugs once in a while, but for the most part, the 8 young ladies were quite well behaved.
But Chicky Chick had made an incredible discovery. She had been kicking up the pine shavings on the ground, trying to get them in her sisters’ eyes. (No one can now remember why her sisters deserved pine shavings kicked at them). As Chicky Chick kicked some more pine shavings at her sisters, missing and getting pine shavings in the water instead, she saw something incredible. Grey. A hard Grey surface lay underneath the pine shavings. She chirped loudly, a discovery like this needed to be shared. “Hey, come look at what I found!”
The pine shavings aimed at them forgotten, the other chicks rushed to Chicky Chick.
“What is it?”
“Is it food?’
“Is it dangerous?”
The chicks huddled in a circle, pecking excitedly at the Grey. They pushed and shoved, all wanting to peck at the Grey.
“It’s the best thing I ever pecked!”
Then, suddenly, a giant Hand reached down! The chicks scurried away in fright, abandoning the Grey, peeping in distress.
“It’s a monster!’
“It’ll kill us all!”
“We’ll be eaten alive!”
The chicks were wrong about the “alive” part.
The Hand brushed pine shavings back over the Grey, removing all traces it even existed.
The chicks gasped in horror.
“It destroyed the Grey!”
The Hand retreated, and the chicks stood frozen in unbelief, slowly beginning to peep a mournful song of sorrow, for the Grey was gone forever. Or at least for the next few minutes, until the exact same thing happened all over again.
Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it. (By the way, none of them actually have names, “Chicky Chick” was invented for the purposes of that story. I would never name a chicken “Chicky Chick.” Breakfast is a much better name). I’m thinking about making this a regular/sort of regular thing, “The Adventures of Chicky Chick. I think it would be cool, it depends on whether the chicks do anything interesting. I think they will, but you never know. They might just decide to eat, sleep, and basically do nothing interesting enough to write about. But, then again, I have a feeling Chicky Chick might get into many more adventures………maybe.
Well, I’ve talked about chickens long enough, now for a glimpse into the past with a quote from one of my previous poems,
“Bright green sprouts struggle towards the light,
fighting to glimpse the sky.” -Kylli Berg