Children&;#8217;s Triumvirate

The Children's Triumvirate.

The Dog and the Duck

There once was a dog who was very old. In fact, he was the oldest
animal on the farm where he lived. The old dog had been friends with
the young farmer since the time when the young farmer was just a young
boy. As for the young farmer's wife, well she had known the dog for as
long as she had known the young farmer.
The wife was a pretty woman, but lovelier inside than out. Meaning, of
course, she bubbled and oozed with warmth and caring and intelligence.
So much so in fact that I would say she was wonderful, and that is a
good thing indeed.
The young farmer had met his wife years ago, and they were settled
into their farm nicely, with a good growth of crops each season.
Although each season had been hard work, and hard work is well, hard to
do, isn't it?
They worked a large farm, almost too big for the two of them. They
worked hard though, and nice things grew on this farm. Peas grew on
this farm. Peas and carrots grew on this farm. Peas and carrots and
cabbage grew on this farm. These are all nice things indeed, and they
made particularly good soup too!
The farm grew all these things and, of course, they had chickens and
some cows and other animals, because that's what a farm has, hasn't it?
The farm also had wild creatures living on it. Wild creatures live
everywhere, and wild creatures lived all around this farm. The farm was
no exception to having wild creatures, especially because woods
surrounded the farm, and woods are where many many wild creatures
live.
The wild creatures live all around us and they lived all around this
farm and way up into the mountains, which you can see behind the farm.
The mountains rest behind and mostly to the left of everything. Big and
rocky and strong are they. The farmland, next to the big mountains and
surrounded by the hilly woods, looked warm and green and fertile in
comparison. Green green fields stretched across the farm from the woods
to the mountains. On the land, right in the middle of those green green
fields, was a big red barn, and next to that was a small white house.
Inside the small white house, lived the young farmer and his wife, but
not the old dog.
The old dog stayed out in the barn most of the time. He liked it out
there, being outside, as many dogs do. He was allowed in the house but
he wanted to be outside with the mountains and the woods and the wild
creatures.
Except in winter, when the weather is cold, and, because the dog was
old, in the winter the old dog would spend sometime in the house. When
it was could outside the old dog enjoyed the warmth of the house, with
its big fireplaces and soft rugs and scraps of meat from the table.
But, the old dog still would go outside, even in winter.
In the winter, although more so in the summer, the old dog and his
master would go hunting out where the wild creatures are, on the
mountains, and in the woods. This was good for the old dog was a
Labrador and he enjoyed it. Labradors are retrievers and retrievers are
hunting dogs and hunting dogs like to go hunting.
The young farmer and his old dog would often go out into the woods and
find their favorite spot, a perfect spot, a very good spot to sit and
wait. Sometimes they would wait and wait and wait. They were waiting
for game to shot at, and sometimes they had to wait a long time.
Sometimes they got bored and would just walk along not really hunting
at all. Sometimes they would just look at the trees wondering if it
would rain that day. Sometimes they would go exploring and hiking, and
hunt nothing at all.
Often they would go and wait by a lake that ran out of the woods, and
out onto the farm, created from the rain and snow trickling down from
the mountains. The rain and snow trickled down from the mountain
creating a lake. It was a kidney shaped lake. It was a lake without
crystal clear water because most things are not crystal clear,
especially lakes.
There were no fish in the lake; none at all, but there was a duck. The
duck lived on the lake. The duck never bothered the young farmer's
farm. He didn't eat the grain or vegetables. He never broke into
anything or wondered around, or mixed with the other farm animals. So,
in return, the farmer never hunted the duck. It was an understanding
they had and it was well understood that that was the way it was.
Except by the old dog.
The dog and duck were friends. Almost every day, sometimes in rain and
always in shine, the old dog would venture out of the barn and chase
the duck around the pound. This happened all the time, except in winter
when it was to cold to be outside. Besides, the duck wasn't on the farm
in winter, he would have, during this time, flown south for the winter,
as this is what ducks do. The dog however, did not know that though,
for he was in the house most of the winter, and it was too cold to
chase ducks then.
Everything remained like this for sometime, and they all lived quit
happily for sometime, as well they should have. All this lasted a long
time, until one certain day. On this day the young farmer woke up
early, just before sunrise, as he did almost everyday. That is the way
it is on a farm, for that is what farmers do.
Well, this was a spring day you understand. It was late April and the
dog had begun living in the barn again. But one night it became cold,
it had become strangely cold. The old dog was out in the cold, and as
the young farmer and his wife slept, warm and snug in their house, the
old dog died out in this cold cold April night.
It was too cold you see. The old dog was too old. So he died on a cold
night in late April. That's what should have happened though. On this
cold April night rain started dripping down on everything. Starting
when the sun began to leave the sky. It was slow at first, you may not
even have noticed, the grass was the first thing to really get it. The
blades became slippery and shiny, each one glossy green bright and
vibrant.
The rain dripped down and flung itself drop by drop onto the
windowpanes of the house leaving solitary streaks slanting down towards
the earth. The white paint on the house was streaked clean of dirt that
had gathered in the nooks and around the edges. Everything swelled and
shrank. The paint, wiped clean by the falling rain, looked as brightly
white as it cold be.
Everything looked much fuller and alive and all the colours became
richer and magnified. The green grass looked greener than ever. The
white house became bright and shining. The crops, covered in moisture,
sprang forth with life and vitality, each one looking rich and wet.
Even the ground and dirt became darker, glistening with the mounting
raindrops, and looked more like it should.
The red barn, well, it looked huge and red, and with all the animals
crowding together inside for its warmth, the barn had become a place
with much activity. The rain trickled through the cracks and joints and
fell to the dusty flour creating muddy puddles. Each puddle filled
until it became too large and began to reach out and trickle, much like
a river, down with the slant of the ground and out of the barn.
Too cold to lie on, the hay became mated and wet and useless. It
slumped down with the weight of the rain into clumps of interconnected
sticks. The troughs filled with water and overflowed, water slowly
running down the sides, dripping off the curved underbelly of each
feedbox.
The water fell into the wood and peeled off paint. It rusted the nails
and stakes. It fell on the shovels and rakes and spades and rusted the
handles and points. Everything became wet and splintered.
The animals moved as far from the water as they could. The cows all
huddled together in their little pens. The pigs came into the barn from
their little yard and nestled under their little pig house the farmer
has made from spare wood. The two horses looked about wild eyed, each
one in its own pen, each wrapped up for the night already, their horse
blanket dangling from each side. They stomped back and forth nervously,
bursts of hot air shooting from their nostrils.
Everything was wet and heavy and looked much darker. The cold rain
stole the idea of heat from every surface it touched, and the old dog
was left trying to sleep on the dusty dirty floor, lying by the door,
itself being not completely closed, he could see the white house.
Inside the white house the farmer and wife had already eaten supper
and gone to bed back when the rain was just starting. They were falling
asleep as the rain covered the farm and mountains and the woods, and
did not think to take the dog into the house for the night. The weather
can be very warm, you know, during late April and the young farmer did
not know how cold that night was going to be.
The old dog, lying in the barn, breathed heavily for much of the
night, his chest raising high and the falling quit low with a wheeze
and a snort. The cold misty air shot from his nose and his eyes blinked
watery blinks and he rested very still on the dirt floor by the
door.
The cold air and rainy night was just too much for the old dog. He had
become frail and weak. He didn't run as much and couldn't hunt as good.
In fact, he had only chased the duck once since winter had slipped away
into spring. That night in late April was too much, and the dog had
lived a good and long life by dog standards, it was his time to
go.
The next morning the sun came up early, early enough to greet the
young farmer as he got out of bed, and early enough to waste away the
water glistening on the grass and encompassing the farm. The farmer
awoke to the bright sun streaming in through the window and falling
down onto the dark wooden floors, bits of dust swirled and sparkled
through the streaks of sun waving in from outside. They swished away in
a quick manner as the young farmer walked through them, already dressed
for the day and searching for breakfast.
The young farmer's wife was already up too and had begun making him a
good breakfast of eggs and ham and on this particular morning some
steaks she had been saving. The food sizzled and fried in the pan as he
sat down and looked out the window.
The young farmer's wife while doing the precarious task of trying to
get ham cooked just right looked and smiled at the young farmer but he
had stopped looking at her. He had noticed the barn door was open and
he was puzzled.
The young farmer leaned forward in his chair and squinted out at the
sunny day. His wife took the pan off the stove and stepped towards him,
her white robe slashing about her ankles. She touched his shoulder and
also looked out the window.
The young farmer stood up, the wooden legs scraping against the grain
of the floor, and walked through the hallway and out the backdoor with
his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. The door banged
heavily behind him on its own accord.
His wife stayed in the kitchen her arms folded and face held with
concern, her long hair was resting nicely against her skin as it
twirled down onto her shoulders. It partly hide her face and she pushed
the wispy ends behind her ears in a manner she had done thousands of
times. She looked quite beautiful.
The young farmer walked through the small patch of flowers his wife
and he had planted and across the grassy knoll that rested between the
white house and barn. He walked down around the path from the side of
the barn to the large sliding door that was still slightly open from
the night before. He pushed it farther aside so he could fit through
and knelt next to the dog and touched his face. The young farmer
touched the old dog's neck and put his head to its chest. He patted its
head and knelt there for sometime. Then he stood up and stepped back
and leaned against the frame of the open doorway.
He stood there for sometime looking down at the old dog. After a while
the wife came outside, dressed for the day, and walked over to her
husband. She saw the old dog and put her arms around the young farmer,
for he had had the old dog since he was just a young boy, which
happened to be the dog's whole life.
She hugged her husband and held onto him for several minutes, she not
looking at the old dog lying on the ground. After sometime she left and
he moved over to the horses stall and took an extra blanket and wrapped
the old dog in it and carried him over to the house. He placed him out
on the porch and went back inside. The young farmer didn't do anything
all morning, until his wife came inside after her morning chores, he
made her lunch and they sat outside on the porch and ate the lunch he
had made.
After lunch he picked up the dog and carried him back to the barn. He
went into the back and found a good shovel, one that had been protected
from the rain. He picked up the old dog, blanket and all, and carried
him and the shovel out into the woods. He returned a few hours later
with only the shovel and did what chores he could before it became
dark.
He came inside from the dark, tired and hungry, his wife had already
made supper, so they sat and ate together. After supper they sat by the
fire. They held hands and talked and did not go to sleep till very late
that night.
The next morning the young farmer woke up later than usual, his wife
was already up and out doing her chores. He skipped breakfast and
joined her out in the fields. He worked all day, and did not stop with
her for lunch, but did come in and eat supper with her like the night
before. Again they rested by the fire after supper.
The seasons changed and fall came into the air. All the flowers the
wife and the young farmer had planted had already bloomed and gone, the
crops were ready to harvest, and the trees were days away from
beginning their own change. The duck had already left the farm for the
oncoming winter.
The young farmer did not go hunting anymore, and had only used his gun
to scare off raccoons and foxes. He rarely did go to the lake or walk
in the woods. He did his farming every day, but it was a small crop
this particular year, the spring and summer had been colder than usual,
and so the harvest was not so good.
Everyday the husband would come inside and eat with his wife and they
would talk and sit by the fire. Sometimes on the warmer summer nights
they would go for a walk around the farm and look at the stars and sit
on the porch. Every night the wife would hug the young farmer and tell
him she loved him, and the farmer would smile, and say, "I love you
too."
Many days passed and the harvest was completed and winter had set in.
Snow had fallen and covered the now empty fields and the barn and the
white house. The mountains and woods had become like winter, very quite
and still. The days passed by and the wife and the young farmer ate
their stores and sat by the fire and held hands.
The weather became fiercer as the little couple huddled together
through the back days of winter. The wind burrowed its way down the
snow covered blue mountains and slipped down through the barn and the
small white house bringing a dead chill that sat on the neck of the
young farmer and his wife. The fires of the house burned constantly to
combat this invasion. The tongues of fire lapping in the air, drinking
away the cold silence, and filling it with the crackles and snorts that
fires do make. There is no doubt that every fireplace was lit on this
winter, as it was so cold, and that the great stove, with black iron
thick and enormous, blazed constantly from the kitchen, and did its
best all winter long.
Everyday the young farmer would wake up and work in the cold, fixing
that or making this. Everyday he would talk with his wife and they
would hold hands. Everyday the snow was more and more, and then less
and less.
Till one day from beneath the snow began the poking of small green
spikes. The grass, still alive and plenty green was, and had been,
resting comfortably, knowing full well that it would have its day in
the sun once again. Likewise the farmer too knew this would happen and
had been preparing all winter long.
The young farmer had fixed his tractor and repaired the fence and done
many many things. So, when the ground began to thaw, and the air was
warm, he gathered his seeds and walked out over the land doing what
farmers do because they are farmers, and he was a farmer.

A Swath of Suspicion

The twilight years began during the third cycle of the Emperors reign
in this small country and this was not a prosperous time. The Emperor
was old. His hands had become withered sticks used only for pointing to
objects the Emperor liked. Look the Emperor would say, "Lock", and then
point at a tree that had fallen in the night. Tea the Emperor would
say, "Te", and then point towards the teacups. Yes the Emperor would
say, "Yas", and then point.
The words slipped from a mouth thin and tight. The lips like
small-shriveled slugs stretched tight from the cheeks like disgustingly
pale leather. The eyes slipped back behind wrinkled folds of skin, the
forehead dropping down over the brow, the skin slipping down off the
face.
The arms hidden, the neck hidden, the entire body swathed in shinny
red clothe. Gold trim dripped down from every conceivable edge and
picked up dirt from the floor. The trim followed everywhere falling
from the vestments, the shoes, and the hat, which was never worn but
carried behind, on a pillow. The trim fell down from buttons, and
snaps, it twisted around the neckline, it flopped over the chest, it
swashed next to the genitals, it wrapped itself around the knees and
plopped itself to the ground, and mopped up the dust as it went.

The First Star Shines the Brightest

On a green hill near the sea, beyond the flat salty lands of the
desert where there is no water and only the sun in the sky, there is a
tree. On this green hill beyond the desert is a tree which supposedly
marks the exact spot where a shepherd forgot his flock. The shepherd
had gathered his flock thus and had appeared a great and caring
boy.
The lambs of his flock were of the nicest variety. More alive than
most animals and with decent scared looks in each glossy eye. Eyes
filed with the tears of being powerless in a strong and harsh world.
Their ears were tall and purple with faces small and narrow and
trusting. They were just children. Neither scraggy nor mangy were they.
Their wool, being like snow wrapped around moving skin, was soft and
downy. Each animal was timid and the presence of their multitude made
you glad to be alive.
The sheep moved together, as that is what sheep do, each one trailing
the last in a caravan of conformity. Each one looking the same and
calling one after another, helplessly calling out into the world they
did not understand. Making noise to call out to the group. Screaming to
know they were not alone.
The noise they made was loud and more frightening as it grew and
became more incensed. When the sheep were scared, the noise became
more. It grew and grew whenever the sheep were alone. It grew and grew
until the shepherd came to quite his flock. Then, with the shepherd in
site, the lambs would quit themselves. Knowing not what noise to make
then, with the shepherd there before them.
During the dark time, not a bitter time, but a clear crisp time of
plane darkness and cold the sheep huddled together cold and afraid and
began to call out into the darkness not knowing what even was there,
but afraid of the darkness all the same. What rested out in the
darkness? They did not know. Not a sheep had strayed, nary a lamb was
lost, but they were still afraid. Afraid of the darkness, they were
afraid of what might be, out there in the nighttime.
The crying grew louder as they shrieked into a frenzy. The voices of
the sheep screaming in unison their throats open wide, their necks
taunt, their eyes blazing and bloodshot, lips blue, ears sharp and
pointed back, tongues flying out, and drips and sprays of saliva and
spit flying with each panicked scream.
The wind flapping itself around each blade of grass on the cliff with
the tree near by. The sheep huddled together and baa baa-ing. The noise
being carried off by the blur of the wind. A few sheep then wandered
off this way and that. One stumbling blindly, head down and ears back,
battling against the winds and moving towards the cliffs edge not
knowing where it was going. A second was moving off to the side making
its way down a path to the mountains walking along simply because there
was a path to follow. Finally a large clump of fearful sheep began to
disperse itself away from the cliff. Yet others stayed neither hoping
for salvation from increasing winds and rain, which just then was
starting, nor being aware of what was coming. Some sheep huddled
together. Some sheep wandered off. The sheep made their noise.
The winds and rains brought with them lightning and thunder, with
cracks and flashes loud and mighty. The rain smashed down on the tree
and sheep and earth without discrimination. Each heavy drop randomly
hitting what was in its path. Each splash an uncaring spectacle only
surpassed by the truly loud and powerful lightning smacking down into
the dirt.
The eyes of the sheep were glazed, big and wide, mouths trembling with
each bolt of lightening, and each clap of thunder. A few stood, heads
down, eyes clenched, trying to withstand the winds. It was very dark
save for the random flash of light cutting apart the sky and turning
everything a shade that it had no right to be and then turning it back.
The moon was gone, the sun far away, the stars in the sky were mere
specks of light. The only star that still shown bright through all the
darkness and storm was the first starlight of the evening. For the
first Star Shines the Brightest.