Dean and the Mushroom Weasel

Dean goes to the woods

Dean was a hugely fluffy teddy-bear-looking dog. He felt so excited about his first hiking in the woods.

“What are the woods like?” he wondered. The anticipation sent shivers racing down his spine. His first idea was to ask Daisy, who was napping on the porch.

“What?” she asked yawning lazily. Actually, she liked being asked questions. It was a good chance to show her immense knowledge and priceless experience. Daisy strove to appear as an extremely important, significant dog in the matters of magic and extraordinary things in the woods.

“I’m going to the woods!” Dean said, “I’ve got something to ask you about.” He was a little bit confused. “Is there anything I should know about the woods before I go there?”

“Well, there is something for you to know,” she smiled indulgently. “The wood is full of unknown beasts! They’re gigantic and furious. They may be hungry as well. It depends on the season.”

“What beasts?” Dean warily asked.

“The UNKNOWN! I’ve already told you, silly doggy. The WEIRD ones. Some beasts crawl in the grass. They don’t even have paws, but they do have poisonous teeth and claws! Even big dogs like me should be careful walking in the woods!” Daisy replied. In her mind, she was much larger than she really was. No one could prove her otherwise.

Dean gasped for air and said, “I’m good at disguises.”

“I’ll tell you a secret. I saw the beasts flying! Between you and me, simple-hearted dogs like you have very few chances to escape,” she whispered in a creepy voice and winked at him. “Stay away from the swamp,” Daisy warned. “I’ve heard it’s a deadly place. You will see hundreds of butterflies in the swamp. They are huge and furious. They flutter over it and attract newcomers so that unknown beasts prey on them!”

She looked at him and added, “The butterflies are evil because the souls of the poor creatures eaten on the swamp… inhabited their bodies!”

Dean shuddered with fear at the thought of evil butterflies. But he tried not to show it. He smiled and said gamely, “I’m fit and strong enough to stand up for myself.”

“Oh, really? Why is Fluffy eating YOUR FOOD out of YOUR BOWL then?” Daisy said with a mocking smile.

“It’s not mine. And he isn’t,” Dean growled.

That night he had nightmares. Gigantic butterflies were fluttering above the reeds. He dreamt that he was walking across the quagmire. Not alone. Someone was with him, out of sight. He could hear it coming closer. Its red eyes were gleaming ominously. Dean struggled to run but he couldn’t move. He barked at the top of his lungs. He saw a huge weasel that snarled and sprang at him. Dean woke up in a cold sweat. Fear threatened to overwhelm him.

“This monstrous weasel and the swamp butterflies must be unknown beasts… Great! Now I know how they look like,” he pondered. “I think those beasts aren’t friendly.”

These thoughts made him wince and turn away in discomfort. The hammers of fear tapped lightly into his heart. He squirmed around for the rest of the night, unable to sleep. The images from his nightmares kept flashing in his eyes.

the POWER of the ham thief

“Meow!” Fluffy said in a soft, chirpy voice. He was quite chatty today. Playing with a toy mouse, he quickly became bored. Where was the challenge? His inquisitive and smart personality wasn’t satisfied. Teasing dogs was real fun! It was just the thing that helped him stay sharp.

Fluffy was very proud of his origin and of his ancestors. Being asked about his roots, he would say that there were counts in the family. According to his cat’s passport, his name was Akbar. It sounded really great. It was a respectful name for a proud cat. To his disappointment…everyone called him Fluffy. He didn’t like this name. It wasn’t an appropriate name, especially, for such a graceful and honorable cat as he was.

Fluffy was hungry. He checked his plate. It was empty. The cat looked around and said, “Fortune favors the bold!” He darted to the left corner of the room to Dean’s bowl. It was full of ham. Fluffy the Cat was amazed.

“It isn’t in his nature. The dog always eats ham on the spot.”

“What are you doing, fraidy-cat?” Daisy barked at him.

“Mind your own business!” Fluffy the Cat growled. “You shouldn’t worry about what I’m doing. Curiosity killed a cat.” Daisy looked down her nose at him and said, “Behave yourself! Stealing food is not what earls do!” She took her little backpack, and left, heading straight to the beach.

“As you name the boat, so shall it float!” Fluffy thought fishing strips of ham out of Dean’s bowl. Akbar would never become a ham thief, but Fluffy behaved as a scruffy alley cat in search of a meal.

The next day Fluffy spent the early part of that morning under the sofa. Dean’s behavior confirmed his suspicions and fears that he had known about the stolen ham, anyway.

Dean shuffled across the kitchen. He looked gloomy.

Fluffy the Cat watched his body language.

“Something is wrong with him. I must know what’s going on! Out of mere curiosity. There he was! Not a meow!” Fluffy whispered and sucked in a harsh, deep breath. Fluffy the Cat felt a little lightheaded. Curiosity won out over fear, and he sprang from cover with a question, “Where are you going?”