style="font-size:15px;"> All of the assembled murmured their agreement. Silence descended upon the gathering, even Pabatackle stopped spiting pinecone seeds at Tromengard and wept quietly. Several minutes later Morgorgor spoke again. “Madam Ranger, I move that we bring this meeting to a close, for we can hardly continue a meeting at a time of such sadness. I humbly beg that you, Zornova, be the one to deliver the eulogy at Dozema’s funeral. Further, I request that Bugler be put in charge of the celebration of joy following the funeral services.”
Zornova, seeing that almost everyone was in agreement, declared the meeting closed and announced that the funeral would take place in two days at Stony Burrow. Although the uproar of the meeting had subsided there was a great deal of tension in the air as the ungulates stalked out. Angry eyes stared down from the balcony where the rodents were assembled.
Oh, I’ve been so people-brained tonight! My notes are such a mess, how will I ever get the minutes written? And tomorrow I will have to meet with the committee to discuss the ungulates’ demands. Oh, I shall be up all night in front of the computer.
The Committee Meeting
When the sun rose the next morning the forest was soggy and the sky was gray with drizzle. I quickly gathered up my notebook, pencils, and my other secretarial accouterments, and placed them in my attaché case; then I rushed through the chill of morning in order to arrive punctually. My fur was absolutely soaked by the time I reached the appointed meeting site, so I groomed myself as I waited for the others to arrive. I was the first one to reach the rock overhang where the committee was to meet. I was early for I believe that one should never be late—never be late! To be late is rude, or so I say. I opened my attaché case and took out my writing pad and pencil so I would be ready.
Morgorgor soon ambled up through the tall wet grass, shook her whole body to dry herself, and then sat down by the end of a log. Romla came next, followed not long afterward by Brogoff the black bear. They both lay down near the rock wall, back among the shadows. Thimblewicket raced under the overhang, but tripped over a pinecone near the entrance and went tumbling across the dirt floor, narrowly missing Morgorgor’s sharp quills. Quququic flew in next. Keeble entered gracefully and quietly, almost without being noticed.
We were chatting away with each other when Brogoff growled, “Where is that silly Pabatackle? Why must he always be late?”
Keeble answered “Don’t be such a grump Brogoff, you know how Pabatackle likes a wet day like today. He probably got sidetracked chasing frogs down by Croaker’s Pond.”
“Well,” Morgorgor said with great deliberation, “perhaps we should begin without him, he knew when the meeting was to begin.”
Romla suggested that we put the matter to a vote, and all of us agreed to start the meeting without Pabatackle.
Almost immediately Thimblewicket chirped up, “I nominate Keeble to chair the meeting!”
Romla seconded the motion and everyone else agreed, so the meeting began.
“Blinkers, have you got the files on hours, wages, and vacations?” asked Keeble.
“Yes, oh yes I do, and may I point out that I have studied the figures. I have compared the figures. We must consider the importance, the relevance of all these statistics. These statistics are most important, most important,” I answered.
“Will you please just stick to the numbers? Just give us the figures on weekly hours worked,” Keeble replied.
“Oh yes, oh yes, I most certainly will. I will stick to the facts; facts are what we need to know. Now let me see, let me check my notes. Oh yes, let me find page fourteen; page fourteen has what we need to know. Here it is; I’ve found the numbers we need. Average working hours for ungulates per week is 32.7; average hours for small rodents is 43.2, and for large rodents 41.6. Felines average 25.3 hours, canidae 38.7, raptors 34.8, woodpeckers 39.5—the list goes on and on you see—it goes on and on,” I said.
“Could you give us a summary, a very, very brief summary? Keeble asked.
Though I detected a hint of sarcasm in Keeble’s voice, I provided the requested summary. “Well yes I will do that; I will be very brief, very concise and to the point, I will not stray one small step from the facts. Let me see, here it is, here are the averages of hours worked for all animals of the Geyser District. On average we work 38.2 hours per week during the summer tourist season. Though I must say that Gondzor averages 53.9, and Zornova averages 52.1 hours per week, very dedicated those two are. Though I would not want to brag, I must say that I average 75.1 one hours per week. It’s all that computer work, so much time spent in front of the computer.” I would have continued to outline the facts, but Keeble interrupted me.
“Thank you, Blinkers, for the facts,” responded Keeble. “Can the committee make a recommendation on a reduction in hours for ungulates?”
Brogoff was about to speak when the damp air was split in two with cries of high-pitched laughter. All of a sudden Pabatackle came sliding through the wet grass on the steep bank opposite the overhang. A small mound functioned like a ramps sending Pabatackle flying through the air. Pabatackle giggling with delight throughout his slide and flight, landed with a soft thump against Brogoff’s fury side. Doubling up with laughter, Pabatackle rolled into Morgorgor’s quills. A pain-filled and pitiful whine filled the ears of all those at the meeting, and all those within several miles, no doubt.
“I’m skewered, I’ve been made into a shish kebob,” whimpered the deflated otter.
All of us held our bellies and covered our mouths with our paws, except for Keeble and Quququic, who had no paws, just to keep from laughing. Thimblewicket, though she tried, could not contain herself and burst into a high-pitched squeaking laugh. Pabatackle was about to swat the small rodent with his forepaw, when he heard a warning growl from above. He looked up, only to find Romla standing over him, her tail twitching back and forth in a menacing way.
It did not take Quququic long to pull two sharp quills from Pabatackle’s rear end. Though Pabatackle moaned pathetically for a while, he soon returned to his silly old ways. His pain soon forgotten, once it no longer brought him any attention, he began decorating Morgorgor’s quills with wild strawberries.
“We are so pleased you were able to attend this meeting young Pabatackle,” intoned the ever calm Keeble. “All of us are so sorry that this meeting was not set at a convenient time for you. You are such a very busy otter, with all those frogs to chase, and wet hillsides to slide upon,” she continued. “Now, Brogoff you were about to speak.”
Brogoff, who spoke with a very deep voice, said, “It seems to me that the ungulates have no room to complain about the hours they work. Nor do the annual travel to stride figures show that they cover more distance in an average week that the rest of us.”
“Oh, I agree with Brogoff, let the record show that we all most definitely and completely reject the wage proposal of the ungulates. Down with ungulates, down with the ungulates I say, drive them from the park I say!” squeaked Thimblewicket.
She stopped and shrank back with embarrassment when Quququic cheeped softly into her ear, “Be quiet you silly ground squirrel, Keeble is an ungulate, remember that Keeble is an ungulate. And so is Zornova!”
With a somewhat subdued and repentant tone Thimblewicket spoke again “Keeble, I am so embarrassed; I’m so sorry that I got carried away. I did not mean to insult you, for I have always respected you, and I know that you work hard.”
“Apology
