Chapter 6
A Story
That night, like
every night, those who chose to made their way to a snug warm room that had,
for as long as they remembered, been used to tell stories. Isobel was the
town’s storyteller. She learned them sitting at her late mentor’s knee and knew
she would one day pass them on to her own successor, in the old way her revered
mentor had taught them to her. With a dramatic flourish, she ran a paw through
the hair on her round head and began the tale she called “How Prairie Dogs Came
To Be.”
One day, more cold times ago than we
can count, after all the other animals were already here, the prairie spirits
were bored. One said, “Let’s make a big ball and roll it around on the clouds.”
The spirits gathered dirt, cried on
it to make it wet—for rain is nothing more than spirits crying—packed it into a
tight ball, and rolled it around on top of the clouds. They were having so much
fun they didn’t notice a gap between two clouds. The dirt ball fell through the
hole, hit the ground with a dull thud, and broke into clumps.
“Doggone it,” said one of the spirits, “there goes our game.”
“Maybe not,” said the spirit who had suggested making the ball. He pointed at one of the clumps the ball had broken into. “That lump looks like some kind of animal, maybe an undersized woodchuck? Let’s see what I can do with it.”
“Doggone it,” said one of the spirits, “there goes our game.”
“Maybe not,” said the spirit who had suggested making the ball. He pointed at one of the clumps the ball had broken into. “That lump looks like some kind of animal, maybe an undersized woodchuck? Let’s see what I can do with it.”
He picked up some dirt, wept on it
to make it soft, and shaped four legs, which he then attached to the clump.
Next, he took two shiny stones and put them on the part of the clump that
looked like a head. Presto! Eyes! Then the spirit made a hole under the eyes
and blew into it. But the clump didn’t move, so the spirit summoned the other
spirits to help. “When
I give the word, let’s all send a great gust of wind—for wind is nothing more
than spirits blowing—into this hole.”
The spirits sucked up so much air that animals in the area began gasping. Then the spirits blew the air into the hole with such force that the clump tumbled backward across the prairie until it rolled to a stop in a patch of purple poppy mallow. It bounced to its feet, brushed prairie dust from its coat, and looked around.
The spirits sucked up so much air that animals in the area began gasping. Then the spirits blew the air into the hole with such force that the clump tumbled backward across the prairie until it rolled to a stop in a patch of purple poppy mallow. It bounced to its feet, brushed prairie dust from its coat, and looked around.
“What a lovely spot,” it said in
perfect Rodentese. “I’ll dig myself a place to sleep and stay here.”
The spirits liked the new animal. Every time they got bored, they made another one of these creatures, sticking to the same formula. Between their efforts and the natural habit of all animals, the prairie soon held more of the new animals than clouds we can count.
The spirits liked the new animal. Every time they got bored, they made another one of these creatures, sticking to the same formula. Between their efforts and the natural habit of all animals, the prairie soon held more of the new animals than clouds we can count.
Yet, oddly, the spirits hadn’t
bothered to name them. The spirit who had put the legs and eyes on the first
clump said, “It isn’t fair that all other animals have a name and these do not.
Because they live on the prairie and bark to each other, I know the perfect
name.” And he called us prairie dogs.
Chapter 7
Departure
Tousled scraps of cloud tumbled untidily through the brooding,
chalky light. A brisk wind whisked through town as cool air descended on the
land like dead aspen leaves in heavy snow. Corot sat watching the light fall on
his familiar prairie. He found it hard to think about
leaving everything dear to him.
In his mind, knowing where things
were and how they looked made friends of them. Even bits of brush seeming no
different from other bits revealed unique features that distinguished them. The
same was true of the rocks by the creek, mostly gray but some flecked with
brown and showing streaks of green never in identical patterns. He wondered why
he found it so reassuring and thought that it might have something to do with
familiarity breeding community. He knew that recognizing their individuality
gave him a sense of being a part of them and leaving would feel like he was
abandoning much more than his town.
Hieronymus
saw the sadness in his friend’s face. “Looks like you haven’t figured things
out any better than I have,” he told him by way of greeting. “Where does that
leave us?”
Corot
couldn’t resist a little self-mockery. “Between a rock and a wet place,” he
said, smiling. “Or right where we were. You tell me.”
Hieronymus grew
grave. “We need to decide if we should leave or stay put. And if we decide to
leave, we also must decide where to go.”
“It’s
a choice we’ll all have to consider. When we’ve told every resident of the
colony, each can choose what to do. And if all, or even most, decide to leave,
won’t so ungainly a group be at greater peril?”
Hieronymus’s
tail twitched. “Sure. But we still have to leave the decision to those whose
welfare is at stake. Let’s call a meeting.”
The next day, all adult members of the colony crowded around the
entrance to the main burrow. They murmured and shrugged, wondering what was
going on. Hieronymus looked around, smiled slightly at Corot, and took a deep
breath. “Friends, I know you are all wondering why I called you here today, and
I don’t want to keep you wondering, so I will be frank. Corot and I have seen
people measuring the land we live in. On the other side of the people trail,
they have those things they sit in and move over the ground on. We even saw one
of those things they use to dig big holes. You all know what this may mean:
more people burrows on top of ours.”
A collective gasp escaped the assembly, followed by a deep
silence. Hieronymus looked out toward the hills. “Listen, by the time we know
for certain, it may be too late to relocate. Moving is never easy and harder
when we don’t know—can’t know—what lies beyond our borders. What we do know, of
course, is that a people town exists to the east and more people towns are to
the south.”
He paused to let his next sentence take form in his mind. “Each of
you needs to decide for yourself what to do. Those of you with pups that
haven’t opened their eyes yet have the hardest choice, or maybe no real choice.
Those who leave will surely face dangers. Those who stay may face destruction.”
The
air was instantly abuzz. Friends rubbed noses and chirped comforting words.
Others shook their heads and moaned or sat dazed, unable to move or speak.
Hieronymus
was dismayed, but hardly surprised at the impact of his announcement. He tried
to refocus the group’s attention. “Do any of you have questions?”
“Will
those who leave go west or north?” Pericles shouted.
“We aren’t made for mountains,
especially not in the cold time. North.”
More
sighs and chatter. Then Isobel asked, “Who will lead?”
Hieronymus looked at the others with wide eyes. “I don’t know.
Does one of you want to?” His
question was met with silence all around. He took another deep breath. “I guess
I’ll have to,” he muttered in a barely audible voice. “If you want to join me,
please be ready by sunset tomorrow. I know it’s quick, but we’ve no time to
lose. We don’t know how long it will take to find a suitable spot for a new
town. Now, we all have lots to think about, so let’s adjourn.”
As he watched the group disperse, Hieronymus hoped he had made the
right decision. He stood at the burrow a long time, gazing north into the
distance.
Any fears
Hieronymus and Corot had about too large a group wanting to leave were quickly
put to rest. Most members of the colony chose to stay, betting that any new
people burrows would not begin until after the coming cold time. Abandoning the
town any sooner would be unnecessary, and even foolhardy.
The group that assembled the next evening was small. Hieronymus
smiled at his fellow journeyers as they appeared at the mouth of the main
burrow. Ludwig always sought adventure. Annapurna didn’t want to be awakened in
the middle of even partial hibernation by a people ground cruncher demolishing
her burrow. Solomon was a born optimist and equated change with improvement.
Meshach wondered aloud what kinds of birds inhabited distant places and
speculated on the fun he’d have learning their calls.
Next to him stood a dowdy single
sow. She had a fondness for long and unusual words and complex locutions.
Because of this habit, her friends called her Sesqui and had called her by that
name for so long that they—and even she—had forgotten her given name.
Hieronymus grimaced when he saw his sister. Having her along would
make his job more difficult. One uncooperative prairie dog might be the undoing
of the others. He was sure Esmerelda reckoned she could avoid the extra shift
in the puppery by hitting the road. Yet somehow he was happy to keep her close,
no matter what her reason or how sour her attitude. She ambled up and looked at
the others nervously. Her decision to join the group caused a stir.
Sesqui confided her misgivings to
Hieronymus in a whisper. “The presence of a prairie dog of such parasitic
proclivities, immune as she is to peer pressure, may plague the progress of our
proposed purpose.”
“Indeed, she may prove to be a
pain,” Hieronymus answered. “But we can’t choose for her, Sesqui. Maybe things
will work out.”
Annapurna made no effort to keep her
sentiments private. “Look,” she told Hieronymus within earshot of others, “I
know she’s your sister, but cooperation is imperative on this journey. You know
very well how much cooperation we can expect from Esmerelda.”
Solomon heard Annapurna’s comment
and went to Esmerelda, who was chewing on an alfalfa stalk some distance from
the others. “What sacred mission brings you to my side this time, Solomon?” she
asked with withering indifference.
“To tell you I’m pleased you’ve
chosen to join those of us leaving Little Left and to suggest you make known
what I hope is your intention to cooperate with the others on a dangerous
journey.”
“Just as I thought,” Esmerelda
replied with a smirk. “At least a few of the others consider me a liability.
Well, friend, know that I will prove myself the Queen of Cooperation. Sorry to
hear they’re so foolish as to think I’d do anything to put them—or myself—at
any unnecessary risk. Care for a bit of root?”
“Thank you but I had some wild
spinach with Isobel a short time ago. And I think I should relay your message
to Hieronymus as soon as possible. He may have something to say about it.”
“Of course. My brother, always the
leader, always the wise one. Having grown up with him, it’s hard for me to
think of him that way. Somehow he doesn’t seem suited for the role.”
Solomon took a step closer to
Esmerelda so that his nose almost touched hers. “Please keep your opinion to
yourself. Anything that undermines the confidence others have in him will
endanger us all. Besides, if he sticks his neck out for you—”
Before Solomon could finish his
sentence, Esmerelda turned away from him and distanced herself from the group
even more.
“This is all of us
then,” Hieronymus said and looked at each of his friends in turn. “We face a
difficult journey and must stick together and look out for each other. We’re a
team and I hope the beginnings of a new flourishing colony. Are you all ready?”
The others looked around at each other, nodding, and the rest of
the colony crowded around them, touching noses and offering last bites of sweet prairie grass to fortify the
travelers for the tough road ahead. Then, as they made for the north end of the
town, a lone sow stepped out of her burrow, calling for them to wait.
“A new colony needs a storyteller, doesn’t it?” said Isobel as she
caught up.
Hieronymus nodded. “It sure does, Isobel. Welcome to our jolly
band.”
With that, the group left the town, many of them not quite as
jolly as Hieronymus had suggested, for they all knew they were facing an
unknown that almost surely included danger along the way.
With Hieronymus in the lead, they trotted to the west end of town
and turned north at the creek. The group walked fast and stuck close to the
water, weaving their way through willows, reeds, and bushes in single file.
After an hour of travel, Hieronymus decided to have a look at what lay beyond what
they could see amidst the thick growth.
“Stay hidden here while I see what lies ahead,” he told the
others.
As he maneuvered cautiously up the wide creek bank, he caught a
whiff of something quite unlike anything he’d ever smelled. He moved slowly in
its direction and soon found himself at the edge of a square field full of
round plants, most of which were about half the height of a prairie dog sitting
on its haunches. They glowed a pale green in the moonlight and he plucked a
leaf from one. He nibbled it a bit cautiously. It was neither sweet like
berries nor bitter like roots, neither tough like pine needles nor mushy like
the flat grainy pieces of food people leave behind. The texture reminded him of
a large green leaf he once found in a hiker’s discarded lunch sack, something
tasty enough to eat but not so tasty as to leave him craving more.
He
hurried back to tell his companions about his discovery. All except Isobel were
eager to taste the plant. She feared it could be some kind of trap, or even poisonous.
“No sweat,” said Solomon. “I’ll stay here with Isobel if one of
you will bring me a piece of the plant so I can taste it too.”
Esmerelda
scowled at him. “Aren’t you the chivalrous one, ready to serve and protect the sows.”
Hieronymus
frowned at his sister. “There’s no call for that kind
of talk, Esmerelda.” Then to Solomon, “I’ll bring you a leaf.”
Left alone, Isobel and Solomon
weren’t sure what to say. After an awkward minute of silence, Isobel spoke up.
“Thank you for staying here with me. If something dreadful befalls our friends,
I won’t have to return alone to Little Left.”
“Aw, I’m sure they’ll be fine. But
if calamity did strike, would you really want to go back rather than continue
on with me?”
“Gosh, I’ve never considered what
I’d do if something horrible happened to us and I was one of only two
survivors.”
“Me either, but I think starting
another colony would be important.”
“I guess so . . . if possible, of
course. It would depend on . . . well, you know.”
Solomon smiled. “Let’s assume we all
make it safely to a place where we can build new burrows. What do you think
you’ll miss most about Little Left?”
“Pups. No matter how nice a spot we
find, it won’t feel like home until we have pups around. Why, we won’t even be
a real colony until we have at least a second generation.”
Fixing Isobel in his steady gaze,
Solomon paused as though to reflect. Then he replied in a near whisper,
“Really?”
In the patch of leafy plants Hieronymus had found, each prairie
dog took a turn standing lookout while the others tasted the strange round
plants. When all had eaten their fill, they started back to where they had left
Isobel and Solomon. Once there, Hieronymus presented Solomon with a leaf
he’d brought back, as promised.
As they regrouped, Ludwig had an idea. “Won’t it be better to
cross the creek instead of staying on this side? If we cross, we can get
farther from the people whose plants those may be. Wouldn’t that be a good
idea?”
Hieronymus gazed across the creek. “We’ll stick to this side and
the thick cover for now. We can cross later if we have to.”
Ludwig opened his mouth and then thought better of it. It was
clear to all who dictated tactics.
Ozymandias looked at Hieronymus and smiled, acknowledging his
leadership, then leaned toward him and whispered, “When I get older I want to
be like you.”
“Then
let’s both hope the prairie spirits make me worthy of your wish,” Hieronymus
said as he returned the youngster’s smile.
Chapter 8
Corot in the Creek
Hieronymus led them
north, always keeping the creek near. When clouds pushed in front of the moon,
they traveled close to the water to make better time. When gaps in the cloud
cover left the moon visible, they wove their way through the willows with a
deep silence, not knowing what lay ahead.
By the time the first faint glimmer of dawn unfolded on the
horizon, Hieronymus saw that all but Ludwig and Ozymandias were struggling to
keep pace. “Let’s rest as soon as we can find a safe place.”
“I
wonder when will that be,” Esmerelda sneered. Sweat and dirt disheveled her
normally well-groomed coat. “When the willows sprout ripe fruit and shelled
almonds fall from the sky?”
Hieronymus
shot her a dagger look. “Now listen, I know you’re tired but—”
“Esmerelda has a point,” Corot interrupted, stretching from haunches
to head and stifling a yawn. “We don’t know how far we’ll have to go to find a
safe spot or even which direction. Maybe we can fashion one for ourselves right
here. Feel here, the ground around the creek is still soft from the early
rains. We can dig out a depression and cover it with those reeds and sticks. By
the time the sun is high in the sky we’ll have had enough rest to carry on.”
Hieronymus
surveyed the ground with a frown. Solomon ran a paw over his forehead and
opened his mouth as if to speak, but Corot nudged his shoulder and he stayed
quiet.
Hieronymus nodded. “Good idea. Let’s get to work. Half of you go
with Corot to gather sticks. The rest stay here and dig with me.”
“Now you’re talking,” Solomon said as he began to dig at the black
earth with his back paws. “At least we know how to do this, don’t we?” he
joked, and the others laughed wearily as they joined him.
Twenty minutes later they had dug a shallow hole in the creek
bank. Hieronymus worried it wasn’t deep enough, even covered with sticks and
reeds, to afford much protection, but it was the best they could do. When the
last of them had piled in and pulled the last stick over the opening, they
nestled against one another like newborns in a puppery and fell asleep as only
exhausted animals can.
Everyone except Hieronymus, that is.
He lay sandwiched between two of his companions, wondering what he had gotten
himself into. He knew he’d done the right thing in telling the others about the
people measuring the land and what it might mean for all of them. But he hadn’t
planned on becoming the leader of pilgrims and having to make decisions that
would affect others’ lives. And he knew that some of those decisions might be
life or death ones. It didn’t feel right for them to dump so much responsibility
on him. Oh, it was flattering, perhaps, but not fair at all. Why couldn’t
Solomon or Corot have taken the leadership role? Both were smart and serious.
Why him? But he knew the answer, and as its impact seeped into his
consciousness the way rain makes its way to the roots of weeds, he drifted into
uneasy sleep.
The sun’s hot breath beat down on their dugout. Hieronymus had
been dreaming of a giant town that spanned as far as the eye could see. He
smiled as he awoke, savoring the warmth and the proximity of nine other furry
bodies before he realized where he was. With a groan, he lifted his head and
saw Corot crammed between Esmerelda and Isobel. With a flick of his head
Hieronymus signaled his friend to join him in rousing the others.
“Let’s go, friends,” he said.
They pushed back the sticks and scrambled out of the hole. The
others took the cue and followed in short order. Only Esmerelda, now stretched
out luxuriously, kept her eyes closed.
“Aren’t
you coming with us?” Corot asked.
“I
need to sleep a little longer,” she mumbled, turning over and hiding her head
with her paws.
Sesqui
put her paws on her hips and peered down into the dugout. “Extend your
somnambulism for such duration as you elect, Esmerelda. You can search for us
at your leisure and with your customary diligence because we’re nigh upon
absenting ourselves from this unpropitious position.”
“Exactly so!” Annapurna exclaimed.
Esmerelda snorted in derision but pulled herself out of the dugout
as the others turned to leave.
Soon
the creek began to bend to the east, toward farmland and people. To continue on
their northward course they’d have to cross and then leave the water behind.
Hieronymus kept an eye out for a suitable place to get across. At a wide,
shallow section of the water he saw a series of rocks, none more than a prairie
dog length apart, extending from the near side of the creek to a partially
washed up branch on the other. He led the group across, each of them springing
easily from rock to rock and finishing with a bound over the branch to dry
land.
All but Corot, who, bringing up the rear, had stopped to watch a
muskrat grooming herself by the creek. In his rush to catch up, he didn’t
notice the natural bridge his friends had made use of and none
of them had noticed his absence. By the time he saw them on the other side of
the creek and they saw he was not with them, he was well beyond the point where the bridge forged the creek. Worse, the creek
had narrowed and the water was now both deeper and moving faster.
Corot
scanned the creek and saw a spot where it widened enough to make its sides
shallow. He waded in and started across. He had gone only a few feet when the
sandy bottom gave way to a declivity and his back paws started to tread water.
Although weak, the current carried him along for several seconds until he
bumped against a pointed rock. Jarred by the impact, he still managed to
scramble onto the temporary sanctuary.
As he sucked in air, Corot saw a flatter rock toward the far side
of the creek. It was a gamble, he knew. If he could get to the rock, he could
wade the rest of the way over. “If I miss it, there’s no telling where I’ll end
up,” he muttered. “But risk it I must.”
With a deep breath, he jumped as far as he could toward the other
side and paddled with all his strength. For a moment, he headed straight toward
his target, but then the water swerved to circumvent the solid obstacle in its
path. As the creek whipped him around the rock, Corot lunged for it and grabbed
a rough edge with one paw. Kicking furiously to counteract the force of the
current, he pulled himself toward the rock and got his other paw on it. He
struggled to shift toward the upstream side where the current became his ally
and pushed him against the little island of stone.
Soaked and now shivering, he tugged himself onto it. Ignoring the
frantic chirps of his horrified friends, he shook water from his coat, gathered
his strength, and sprang toward safety. Hitting the water with a kerplosh, the
desperate prairie dog disappeared under it for an instant before emerging and
paddling with what might he could muster.
His effort brought him to within a few prairie dog lengths of shore. Testing
the depth with his hind legs, he felt sand under his paws and between his toes.
He pushed against the soft bottom and, seconds later, clambered out of the
creek and into the embrace of his relieved companions.
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