October 19, 2005
A Tiring Day
This is Part Two. The story began here.
Dr. Pediculo, the kindly old veterinarian, lifted the trembling, frightened little clown onto the examining table as Sally and Junior stood nervously by.
"Don't worry about a thing, kids. I haven't lost a patient all morning," he chuckled, and scratched Clowany behind the ears. "You don't weigh no more'n a groundhog, do you, li'l feller?"
After the examination, Dr. Pediculo took Mrs. Bream aside.
"He's healthy as a horse, Mary. A fine specimen. Where'd you find 'im?"
"He was at the back door this morning. Junior took him in, and I didn't have the heart... Doctor? Is it safe? Will it hurt my children?"
"I wouldn't worry about a thing, Mary. When they're caught this young and home-raised they're just like any other pet. Just feed him cat food, or any old thing, and a little red meat on Sundays for his pelt."
All the way home in the car, Junior held Clowany tightly and whispered in his ear: "You're safe now, Clowany. We'll keep you safe forever."
All that long Saturday afternoon, while Mr. Bream trimmed the hedges and Mrs. Bream planted goiters around the ossuary, Junior and Sally ran and played with Clowany in the yard. That evening, Dad lit a fire in the grate, and the little clown settled down before the hearth, eyes half-open, gazing sleepily into the dancing flames. By ten o'clock, the whole family was fast asleep.
To be continued.
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Dude, you have such a way of evoking the nostaligic Americana that is the ossuary!
Also, generally have chills now.
ah - itd betar.
hb - wel u gota plant gaters in teh sprign or htey wont bloom. an they nead a lota watar.
They would bash that little clownling like a baby seal, damme me if they wouldn't and the Brean family would be safe.
This tragedy is clearly the result of decaying family values and prohibition.