Jan. 4, 2009

Once upon a time; not so long ago, in a place not so far away, being neither here nor there is a peaceful land of rolling green hills and open meadows filled with wild flowers. Well peaceful except for the loud domestic cargo dragons and the racing snails and then of course the sporadic gunfire.

In this lovely somewhat peaceful land lived a matronly not-quite-a-hobbit, she was just a bit too tall and her cheeks not quite rosie enough and of course her feet were pitifully devoid of hair. She lived with her husband who wasn't quite-a-bear and wasn't-quite-a troll that had an enormous heart made from the softest, sweetest of cornmeal mush and their two children.

The eldest Bubba a rather handsome lad was amazingly tall. At least to his not-quite-a-hobbit mother. Bubba was a somewhat ogreish boy although that could have been simply a symptom of immaturity, most boys do pass through a similar stage on the road to manhood. Sadly many never out grow it and remain ogres their entire lives. Bubba worked at the local earthworm nest being run by the dwarf union, he was a worm handler. Now that sounds like a simple enough job but these are not your mundane earthworms. These are in excess of 40' and armored. They were mostly quite well behaved and only required simple herding from one grazing area to another it was on those other occasions that Bubba's job got difficult. The worms occasionally got injured while digging for the limestone they preferred. First aid consisted of using hammers, pry bars cutting torches and welders to straighten and patch the damaged armor plates. The worms are not necessarily willing to be aided and often protest strenuously.

The youngest KT being lovely enough for her not-quite-one-thing-not-quite-another parents to consider a bit of elvish magic to have been involved. Although most parents seem to feel the same of even the most homely of children. She was a sweet natured although mischievous girl. KT who's quite unlike the little girls with whom you're familiar with from the fairy tales. This little girl dresses in black and carries a .45 as well as a 12 gage shotgun. Little girls are much smarter than they used to be. It works out nicely though since those three irritating pigs are currently hanging in the smoke house due to her efforts. We're trying to import big bad wolves to the area but the interviews aren't going well. The wicked witch of the southwest isn't part of this story. KT waited for a wolf to eat the grandmother witch before she delivered that basket of exploding muffins. I told you little girls are smarter than they used to be.

They all lived together in a slightly messy but quite comfortable hole in the side of a hill. These perfectly normal people had a few pets and some rather unusual folks they watched over thinking they needed supervision.

There was a rather large, if you consider over 120#s to be large, handsome, but incredibly stupid dog named Buddy. The locals all believed that Buddy had once been a handsome prince but had been changed into a dog by his fairy Godmother in an attempt to protect his land from such inept rule. Please remember this only happens in fairy tales unfortunately.

A wise old dog named Grizzly and her companion cog Toto, a cog is a dog trapped within a feline body. To Toto's utmost embarrassment she behaved . . . cattish upon occasion. These two provided the actual security for their tiny kingdom. Buddy being hopeless in that function as well. Although he did prove his worth eradicating many of the small four footed bandits when he simply attempted to play with them.

The motherly not-quite-a-hobbit and her gruff but sweet not-quite-a-bear and not-quite-a-troll but something in between husband had gathered an assorted group of creatures over whom they worried and fretted more than their own children. No one had the heart to tell the pair that their children had brought the creatures home so that they might get some relief from their parents fretting over them.

Some of the 'pets' that the children had brought home required more care than others. Bub Goodfellow for example. Bub was a rather eye-catching fellow with his tattoos and bright pink mohawk. Protection against his vampire mother. He did have the Goodfellow tendencies and would charge into rescue the fair and not-so-fair maidens. Only to discover it was often their captors that required saving.

Dach the bowman, a mighty squirrel hunter, often visited bringing his family. Dach had joined the king's army to protect the land causing immense concern to the not-quite-one thing or another couple. Dach was known for shooting himself in the foot.

Sir Tenderloin, he often confused dragons and bonfires, in charge of the local fire department. He and the other knights of the red engine would stand around watching a castle burn rather than disturb the dragons while they roasted the local weenies. Sometimes being joined by Puck and his boxer clad cohorts being closely followed by Nomineck the local keeper of the asylum for the magically damaged and the just plain crazy.

Yet somehow they made a family of sorts. The not-quite-a-hobbit mother spent her time happily puttering over her pots and pans while her children and the strays gathered around the everlasting bonfire in the yard to tell stories while be watched over protectively by the not-quite-a-bear and not-quite-a-troll father. Depending on the season they might rush off on cargo dragons and racing snails to frighten away the glowlight worms and were-coyotes.

For some reason the not-quite-a-hobbit mother would stand by a window late at night peering out into the darkness while the wind whistled around the burrow door wringing her hands while she worried over the weather, and if the missing almost children were eating and if they were warm and other silly things. She certainly worried if they were all wearing clean underwear in case they were in a dragon wreck. It's what mother's do you know.

On long nights the not-quite-a-hobbit mother would sit down in front of her magic scroll and write down many of the stories told around the everlasting bonfire. Most of the people reading the stories simply considered them fiction.

So tonight eat a good meal, curl up in a warm blanket, in a dry house, wearing clean underwear, and call your mother. She'll appreciate it.