Animulls
by John van Vliet
Illustrations by Jennie van Vliet
Buffalo, the old sot, swilled his drink; the fifth drink, he figured. Having pigged on bread, his wooly gut could withstand the poison, as could his blood and, worse yet, his mind.
He sat alone in The Old Town Bar, a dimly-lit wooden hall ensconced in the crag of a mountain. If you could muster the power to scale the rocks, a just reward of your liquor of choice at a bargain awaited you. On the other hand, its steep locale encouraged patrons to moderate their imbibery.
Buffalo sat at his table, in his preferred seat, located in the furthest corner of the hall. His dusty brown satchel, much like his own appearance, laid next to him. A dozen tables hewn from the mountain were arranged tightly, adorned with candles and hand-made coasters. The bar was to the right, cluttered with colourful glass bottles of liquor atop the wooden barrels of lager and ale brewed from the region.
Pawing the empty silver mug, Buffalo released a hoarse sigh. Advancing in years yet retaining much of his youthful strength, he reminisced of yesteryear. “What a year it was,” sighed Buffalo. Such was always the case when, after a few of his favourite drinks, reflecting on the past that he would wince with shame. Such a proud and boorish creature as he should not mope or fawn for what used to be. He knew how to suppress this feeling.
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| Peccary, the Old Town Bar keeper. |
"Alright," squealed Peccary, heel-kicking a buffed silver mug high into the air, catching it with his other hoof before pouring fresh golden lager into it. The feat always impressed Buffalo – one of the few things that summoned a smirk from him.
"Add it to your tab, I presume?" Peccary asked. "It's mounting quite high, you know?"
"Yes, yes, fine," Buffalo said. "I always pay you back, Peccary."
"Indeed."
"Yes," Buffalo said gruffly.
Peccary wore a waiter's cloth across his back. After topping the mug off with perfect head, he mounted the drink on his back and trotted down the bar table on all fours, hopped across three stone tables, and presented the fresh lager to Buffalo. Buffalo took the new and replaced the old on the vacant spot of Peccary's back.
Peccary hopped and trotted back to his post, this time nearing the sink. He heel-kicked the dirty mug into the air, catching it with the other, and quickly scrubbed and dried it.
"Proost," said Peccary. This word culled the accent of his farming forefathers from the far-southern lands.
"Aye," Buffalo raised his mug, "to the good times." He slurped the lager, leaving the foam brushed across his curly brown fur.
"Then, and now," Peccary cheered, sipping on an ale he had prepared earlier.
 |
| Mr Buffalo, a sot and owner of the mill. |
Peccary said, "Times are changing, true, and our city is new, but it does not mean it's so bad as you say!"
Buffalo shook his head. He sipped, and sipped again. An old painting to his right caught his attention: a globby portrait of his beloved village as it was when he was a child. Simple, familiar, rooted in tradition.
The swinging front door flung open. The evening sunset burst in, alighting the hall. Bursting in yet stronger was Goose, the village psychiatrist. Goose trotted in, his wings raised above his head and his webbed feet lightly skimming the floor as he pranced his legs high in the air. With a wide grin, he nodded a greetings to Peccary.
“Good evening, Mr Goose," Peccary said.
"Good evening, Mr Peccary!" belted Goose. "A greyhound for this gallinaceous and parched fellow!"
"Right away," Peccary said.
Goose's theatrical promenading continued to the end of the hall. Buffalo laid disgusted eyes on his neighbour Goose as he selected a seat near him. Goose gave a final flap of his arms, creating a gust of wind that sent foam on Buffalo's beard aflutter.
"Mr Buffalo, good evening!"
"Why do you walk like that?" Buffalo asked, sipping again.
"It's my gait of the day, don't you know?" Goose said.
"No."
"Yes sir. Trotting. A fine kind of walk! Great for the hips – and you know that I pack extra pounds there! Normally, on a day such as this, I set my mind to the goose-step," he winked at his own purposely intended pun. Buffalo and Peccary paid no heed to it, "but since I strained my calf a fortnight ago, I've had to abandon such a glorious gallop. But I do enjoy a nice trot, especially when venturing up the mountain to visit you, my ol' friend Mr Peccary! You fine little bovine – add an extra kick to my greyhound, if you don't mind! Mr Buffalo, you ought to give trotting a try. Your sturdy bones certainly can muster the strength for a mighty trot! It'll ease your mind, I can assure you of this," he prated.
"No," Buffalo said as politely as he could. He sipped again, nearing the bottom of yet another mug.
"Come now, Mr Buffalo, it's all in good fun!" He patted Buffalo on the shoulder.
"Please, just call me Buffalo," snorted Buffalo.
"If you insist, my dear friend," Goose conceded. "Formalities, where have they gone?" When this inquiry was made to no one in particular, Peccary arrived with Goose's greyhound.
"Mr Goose," Peccary said, "your drink."
"You're a good lad, Peccary. The finest! Your father would be proud of you. He built this hall with his bare hooves, yoking stone and wood all day and night! Of course, I assisted when on summer holidays from my studies." Buffalo raised his half-empty mug for a round of cheers, and waited as Goose continued, "I was not much of a builder, as you can see. I was, more or less, there to hold hammers and collect astrewn tools and screws," he laughed. "Not in the Gooses’ blood to perform such arduous tasks! Anyway, your father, Mr Peccary, was a good man and I am blessed that he would allow a bookworm such as myself the privilege of assisting him in erecting this watering hole! It is a sight to behold. In fact! I am told that the villagers on the adjacent mountain can see our great hall. Would you believe that?" Buffalo snarled, being impatient. "Yes sir, we villagers ought to be proud of this place and of the village itself! Wouldn't you agree, Mister – er, sorry – Buffalo?"
Goose discovered Buffalo's scowl. "My goodness! How rude of me! I do say, a hearty cheers to the evening, to the village, and to this hall!" Goose raised his drink, meeting it with Buffalo's mug while Peccary raised his from the distance.
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| Mr Goose, clinical psychologist and gait enthusiast |
"Aye," said Buffalo.
"Proost," added Peccary. "Your words of my father are kind, Mr Goose."
"May he rest in peace!" Goose sipped his drink. He cringed under the power of its alcoholic strength, but smacked his beak in approval. "Yow! Strong! What a punch. But, my goodness, that is mighty fine grapefruit juice. Like a battle medic coming to rescue after you take a hard hit to the flesh, am I right, Buffalo? Enjoy your lager."
"Thanks," Buffalo said. He sipped his drink, saving the last gulp for a moment’s later.
"By the way, what did you make of the town hall meeting last week? Highly unusual circumstances, if you asked me."
"You think so?" asked Peccary quickly and loudly. Buffalo growled and slumped down in his seat.
"By all means, yes! Since when are we so concerned about this? A lot of hooplah and wasted energy, if you were to ask me yet again. Drivel, the lot of it!"
"Now, now, Mr Goose, it's a bit too early to be discussing such a matter," Peccary said. His eyes bounced back and forth between Goose and Buffalo. He did not like this topic.
“It ain't right," Buffalo torted, "it ain't what it use to be. Too many things are changing; you can't see our village the same anymore." He slurped down the last of his drink and placed it on the stone table forcibly, but by way of his massive, muscular limb succumbing to gravity rather than wilful intention.
The thump of the mug startled Goose. "Heavens!" he honked. He studied Buffalo. "Thank goodness these tables are built to withstand your antics, my friend!" Goose laughed, Peccary smiled, and Buffalo grimaced.
"Aye," Buffalo said. "I guess that be true. Peccary, another."
"Right away," Peccary said, engaging in his drink-making showmanship instantly. "Keep a mind on that tab."
"Yes, yes," Buffalo said.
"You know, I am in a good mood," Goose began. "That trot of mine really got my mood sparked with jovialness. Let this mug be on me, my good Mr Peccary!"
Buffalo was humbled. "Thank you," he said softly.
"It's no matter, my friend. Without you, how could our village be built? The roads? The bridges? Your mill has done nothing but good for this village for generations! This next cheer will be for your father, also!"
"You're drunk already," Buffalo said with a meek smile, infected by Goose’s persona.
"By no means!" Goose said. "I've but had a sip. You must place the blame on Peccary for any carousing I may perform later. I asked for a strong drink, not a preemptive painkiller for an amputation!"
The group laughed as Peccary trotted and hopped over with another mug for Buffalo. The new and old mug exchange was made. Goose raised his greyhound: "To the Buffalo clan! Their labour has built this village! Cheers!"
"Proost!"
"Aye, aye!" Sips were had. "You're alright, Goose," Buffalo said through gasped air after he imbibed a large gulp. "Despite your strange walk, you're alright."
Goose shrugged, humbled. "A compliment from Buffalo is worth a nugget of gold in my book! Thank you, you burlish nut you."
"It's a shame no other patrons are here to lay ears on it, Mr Goose," Peccary added behind a guzzle of his ale. "Not a soul will believe you!"
"Pishaw!" Goose honked. "They'll believe me." He took another drink; his second sip was easier.
Goose, Buffalo, and Peccary exchanged pleasantries, largely discussing the results of a local sporting match. Buffalo was a strong supporter of the local team, and the current conversation thus detracted his mind from the larger issue at hand.
From outside the hall, a clattering of voices grew louder, approaching the front door rapidly. The mysterious discussion from outside was spoken at a feverish pace.
"Oh my," Goose said. "What a ruckus that is! The night is about to begin, it seems."
Peccary nodded, knowing precisely who were about to barge in. "You're right, Mr Goose."
 |
| The Goats: (clockwise from top-left) Nanny, Billy, Wether, Doe, and Buck. |
The cacophony of chatter slowly became more distinct. "How dare they!" "Can you believe it?" "Well, I never thought I'd see the day!" These sentences were heard by the three inside. Then, the door opened.
"Good evening!" It was the Goats: Billy and Nanny, Buck and Doe, and Wether, the youngest. The first pairings were married, leaving Wether, the brother of Billy and Doe, the stag of the group. The Goats flocked together at all times and opined freely on every subject.
"A beautiful evening," said Billy.
"Gorgeous," added Nanny.
"Such a warm evening. I am sticky with sweat," lamented Doe.
"Always going on about the weather," sighed Buck.
"I do not!" Doe shot back.
"Yes, you do," chimed Wether softly.
"I would like an easier way for us to get up the hill," said Buck.
"Yes! Where is my gold going to, anyway?” asked Billy.
"Hello, Goats," Peccary impeded as he buffered Buffalo's drunken mug, "what will it be for you? I have the cure for your over-heatedness, Misses Doe."
The Goats sauntered towards a middle table, quickly taking their seats. Buffalo and Goose watched.
"Dear me, I am wrought with thirst," said Doe. "A glass of your house chardonnay, if you don't mind, darling."
"Right away," said Peccary. "And?"
"Make it two, please," pleaded Nanny.
"A round of beer for the males," charged Billy, the largest and grayest of them all.
Peccary flicked his head towards the row of draughts and barrels stamped with an array of fancy logos. "Which will it be? Speckled Hen? Piglet's Stout Ale? Blonde Mane?"
Buck waved disapprovingly at these choices. "No, none of these fancy-smancy concoctions. We want a simple, tried and true beer created by real villagers: Trough Water Light!"
"That'll have to come in bottles," said Peccary.
"Fine."
"Right away," Peccary jumped out of sight below the bar and into the cellar through a hole fit only for him. The clanging of glass bottles could be heard.
"Lovely to see you all again, Goats!" called Goose.
"Thank you, Mr Goose," said Doe. With coordination, Billy and Nanny and Buck and Doe smiled and waved at Goose, then slowly turned their heads and dropped their frowns towards Buffalo. Wether carried a happier face.
"Hello, Mr Buffalo," they choired joylessly. Wether brushed against the tune with a happier tone.
Buffalo nodded his head. "Goats," he said gruffly.
"We haven't seen you since the town hall meeting last week," said Buck. "Been hanging out up here, have you?" They, except Wether, laughed.
"If I can keep away from all your babbling, then yes," Buffalo said.
"My!" gasped Nanny and Doe.
"Ha! You're a sour fellow," Billy said. "You weren't like this back when we were kids, you know?"
"You weren't always so saintly as you feign," Buffalo said, smirking out of his own amusement.
"Always a pleasure, isn't he?” Doe said quietly amidst her own trip. Billy and Buck laughed, and Wether smiled.
"Feisty," said Buck. "What a hoot!"
Goose was uneasy with the rough banter, "Now, come on! It's a wonderful evening, indeed, just as you said Mr and Mrs Billy and Nanny. Will the Kids be joining?"
"They ought to," said Billy. "I'm sure they will."
"Great," honked Goose. "I enjoy speaking with them. Sharp kids!"
Peccary returned from below the depths of the mountain with three bottles of shivering beer laid on his back. Balancing carefully atop the necks of those bottles were the two glasses of wine. Doe and Nanny laughed childishly.
"What show! Bravo, Peccary!" they cheered. Billy pulled out a satchel of coins and placed it on Peccary's back after removing their drinks. Buffalo raised his fresh mug and waited, as did Goose with his drink.
"This ought to cover us for a second round," Billy said moments later.
“But, please, count it again, just to make sure," urged Nanny.
"You don't trust my counting?" Billy questioned harshly.
"I didn't say that!"
"She didn't say that, brother," said Doe.
"Always nagging, aren't ya? Can't go a nice evening out without being accusatory!"
"Stop it, honey," Nanny said dismissively.
"I trust you, Bill," said Buck.
"That makes one critter!" Billy wailed.
"You're an inconsiderate a----" A thunderous slam on the table interrupted the bickering Goats. Buffalo's wilfully intended pounding on the stone table shook the hall and stunned the hearts of all.
"Shut your snouts and raise a toast already!" Goose slowly scooted to distance himself from his raging friend.
"Such violence," muttered Nanny.
"Yes, fine," said Billy irritably. He raised his bottle high, followed by the others. "To the evening."
"Cheers!" said the Goats.
"Aye."
"Proost."
"Cheers," closed Goose. Sips were had.
Goose finished his greyhound. "Mr Peccary, I desire another, if you don't mind. Eh, not so strong this time, if you also don't mind? I must admit that I feel the tingling numbness in my beak already!"
"You are drunk," Buffalo teased.
Goose lowered his posture and hunched closer to his hairy friend, so he could harangue him more directly. "And you are a drunk," he said hushedly. "An angry drunk! Calm yourself."
Buffalo only bellowed another sigh and took another drink, ignoring Goose, who continued: "I understand you're angry about the change in the village, but it's no use taking out your anger with booze, hitting tables, or shouting at the Goats! Come now, talk to me; is there something more that is bothering you?" Buffalo drank again. "You can tell me, I'm a psychiatrist, you know."
"Keep your work at work, Mr Goose," said Peccary, arriving with a fresh greyhound. "I know Mr Buffalo quite well. He can handle himself. Just gets a bit a loud sometimes, isn’t that right? Here you are."
"Thank you, Mr Peccary." said Goose, taking the drink.
"Aye," Buffalo gruffed. "I'll be fine. This is soothing to my soul," he drank again.
"Goodness me," said Goose, taking his drink and sipping it lightly, testing the level of vodka sting on this round. He acquired the drink with a sober face. "Ah, perfect," he said. "Now, that's a balanced drink! Perhaps I was over-ambitious the first time 'round? What do you think, Buffalo?" Goose smiled and laughed. Buffalo only nodded in agreement while staring back over at his favourite painting in the hall. "Sheesh, only trying to break the tension in this place!" Goose said.
"Let's talk about the yesterday's game," said Buffalo stuffily.
"A fine idea! As I was saying before, I really enjoy the athletic prowess of Dzik, that foreign fella! Mighty agile for a creature of his girth. What's more, I am fascinated by the psychology behind each and every match. The mental discipline..."
"Keep work at work," Buffalo interrupted with his own sheepish laugh. He took his mug and clinked Goose's parked greyhound. "But, I agree with you, Dzik is a helluva sportman. Hails from my grandmothers neck of the woods far over east."
"Is that so?" Goose said, supremely satisfied with a new tidbit of knowledge.
"Aye."
Before Goose could carry on, the chatter from the tide of Goats grew instantly louder, resuming their ado from before. "It ain't right," one bleated, "it ain't right how they treat their own kin."
"They're a danger, I tell you," said Billy distinctly. "Their ways of thinking don't fit here. You've seen what has happened across the plains, right?"
"It's just awful," whined Doe. "And our mayor just lets them in!"
"Cow is a kook," said Buck, slurping his beer.
"That she is," said Billy.
"Next meeting, we must make a stand," said Buck. He thought for a moment in the brevity of silence amongst the Goats. "Hey, I got it! We should put forth a petition – one that represents the voice of the villagers – and submit it before the next meeting! That'll put an end to this resolution!"
The group sans Wether cheered. "Brilliant, honey," smiled Doe, sipping wine.
"Now you're talking, buddy," Billy cheered, reaching to clink bottles with his brother-in-law.
Wether shook his head, "Not everyone in this village thinks like you, you know that?"
Buck shrugged, "Sure, they're also kooks! They're the ones warping this village all sort of strange ways. Ain't that right, Buffalo?"
Buck, and the others, turned towards the back of the hall, where Buffalo and Goose were inconspicuously listening in. Buffalo nodded lightly.
"See, I knew we agreed on something," laughed Billy.
"Your poor mill has had its struggles since the change, hasn't it?" soothed Nanny.
Buffalo, this time, nodded with restraint. "Aye," he said, took a sip, and added, "but I don't need your sympathy."
Nanny and Doe gasped together. "You're just vile!" they said.
"Now, now, dears," said Billy, "he's just upset. And rightfully so! Here's to you, Buffalo." He raised his bottle towards Buffalo. "We know we've got your scribble!"
Goose grew irritable and meekly aped Buffalo's drink-to-table slam. This startled only himself. "Hear this, my friends," he began after collecting himself, "and I do sincerely call you friends! I truly believe that all of us are making too big of a fuss about this. Certainly there have been changes in our midsts. I do not dispute this, no sir! I sympathise for you, Buffalo, on the hardships of your work and your mill. My words from before remain steadfast and true." He sipped again. "Ah, let me recap my verbiage for the Goats, here. Earlier, I had risen a toast to the Buffalo clan, praising our minatorial friend for building this village. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes!" cheered the Goats, "but get on with it!" added Doe.
"Right. My point is this: times are changing, yes, but we are adaptable critters! Let's embrace the change!"
Sips were had as Goose's words were mulled over in the heads of the present.
"Easy for you to say, Mr Goose, with all do respect," said Doe. "You're different, too.”
"Doe!" Nanny shot.
"Easy, honey," Buck said.
"Goose," Doe continued, ignoring the advice around her, "it's true, you're different too."
"Why, thank you!" Goose honked. "That is a mighty fine compliment. I enjoy being different. But, how do you mean, different, per se? Just for my own curiosity. This could be a nice research topic for me to pursue – heavens know I'm dying for a new topic. Is it for my gait of the day? Surely, it must be!"
Doe sat higher in her seat, an aura of highbrow-ness illuminated from her. "Well, there, you said it yourself. You said heavens. And, as far as we know, you don't believe in no heaven because you are not a shrine goer. There is no secret about it." Her table, minus Wether, nodded in agreement.
Goose was stunned. Buffalo raised a furry eyebrow and put down his drink before taking a sip – a wasted effort of lifting a mug.
"And?" Goose asked with a dramatic furrowing of his face.
"Don't listen to those nuts," Buffalo said. "It doesn’t mean a thing."
Nanny took on the highbrow stature posed by her sister-in-law. "Says the one who comes to shrine reeking in booze."
"Yes!" Doe sang.
"That's right," Billy said. "Just because you're there, don't mean you're a good critter, either."
Buffalo calmly looked over to Peccary, who was casually minding the bar. "You see what I mean, Peccary?" Buffalo asked. "The patron saints of the village! Here in our midst. Another, Peccary."
"Right away."
"All I can say is I am an outstanding member of society," Goose said. "Never once crossed the law; I pay my fees on time; recycle; why, I’ve never even so much as jaywalked!" He rose emphatically in his seat, his right wing pointing high in the air like a conquering king. But, his never-resting mind prompted a memory, and he slowly deflated into a slump. "Well, perhaps, I did once last year. I was late to my appointment!" he admitted, and wanted to confess more.
"Give it a rest," said Buffalo, putting hoof to beak to muzzle his feathered cohort.
The Goats turned back into their own tide, uninterested in carrying on the conversation publicly but certainly eager to continue it privately.
Amongst themselves could be heard such utterances as "He ought to give drinking a rest," and "His mother would not be pleased" to "I haven't seen him tithe, either."
"Do you listen to yourselves?" Wether exploded. The other Goats cowered. "Your piety is what drives people mad!"
The hall was silent, save for the pitter-patter of little Peccary's trotting. He arrived to Buffalo with a fresh mug.
"Here you are," he said, aloof of the tension.
Buffalo took the mug and raised it high in the air. "To piety!" he goosed. Hesitantly, everyone raised their glasses, but the Goats quickly dropped theirs down to the table after Buffalo made his cheeky toast.
"The sow," Nanny spat.
There was a gasp. "Nanny! Watch your mouth; that kind of language doesn’t suit a critter like you."
Buffalo, being more relaxed than he had been all night, laughed. "See what I mean?" he said, elbowing Goose in the ribs with force.
"Ouch!" Goose quacked. He gathered himself and said "You seem to be perking up?"
After a long swig of his beer, Buffalo said, "Like I told you before, I have something to soothe my soul."
Goose shook his head. "Well, your soul should inquire if your liver is likewise soothed! Something tells me that it would say, 'No!"'
"Drink up," ordered Buffalo.
"Goodness me," Goose said, surrendering with a sip.
Peccary returned to his post and replenished his mug with ale. He paused for a moment and looked around his bar, observing his patrons. With a squeaky clearing of his throat, he raised his mug in the air.
“I believe it is my turn to make a toast,” he said over the light buzzing of conversations.
“Ah, good! Good,” said Buck, “let’s hear it!”
“Speech!” demanded the hall. Peccary laughed this off.
“No, no,” he said. “I think just a simple toast from me, the simple bartender. I wish to thank you all for making this home for me all these years. I’ve travelled the world over, and there is no where else I want to call my home with you, my friends.”
Nanny and Doe cooed, “So beautiful!”
“Proost!”
“Cheers!”
“Aye, aye!”
“Well said, Mr Peccary!” said Goose.
“Goats,” added Peccary when the joyful noise subsided, “I can’t thank you enough for paying visits to my late mother on her death hay.”
“Of course, dear Peccary,” said Nanny. “May she rest in peace with the Good Keeper above.” This was met with a half-volumed round of ayes.
The front doors flung open, revealing first the setting sun followed by the Cats. The fit and nimble pair strolled in with smiles across their faces.
"Well, I'll be! If it isn't Tom and Queen," announced Peccary, carrying his cheerful tone as he recognised the youngsters quickly. "Finally of age; welcome to the Old Town Bar! Back from your studies, I see."
"Indeed, yes!" said Queen, a slender thing with a coat of orange fur. She wore a large bow on her head stitched with all colours.
"Good to see you, Peccary," said Tom. He and she sprung onto the first available table in their path, and both gazed around the hall with wide eyes, continuing their smile. "Wow," Tom said, turning to Queen. "Would you look at this place? So rustic. So quaint!"
"I love the old-finish on this wood," commented Queen, feeling the surface of a chair seated at the stone table. They noticed the paintings, the doilies, and the other trinkets crafted and inspired by the village’s ancestors. "And would you just look at all these great things. I feel like I've gone back in time."
 |
| The Cats, Tom and Queen. Liberal arts majors. |
"Indeed," said Tom, with a forced and dramatic look of art appreciation. He turned to Peccary, "I have to say, I have been looking forward to seeing this place for some the time since becoming a mature critter. We love what you've done with this place, Peccary! It has such a... such a... What's the word I'm looking for, Queenie?"
"I think 'bucolic,' perhaps?"
"Yes!"
"Was this the style you were going for, Peccary?" Queen asked.
"We absolutely adore your choice of décor."
Peccary, blankly, looked around his bar, reviewing the furniture and decoration. "No," he shrugged. "My father did all this. It's been this way since the beginning."
"Ah, right." Tom said.
"Tom!" called Billy from the centre of the hall. "Come here, kid. Have a seat with us!"
The Cats made their way quickly and sat amongst the Goats. Billy gave Tom a big pat on the shoulder. "Good to see you," the elder Goat added. "Buck and I sure do miss you around the yards."
"I appreciate that, Bill," Tom said with a laugh. Billy was taken aback at being called Bill. "Big B," he said to Buck, likewise taken aback, “hi-ya! Good to see you all!" Tom said to the rest of the Goats. Tom and Wether exchanged an extra-long nodding toward each other.
Queen sat at a seat snugged in between Nanny and Doe.
“Hi, there, sweety," said Doe as she took notice of Queen's bow, and it's appearance did not comply with her own aesthetic tastes. "This is... lovely," she strained.
"Thank you," said Queen, "I got it at a peace rally at my studies, when we resisted the speech of that strife-mongering fowl who writes in the newspaper."
"Ah," choired Nanny and Doe quietly.
Peccary hopped over. "What will it be for you new cats?"
"I'll get what you're having, Tommy," said Queen to Tom quickly.
"What kind of ale do you have? How dark is it? The hop level?" Tom sputtered these questions at Peccary.
"Well," Peccary began, "we've got an assortment of nice, local ales and lagers. Mr Buffalo over there likes the Żubr his uncles curate. I enjoy the Piglet's Stout Ale. Er, what're ya looking for, exactly?"
"We'll have samplers of all your beers," Tom ordered bluntly.
"Well, yeah, I can do that, I guess," Peccary stumbled. He trotted back to the bar, leaving the table trapped in a state of awkwardness.
Tom examined the drinks of choice by his former summer bosses. "Ah, you're drinking that stuff? You know, at our studies, if Trough Water Light was present at a social gathering, I would instead desire water." The pleasantry of the surprise visit by the Cats was quickly wearing off.
"It's the traditional drink of our village," piped Buck proudly. Tom sneered at the beer.
"Oh, wait!" Nanny suddenly remembered something. "I recall seeing you, Queen, milling about in the village the other day. Yet," her complexion changed to confusion, "weren't you and Tom a bridled pair before leaving for studies?"
The imposing question injected additional unease into the centre of the hall – Buffalo and Goose thus retreated into their sphere of sport talk.
The Cats chuckled before Tom replied, with shortness, "We are."
"But, I saw you, Queen, with another tabby?"
"Honey, stop," muttered Billy.
Queen perked up. ”Oh! Yes, that's Tabby," she said, "a friend from studies. He's a mutual friend of ours."
"Oh, lovely! You brought a friend from afar?"
"Yes," answered Queen. She briefly quivered in her seat, shaking off this current subject. "But, in fact, we don't like the term 'bridled' to describe Tommy and I. It's such an archaic clamp on critter-kind nowadays."
"What do you mean?" Doe inquired.
"We are a pair, yes, and so are Tabby and I."
"Nice critter," Tom quickly added. "Great fence-walking partner."
"You," stuttered Nanny, "you and this Tabby are bridled? And you with Tom, also?"
The Cats nodded proudly. "Yes," said Queen. "It's a beautiful thing." Nanny and Doe grew visibly appalled. Billy and Buck stared down the necks of their bottles, demanding comfort and answers from them.
"I've been looking for a friend to walk with," said Wether to Tom.
"He's swell," Tom said. "You should join us sometime soon. This weekend, in fact!"
"Why, I'd be glad to," Wether blushed.
Buck sat up in his seat. "No, you can't," he bleated, "we have that sport match to attend, remember?"
"You know I don't much like sport," Wether bleated back.
"Too bad,” Doe impeded strongly, “we already have tickets, Wether.”
Peccary arrived to distill the unpleasantness, bearing a massive load of drinks upon his back. "Goats, I have your second round."
"That's a good lad," said Buck, relieved.
The Goats took their respective drinks, leaving on Peccary's back a tray of five shot glasses with an assortment of beer filled for the Cats. Tom leaped onto the table and took the tray and thanked Peccary.
"Alright," he said, curiously, "let's see what we have here." Queen joined him on the table. The Cats engaged in a well-rehearsed ritual of scrutiny which required all five senses. Those in the hall laid eyes on the Cats as they engaged in this peculiar behaviour.
"Let's see, here. Speckled Hen. Hmm. Not as nice of an ale as the one I like. Too light; Ah, what's here? This is the Żubr? I generally don't like lagers, unless they are foreign; No, this is water, too; Hey, try this one – Piglet's Stout Ale – this one could be enjoyed for an extended period of drinking; I think not. Too heavy; Remember the aged batch we had when studying abroad? Now, that was an ale! These are fine, I guess; The Blonde Mane? I like the name. No, no, no, I'm sorry. This is too sweet. Not your typical lowland blonde beer."
"Would you two just pick something?" bellowed Buffalo from the end of the hall.
Tom was not cowed. "Excuse me, sir, we are trying to acquire a taste for, we hope, at least one of the local brews of our ancestral home. I can say we have some room for improvement in this village."
"Yes, rather plain and unrefined, I am sorry to say," added Queen.
Buffalo snapped back into grumpiness, and Goose could sense the agitation pulsating in the air.
"Cats, please, be respectful," Goose said in his practiced psychiatric tone. "These are the works of our local villagers, you know. Be glad we have such an eclectic array of poison," he snickered. "Ah, I remember when I was your age, also. Seeing the wider world for the first time, and thinking the world you came from was so dull, so primitive. Trust me, you will learn to love this village for what it is!"
The patriotic blurb by Goose was met with a round of hooves thumping on the tables. "Here, here!" cheered the Goats. "Aye!" said Buffalo.
The Cats said nothing, but continued to examine the beers.
"How rude!" Nanny cried. "You are offending poor little Peccary! Isn't that right, Peccary?"
Peccary shrugged, "Not really. I've been around the world, too. I've tried drinks of all colours and flavours. I am proud to serve these here," he pointed to the barrels.
The Cats, still unperturbed by the other patrons beginning to harbour disdain for them, had finally made their decision.
"We'll each have a Speckled Hen," Tom said, defeated. He and Queen returned to their seats.
"Right away," said Peccary. His drink-pouring showmanship amused the Cats.
“Would you look at that!” cheered Tom. “Now, that is something I’ve never seen before!”
Queen gasped as Peccary caught a falling mug from the air. “Oh, my! I was thinking you’ll drop that, Peccary!”
Their amusement was noticed by their table. "There's a bit of culture for you," Billy snarked.
Peccary delivered the drinks to the connoisseurs. Having discovered their complete disconnection with the Cats, the Goats, minus Wether, entered into a conversation of their own.
Wether detected the exclusion from his own kin.
"Hey, Cats," he said to the Cats, "come here. Let me show you this one piece of art that Peccary collected. I really adore it.”
"Brilliant," Tom said. The three got up from their seats, leaving the Goats. The visit to the artwork was brief and more of a ploy devised by Wether to remove themselves from the table. They spent no more than a dozen seconds looking at the artwork. Between the two Cats, only a “I like the colours” comment was spoken.
"Thank you," said Queen as they transitioned to their new table to the left of the hall. "I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable and affronted."
"Not a very safe environment, I feel," said Tom.
"Don't mind my tide," sighed Wether. "They are good critters. They just don't understand many, many things."
"Why do you herd with them?" asked Queen, becoming overly sympathetic in her eyes. Tom reached his paws out to pat Wether's free hoof.
"You can tell us," he said.
Wether tightened his grip on his bottle, forcing his shoulders to hunch. "They're family, of course. We don't agree on much, if anything," he said.
"And you're still a shrine goer?" Tom asked.
Wether looked down at his drink for a moment. He then quickly lifted his head to greet the eyes of the Cats. "I am," he said straightly.
The Cats shook their heads lightly. "And... and they accept you?" inquired Queen. "The shrine can be so harsh."
"Dogmatists," hissed Tom, showing his fangs. This forced Wether to sit back into his seat, retreating from the comforting paws of the Cats.
"It's not always like that!" he said. "They just don't know me that well." He paused, and the Cats leaned in, waiting for a scathing remark. "In general, yes, they accept me. It's all misunderstanding," Wether said.
"Doesn't seem likely to me," said Tom coldly as he took a sip of ale. He shuddered as the drink fell into his system. "Not a mature drink," he said.
"I agree," said Queen. "I think a different vessel would better aerate the flavours, wouldn't you agree?"
"Indeed, yes," said Tom. "And perhaps aged in sequoia wood?"
"Wholly agree." They clinked glasses of the drink they did not approve of. Wether watched on, a meek smile was on him.
Before he could mutter another word in defense of his shrine and of his tide, a bell began to ring from somewhere in the ceiling. The ringing, done without any distinguishable rhythm, grew louder, attracting the attention of all in the hall. Then, from a small crevice in the stone and wood rafters, appeared a black, black bird. In his beak he carried a small bell which rang with surprising force. The fowl flew down and found his perch near the bar, built only for him by Peccary.
“Good evening, Mr Crow," welcomed Peccary. Crow, the Newsbird, said nothing as he put down the bell near Peccary. He stood tall on his perch, shaking out the ruffles in his black feathers from the flight.
"Oh my, a news update!" said Nanny and Doe together. "What is it, Crow?"
He cleared his throat a few times. All in the hall set their eyes on him, waiting for the news he was about to bring. Crow stared straight ahead, making no eye contact with anyone. A few moments passed, and the hall waited silently, save for the heavy breathing of Buffalo.
 |
| Crow, the Newsbird. |
Crow puffed his chest, then burst into a honed and focused address to his fellow critters:
"Good evening, Village, and welcome to this special breaking report. I am Crow, your newsbird. Tonight, Mayor Cow has announced an official change to the name of our Village. After many town hall discussions, Cow has signed into act for our Village to be now called "The Welcoming Pastures." The highly-contested name change comes amidst debate and controversy on the allowance of Stray critters settling, roosting, nesting, perching, colonising, inhabiting, so on, and so forth, in our Village.
"Mayor Cow said (Crow now parroted the persona of Mayor Cow): 'For decades, our home has been the home of many diverse and special critters. It is in our history. I believe we have a special opportunity to become a warm and wonderful place for all, hence why I have signed into act the passing of Proposition I. We are now the Welcoming Pastures.”
The Goats, but not Wether, began to bluster angrily.
"Speaking in dissent of the change, Pig snorted that (Crow now aped Pig) 'our Village will not be a home to these critters who do not walk, graze, or work like the rest of us." Pig has promised to challenge the name change with a petition of his own.'"
By this time in Crow's bulletin, there was a considerably loud stir amongst the Goats and Buffalo. Crow was unnerved by the commotion and continued:
"And now for the weather. Expect sunshine for most of the day tomorrow with a chance of rain in the evening. This rain could extend to the weekend, but there is no real way of telling, our weather critter is a worm, and he always expects rain. And in sports..."
The blustering from the Goats and Buffalo died down in order to hear the news about their local sport team:
"…the Village Club announced that Dzik suffered a cracked hoof in last week's victory. Dzik will not play in this weekend's match."
Goose honked loudly in disappointment. "No! We don't stand a chance against Barnyard!"
Crow capped off the news with, "This has been Crow the Newsbird with your evening’s breaking news announcement. Good night, and, remember, crow on about the great things in life."
The hall offered a round of applause to Crow, who bowed in thanks.
"Thank you, Crow," said Peccary.
Crow broke out of his news persona and loosened up his posture, which also loosened his cadence and output of speech. "Yeah, not at all, mate, just doing me job," he said with a croak in his voice. "I'm done for the evening. Hand me a shot, would ya?"
Peccary poured Crow a thimble of his favourite whiskey. Crow sloshed back the drink. "Thanks," he said. He flipped Peccary a coin. After taking his bell in his mouth, he flew up through the ceiling and out of sight, the clattering of the bell fading away as he flew down the mountain.
When the bell had dissipated, Billy bleated, "That does it! Our Village, and our way of life, is over! That good-for-nothing Cow thinks she's so smart. She has ruined our village!"
"Here, here!" chanted Buck, hitting back a sip of beer.
"The Strays just don't fit in," added Nanny. "They are different in every way."
"Can't put them to work when we cannot communicate with them!" snorted Buffalo, shaking his head.
Billy nodded emphatically. "That's right!"
"I find that preposterous!" shouted Goose, looking his most stern of the night. "There are plenty of young critters meandering around these parts. Certainly, they are in need of work?"
"Working with books and pencils don't get their hooves dirty or tired," said Buffalo. "Too lazy; they just don’t want to."
"Hey! I was a quite good at holding hammers for Peccary, Sr.!" rebutted Goose.
Doe sipped her wine and shook her head. "It's just not right. They can't live with us; they can't be like us."
The Cats patiently waited their turn to speak. "What makes you think they must be like us?" asked Tom. "I, for one, enjoy this name change for our village. It's forward-looking."
"Enlightened," added Queen. "Unlike our traditions."
"Our traditions are what built this great village!" said Nanny. "Traditions have values, something lacking in our world today."
"I concur," said Doe.
"Narrow- and small-minded, we say of these traditions," Tom hissed. "Every critter has what is right for them, what is good for them, not what is good for some old rules."
Doe gasped, "Well, I now I see why you are in heat all the time!" Doe's accusation stunned the hall into silence for a few moments.
Queen collected confidence in her body and spoke up. "We are free-minded, and we are loving and caring for all." The fur on her back spiked, and her fangs showed. "You're stiff-necked!"
"Feral!" Doe returned. As the tension between the Goats and the Cats grew, Goose and Buffalo watched on, waiting to intervene if needed. Peccary carried on with his business of cleaning mugs and pouring himself a new ale.
"Okay, stop!" called Wether, getting up from his seat to stand in between the bickering groups. "Both of you, stop!"
"Wether, come on, lad," said Buck, beckoning for his kin to sit down back with them.
"I'm sorry, Buck," Wether said as he shook his head. "Let me set the record straight here." He took a sip of beer before continuing, "Tide, the Cats are good critters. They help the Strays with feed and cloths. Doesn't our shrine say to help the roaming and the vagrant?" He waited for a response, and only received humbled nods from his kin. "That's right. And, Cats, my tide are good critters, too. You know full well they clean the village watering holes every week!" The Cats, too, nodded humbly.
Wether stood in the centre of the hall, and all eyes were on him. They waited for him to continue. Wether stood, his eyes darting hither and to as he, perhaps, was searching for something more to say. Nothing came to mind, prompting him to raise his bottle in the air. "To the village," he said shortly, and took another sip.
"To the village," everyone murmured, and likewise sipped their drinks. Wether still stood, paralysed by indecision of where to return his hindquarters. Attention was ceased paid to him before he decided to sit with the Cats.
"Well done, Mr Wether," said Goose, sincerely, after a long break of silence, "you managed to put us on level terms. Yes, it's true! We all have quirks and queer constitutions about us. This is certain. And this is what makes our village superb! What a bore it would be if we all thunk and lived in the same manner?”
"Right!" sang the Cats.
Goose rose and swaggered, drink in wing, over to where Wether had spoken.
"Look at you, you buzzed buzzard," joked Buffalo, mustering only a light chuckle from Peccary.
"Sure, sure, Mr Buffalo," returned Goose as he arrived to the impromptu speaking place, "not every critter has such girth in body and blood as you do. Hear me now, all. Our village is great! It always was, and it always will be!"
Buffalo exhaled a boisterous sigh while looking down at his mug. The force of his exhale blew across the hall, and all turned to look at the disgruntled beast.
“I will say this respectfully, Goose,” said Buffalo. Someone from the Goats table whispered, “that’s new,” but it did not detract Buffalo.
“Yes, my friend?” asked Goose.
Buffalo took a long guzzle from the mug, nearly emptying it. “You speak from a place of comfort. The things that you do are not affected by the changes in our village, and these are changes that were not set forth by the critters who toil here. Now, I rightly regard all critters who give me respect. I will return to you respect if you act like any good critter should. But, I will not work longer, work harder, and work for less gold in order for critters to mill about.”
“Be straight with it, Buffalo,” entered Billy. “We are tired of accommodating for Strays who don’t contribute!”
Buffalo nodded lightly, accepting Billy’s blunt words. “Yes. They must come here ready to plough, ready to forage, ready to do something.”
“And be able to communicate with us!” bleated Buck.
“And respect their mates,” cooed Nanny.
The Cats, together, leaped onto their table. “A little diversity never hurt anybody!” shot Queen. “What’s good for one, is good for them; and what’s good for me is good for me!”
“Apostrophise, Queenie!” encouraged Tom.
“We are all just looking for love and support,” she continued, waxed bold. “Why can’t our spoiled critters offer their goods for everyone?” She turned her attention to Billy, Buck, and Buffalo. “Overindulgent! You keep everything for yourselves! Why can’t you share more? Why do you keep it all to yourselves?”
Tom reeled back his encouraging posture. “Okay, Queenie, that’s enough.
“Did no one listen to what I had to say?” said Wether, his voice and presence lost in the ruckus.
“I was forced to help supply for your studies,” Buffalo barked at the Cats, “and look what we got in return: two spoiled critters mocking our traditions, mocking our village, and mocking our beers!”
Suddenly, louder than any yelling previously, there was a bang at the front of the hall. Turning to look, all in the hall saw a set of horns pierced through the wall near the door. One of the Kids entered, huffing for air and panicked while the owner of the horns tried to wriggle himself free.
“Ah, Kids!” cried the father Billy, “it’s about time you can join us! The night was just getting fun.”
Goose honked loudly, “There you are!”
Buffalo looked to Goose. “Now, you’re clearly drunk.”
“Every one, you must come quick back down to the village!” cried the Kid, a young female. “Something awful has happened!”
Now free, the Kid who rammed his head into the wall stood in the doorway, also panicked but smarting from his careless charge into the hall. “There’s been a terrible accident at the mill!” he announced.
Buffalo shot to his hooves. His force and strength ripped the stone table from the ground below. “What has happened to my mill?” he howled.
“Just come, quick! It’s something awful!”
“Come on, Goose,” Buffalo said as he stampeded through the hall. He snatched Goose, struggling to stand on his own webbed feet, by the neck and carried him away.
The Goats followed closely behind while the Cats scattered out of the way of the charging animals. “You see,” cried Doe, “the Strays! They’ve done it again!”
The Kids shook their heads. “No, it ain’t one of them! It was Ram! He’s gone hysterical!”
“Cousin Ram?” cried Buck.
“He’s taken a sharpened stick and… and… he just went mad!” wailed the Kids.
“Not again!” whined Tom. Curious, the Cats slowly followed the pack after finishing off their ales. Wether was the last to exit, as he was influenced by the beckoning call of Tom.
The sudden silence left in the hall put Peccary at ease. He was undeterred by the deafening silence that followed the deafening commotion moments before. Carrying about his business, he cleaned the empty mugs and glasses, arranged the seats to their positions. Then, while whistling a old tune his father had taught him, he took a hammer from beneath the bar and went over to mend the upended table by Buffalo. Experience as a bar owner, and experience with patrons like Buffalo, who left his satchel behind, allowed him to reset the Old Town Hall to its original, quaint, bucolic state.
Peccary returned to his post, and poured himself another ale. The pot-bellied bovine knew how to pace his drinking, and though he constantly had a drink at his side, his actions or character never wavered far from a sober position.
He sighed pleasantly. “Ah, nice. Nice ale,” he said.
That was when I decided to appear. I calmly flew down to his position in the bar and, knowing that I am the smallest of all critters, made my presence known to Peccary.
My presence was noticed by Peccary. “Hello, Mr Fly.”
“Hi, Mr Peccary,” I said.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I thought for a moment. “Sure, why not,” I said. “The usual.” Peccary poured a Blonde Mane into a thimble, just enough to do me in for the night.
“Cheers,” I said when the drink was set carefully before me. I raised a feeler of mine in the air. “To the village,” I said.
“Proost.”
“And, to all in the village, domesticated and strayed.”
“Proost.” We had sips, before Peccary continued, “So, how long were you hanging up there?”
“Before Buffalo had entered,” I said. “I had the inclination to come down earlier, but the chatter kept me away. I just can’t handle it much, you know?”
“Yeah, sure,” Peccary said. He then sighed, a rare sort of breath for him. “You know, I’ve never seen the village like this. Never seen it so bitter and so torn apart.”
“Neither I,” I said. “You can really see someone’s true fur when the going gets tough.” Peccary only nodded. He was beginning to look troubled. “Something bothering you?”
It took him a few moments to say, “No.” He took a sip, looked as if he wanted to say something, but backed down and took another sip.
“Don’t stress yourself, Peccary,” I said.
Peccary was stirring even more in his place, and the little guy was beginning to sweat.
“Now, come on!” I urged. “What’s bugging you? You can tell me, I’m your friend, you know?”
Peccary took in a large sup of ale before uttering, “I’m a Stray, too.” I stood still, a complete surprise to my antennae. My friend continued, “many don’t know this, but my father never became a rightful critter of these parts. I was born in our homeland, I too never earned rightful roosting privileges here.”
“Well, let’s go to Mayor Cow,” I said. “This can be changed, no?”
“I don’t think so,” Peccary squealed. “When everyone finds out, they’ll come for me, too.”
 |
| Me, Mr Fly, your narrator. |
“That’s nonsense,” I buzzed. “Everyone loves you, Peccary. And, you heard it yourself, you’ve got Goose and those strange Cats to be there for you.”
Peccary shook his head sadly. “I’m a stray.” There was a knock from beneath the floor, a noise from a location I never heard before. It startled Peccary, and then he became skittish.
“What was that?” I asked. “What’s going on, Peccary?”
The knocking continued, and it grew louder. Then the floor boards began to budge before suddenly an entire patch of them flipped open. And from beneath the floor, from the darkness of a cold, wet hole beneath the hall, came out critters. They were critters with legs, skin, fur, scales, and eyes I had never seen before.
“Safe?” one of them asked timidly. “Now it is safe? We can come out?”
“No, no!” said Peccary with a panic. “Please, just stay a little longer.”
It became obvious that Peccary was trying to hide something from us, but the secret was out. I was shocked, and not because of what he was doing, but because he had done it so well. “You’ve been stowing Strays away here this entire time?”
“They had no where else to go,” Peccary said. “Our villagers scare them off everywhere, they don’t let them nest anywhere.”
“Peccary,” I started, wanting to continue with words of honest awe and respect, but Peccary interrupted me with a wail:
“If this village finds out I’m a stray, I’m ruined!”
The front door slammed back open again. It was Buffalo, heaving heavily. He looked down at Peccary.
“Peccary?”
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