Bowls Eye View (A Don Swenson Story)
“Otay, speshow fwen! Gwass gu get nummies, nao! Have fun wif babbehs swimmies!”
Pinecone nuzzled her special friend before he headed out of their nest to gather food to add to their nummie pile. She had woken up excited today. Her babies had finally grown big enough to leave the nest and were ready for their first time into the big water. It had been a long while since her last swimmies and she was excited to head back to the lake.
“Babbehs fowwow mummah!” the brown bowl mare called, leading them out of the collection of brush they called home. She looked around making sure there were no munstahs as they headed towards the lake. She had to constantly redirect them as they repeatedly got distracted by their surroundings. Pretty rock. Hopping frogs. Plain rock. All of them were worth investigating to the juvenile fluffy mind.
After what seemed like many forevers, Pinecone finally made it to where the lake’s edge met the forest. She looked around, smiling at the sun shining off the cool, clear lake. She took a moment to make sure the area was clear; the water’s edge sometimes had hard, snappy munstahs. She waddled in to the shallowest edge of the water, shaking a little at the coldness of it. She flipped over, situating her round body against the bottom of the shallows.
“Otay, babbehs!” she cooed, “Cwimb in mummah’s tummeh bowl!” Her foals cooed as they climbed onto her stomach, spreading out. They got up on the edge of Pinecone’s bowl, looking into the water. Pinecone gently rocked back and forth while swishing her tail to move away from the edge. They all looked over the edge of her bowl, taking in the sights and the water all around them. “Make suwe ou all move swowy! Don’t tip mummah!” she chided as she made her way further out in the water.
“Mummah swim wif babbehs……” Pinecone started singing, enjoying their first time out. “Babbehs swim wif mummah!” She gently rocked back and forth as her tail continued to swish in the water, confusing some of the local fish. She contentedly cooed, enjoying the sun warming her tummeh as her babbehs kept walking around her to enjoy the scenery.
“Swimmeh fwiend!” one of her foals cooed, noting a fish jumping out of the water.
One of the foals noticed shadows on the water and looked up. Her eyes lit up as she announced “Fwying fwiend!!”
………
A few minutes earlier….
Don Swenson walked out of his park station chewing a piece of bacon jerky. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to savor the salty taste, the forest air, and the sounds of nature that had come back since the fluffy kill-on-sight order had been enacted. The sounds of nature without ‘Gib sketties, dummeh!” or “Need wawm housie fow babbehs!” was a fine symphony to him. Things hadn’t gotten completely back to normal yet; he still had work to do. Kill-on-sight was only so effective with human eyes and ears; he was looking forward to something far more accurate.
Speak of the devil, the truck was coming up the drive to meet him at the moment. Don swallowed the jerky in his mouth as he saw the truck park right next to his station. He casually sauntered over to the truck as the driver got out. The driver was a lean middle aged man decked in earth-toned plaid and hiking pants, ready for time in the woods. Don nodded his approval as he reached out his hand.
The driver took his hand in a firm, non-hippie handshake. “Bob Green… You must be Don…” he said.
“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Don let go of his hand, looking over to the truck. “I take it those are your handiwork?”
Bob nodded. “Yeah… but we need to give them a little time. The movement of the truck for the past few hours may have stressed ‘em out a little. Let’s let them breathe…. Get used to the local sounds before we open up, eh?”
Don nodded. “Indeed. Hunters need to take time before they strike….”
Bob chuckled. “Oh, not these guys. When they calm down, you’ll have them at your beck and call. They’ve been trained for one thing, and one thing only. Shitrat elimination. Only thing that would top them would be a laser guided targeting system. You wouldn’t believe the program that made these things.”
Don looked to Bob quizzically. “Do tell…. Why did something like this get funded?”
Bob shrugged “Believe it or not…. It was the Saudis.”
Don turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “The Saudis?!”
Bob nodded his head. “I know. Sounds odd. Started with fluffies. You know how things are with many Saudi princes… they gotta have the finest animals in their menageries. They decided they would find a way to breed premium Arabian…… fluffies.”
Don closed his eyes and winced. He couldn’t believe that another culture would try to make premium fluffies. Nothing good would ever come from those things. He learned from his own experiences that fluffy stupidity was one of the most destructive forces known to man. You’d have a better shot at a designer brand of gonorrhea.
“Well…” Bob continued, “You can imagine where things went after that. A bunch of importers brought cheap alley fluffies that looked pretty into the country. Never mind the fact that the little bastards had zero middle-eastern language programming. The damn things ended up multiplying, as they always do. You’d think a desert environment would do them in, but sometimes they’re just too stupid to die…”
Bob walked over to his truck. “So, you can imagine that the Saudis wanted to find a surefire way to get rid of them. They needed something that would find fluffies and eliminate them. Thing is…. Their culture already originated the perfect art.” He slapped the side of the truck. “These guys! Of course, with too much money one of the princes funded training programs on multiple continents, multiple breeds. We have an excess, now. I guess they wanted to be ready to get a huge armada if things started to get ugly……” Bob smiled as he lifted a flap to peer into the truck. He tilted his head to Don. “I think they’re settled…. Ready for a test run?”
Don had to use his discipline to restrain his enthusiasm. “Yes… please. I would love to see one of your pets in action….”
……
Now
Pinecone looked up at the “fwying fwiend”. It was very big. In fact, it was getting bigger by the second. She happily waved as it got closer. “Hewwo, nyu fwie-“
Her breath was punched out of her by a heavy impact to her tummy bowl punctuated by razor sharp talons in her belly. The sheer power of the blow sent the foals out of her tummy bowl into the water. Had they had longer to grow just a little, they might have been able to swim. As it was they were too little and splashed around, screaming for help.
Pinecone looked around frantically, the wind knocked out of her. She flailed her stumpy little legs and tail, going nowhere fast as she heard her foals crying for her. She looked down at her bowl. Had she been able to breathe, she’d be screaming. Instead, she saw a hug gash cut through her middle, her tummy sketties in full view. She tried in vain to breath, her splashing only made more frantic by her asphyxiation.
……
Don’s jaw dropped as he watched the whole scene unfold through his binoculars. The falcon had completely wrecked that bowl fluffy and her family with one strike. His gaze was fixed on the aftermath, relishing the display of raw predatory savagery that had unfolded before him.
Bob smiled as the falcon flew back to him. It landed on his glove with a gentleness that was in pure contrast to the strike it had just given the fluffy mom. “Good girl…” he said, handing her a strip of fresh meat. She gratefully chewed it down.
Don turned to look at the beautiful raptor, a smile curling on the side of his mouth. “She’s not going to go back to get the meat?”
Bob gave a look of disgust. “Oh hell, no! These babies can’t stand fluffy meat! No, we keep them fed and happy and they just kill the little bastards. Scavengers should take care of your carcasses……”
Don turned to look back at the scene of the carnage. As if on cue, he saw a snapping turtle grab at one of the flailing foals. Oh, if only he could hear the sound…….
