Re: Will No One HELP??? Hector Will!

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: : : : : : : Ducks as FOOD??  QUACKQUACK!  SQUACKLE!  Blades??  Sharply-honed?  QUACKQUACKQUACKQUACKQUACK!!!!!!!  OH!  OH!  Oh, MY!! *running in circles faster and faster*  ACK!!  QUACK!!  Run for your lives, fellow ducks!!  Run far, run FAAAAAAAAST!!!  QUACKQUACKQUACKQUACKQUACK....pant, pant, pant, pantpantpant...GASP!  *THUD!!!!*

: : : : : : : *dead silence...a very blue in the beak Miss Paddletale lies flat out on her feathered backside in the middle of the Village Green*

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: : : : : : What's this?? Miss Paddletale passed out, blue in the beak, from one of her hyperventilated, skyisfalling attacks, and NO ONE is going to help her??  No mouth-to-beak resuscitation?  No slapping of her little feathered cheeks until she comes around again?  Tsk.  Nothing but a spiteful remark from the GnomeDome about being glad someone ELSE is in trouble??  How uncharitable!  How uncivilized!  How perfectly...PREDICTABLE!!  Mohicanland...ya gotta love it!  Only here can a fat, waddling duck wearing a blue calico bonnet, be lying passed out in the middle of the Village Green, and no one pays the slightest attention.  Guess I'll have to fly down to the river & get some cold water to dash in her face...though carrying it back one tiny beakful at a time sure won't have much of an effect, sartain...but what else can I do???

: : : : : : *exasperated sigh*
: : : : : : Birdie

: : : : : Wait! Wait! Fear not! Doctor M is on the way!! Let me load
: : : : : 'er into this baking di...I mean, Special High-Sided Metal
: : : : : Stretcher, and take her to the Clinic. I think an immediate
: : : : : application of slooow steady heat is what's called for --
: : : : : say about 325 degrees for 3 hours. Now where did I put
: : : : : that recipe for Wild Gnome Dressing???

: : : : : Doc M

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: : : : RUFF! RUFF! SNAP! Growwwlllllllllllll.  Get yer hands off that duck, Doc Mary, or we are gonna have a serious disagreement, and it's not gonna be "one of these days".  SNAP!  We'll see about who's gonna get their duck cooked here!  Hands off, I bark!  I'm gonna crouch right here and protect Miss Paddle Tale until somebody comes to get her.  She's a FRI'ND, d'ye hear?  Grrrrrrrrr-RUFF!

: : : : Hector

: : : Fear Not Hector!!!  I'll save her!  Here I come to save the day......*singing in horrible voice sounding like a parakeet in a blender*

: : : I will take her away from all this....hang on!

: : : CRASH!  CLATTER!  *as the spit gets caught between GnomeDome's legs and he drops blue enamel roasting pan he had hidden behind his back*

: : : GnomeDome
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: : Somethin' strange about the Gnome comin' to rescue Paddle Tale and carryin' a roastin' pan just like the one Doc Mary had. My scents tell me there is an ATTITUDE here, and I don't trust their SINcerity.  I think I'll just catch her up by the nape of her neck and sneak home with her while they're all scramblin' after their cookware and stumblin' over each other.  She Who Tracks will know what to do for poor Miss Paddle Tale.

: : GRAB!  LIFT!  Zoooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmm.

: : Hector

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: Say there, Hector - where ye been all this time?  And what's that ye got in yer mouth? Don't tell me ye actually brought home dinner all by yerself for a change?

: *Shake of the hound's head*

: No?  Then, what have ye got there?  Looks to me like a plucked chicken all ready for the stewpot . . . but still alive and wigglin'.

: *Shake of the hound's head*

: No?  Well, then if ye don't intend it for dinner, ye'd better drop it afore ye break it's neck.  Ye know I've taught ye better than to talk with yer mouth full!

: *Thud.  Soft whine.  Lick, lick, lick.  Softer whine.*

: What?  Lemme take a closer look here.  Why! If it isn't Miss Paddle Tale, all limp and pantin' and missin' most of her feathers - she's been through some kinda scuffle, sartain!  And ye brought her home for pertection and nursin'?  Good dog!  Ye got a kind heart and a gentle way about ye, for all yer lazy, chicken'hearted appearance.  Well, now.  We'll just see what we can do for the poor duck.  I'll lift her over here on the soft bearskin and get her some grain from the sack.  If ye'll push yer water dish over here in front of her where she can reach it, I'll be bound she'll appreciate a sip o' water to wet her whistle.  She seems all weak and shakey, too.  Can't imagine what could've happened to her. There, there, Miss Paddle Tale, ye're among fri'nds now.  Just lay yer plucked little head on my knee here, and I'll stroke yer bristly little hide until ye fall asleep.  There, there now.

: She Who Tracks


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