I could tell it was going to be a truly grand day out. Kootie was wearing her favorite summer beret with sparkly sequins, and Koobert was armed with eight shiny quarters; clearly, they were headed to the arcade, and the high score on the “Dance-Mania” game was in serious jeopardy.

“I hop we win again,” Koobert observed wryly. This comment always makes Kootie giggle so hard, her sequins jingle.

I suppose I could describe the whole “Dance-Mania” thing, about how the dynamic duo of dance take turns hopping from one square to another in perfect time with today’s hottest rhythms, flawlessly executing ever-faster dance instructions scrolling across the computer screen. I could go into tremendous detail about the crowd of admiring spectators that gawk in amazement as the score rolls up and the minutes turn to hours. I could congratulate the pair on their teamwork, and praise their clever nimbleness for paragraphs on end. But jealousy forbids. Suffice to say they won, again, and I’m exceedingly awkward.

“So now whatcha wanna do?” Koobert asked as the breathless pair left the smoking remains of the defeated video game.

“Let’s play Skee-ball!” Kootie suggested.

For the benefit of any recent extra-terrestrials who may not know, Skee-ball is a skill game I associate with carnival midways. It is played by rolling wooden balls along a ramp at a target field full of holes with various point values. In theory, you get the best score by rolling the ball so that it leaps off the end of the ramp and settles neatly in one of the tiny target holes near the top of the target field; I wouldn’t know from personal experience, though. When I roll the ball, it usually goes in the gigantic hole near the bottom, which earns almost no points, and a chorus of sympathetic “Oh, that’s too bad” comments from any observers. I play alone whenever possible.

As they stood together before an unoccupied skee-ball machine, Kootie and Koobert had time to reflect on the sheer magic of the device. You put in a token, the machine dispenses nine wooden balls, and you’re all set to bowl for points and glory. They continued to reflect because they are very thoughtful, and because Koobert was fresh out of quarters.

“I wonder what happens to the balls that go in the target?” Koobert wondered aloud.

With a delighted yell, they hopped as one up the ramp, intent on their first love, exploration. Kootie stopped to peer into a large hole near the bottom, but that was far too tame for Koobert, whose path led him on a difficult climb to the smaller holes near the top.

“Hello,” Kootie called into the hole, but there was no response – not even an echo. She couldn’t see through the inky blackness, so that left only one choice for the curious adventurer. She hopped in.

Well, it turns out that the hole was the top end of a chute, and Kootie slid gracefully, only to be deposited at the top of a warmly lit platform, surrounded by a team of smiling creatures wearing hardhats and armed with large mallets. Kootie barely had time to take it all in before one of the creatures swung his mallet and bonked her on the top of her head.

“Ouch!” Kootie’s expostulation caused some confusion among the creatures, but after a few exchanged glances, they all readied their mallets…

“Wait,” Kootie said, readjusting her hat for more padding, she hoped, and giving her most unthreatening innocent smile. “Why did you bonk me on my head?”

“Welcome to the land of Skee,” announced the foreman of the creatures. “We are the 100 point hole crew. It is our job to pound the balls that come down the chute into 100 pieces, then shovel the pieces into the counting pails over here. Once the pieces are counted, they are squished together in the new ball press over there.” There were vague murmurs of assent for the rest of the crew, and Kootie marveled at their discipline and pride. Here were workmen that could be admired, and, oh wait a minute.

“Please don’t pound me into 100 pieces”, Kootie asked in her most polite and charming way. “I’m not actually a wooden ball.”

The foreman was clearly moved, but conflicted. After a pregnant moment of consideration, “We must make 100 pieces exactly – it is the law of Skee.” Mallets raised menacingly.

“OK, then,” Kootie said brightly. She took off her beloved sequined beret, laid it on the platform, then two hops, right into the first counting bucket. “One!” she announced.

It wasn’t long before the pounding stopped; her tattered beret, and 98 loose sequins joined her in the bucket. While waiting to be counted, Kootie had a moment to reflect on the mystery she solved. The moment was interrupted by a surprised sounding yell and some distant pounding.

“Sounds like the 20,000 point hole crew,” said the foreman.

Next time, Koobert gets very puzzled.

To say it all started a few days ago is a really gross oversimplification, but that’s actually a specialty of mine. Koobert was hanging out at a landfill in Oklahoma, keeping company with several old plastic bags of my discarded household goods, when several enormous dump trucks arrived. Before Koobert realized he was about to have another big adventure, he was scooped up and tossed onto the fragrant, rotting, rusting pile, and driven away in the caravan.

The trip was long and bumpy, but Koobert didn’t mind. It was nice to have a change of scenery after more than a year at the dump. As the miles disappeared in the east, Koobert consoled himself in his noisy rattletrap limousine pawing through ancient treasures uncovered by the loading process and the steady vibration. “Kootie would love to take a long trip in a big truck like this,” Koobert thought to himself on more than one occasion. The trucks sped through the night, and Oklahoma became Colorado without ceremony.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the trip ended. The pile of refuse was upended onto a gigantic tarp in the middle of an enormous football field. Koobert rolled and bounced on the pile, coming to rest next to a rubber galosh that seemed to be occupied. There were more loads of garbage in every direction, and people swarming over them like flies.

“Check this one out!” called the wiry man standing in the galosh next to Koobert. He wore a matching galosh on his other foot, a shiny yellow slicker, safety goggles, and a serious expression. The man scribbled on a clipboard as a dozen teenagers wearing orange reflective volunteer vests clambered on the pile.

“This can go to the stage”, hollered one excited boy.

“The Senator will appreciate this for her speech,” burbled a happy young lady.

Koobert scrabbled up to the top of the pile for a better look, and sure enough, a platform was being erected in the middle of the field. An army of people swarmed over piles and piles everywhere, pulling out every kind of thing you can imagine and streaming it to the focus of the construction. Koobert was amazed to see how deftly the people molded and formed towering Romanesque pillars to give the stage a sophisticated stately air. In spite of the shocking aroma, Koobert decided he had to get a closer look – he was polite, though, and carefully avoided interfering with dozens of happy reporters interviewing each other and taking pictures of the emerging edifice.

The work seemed to go on for hours. Because it did. Hours.

Then it was night, and the work stopped. The finished stage gleamed under klieg lights that shown from everywhere. Koobert’s strategic vantage point on the stage gave him a perfect view of the workers clearing the field as thousands of others began to fill the stands. Lysol was liberally applied, and the party began. Oh, what a party it was.

The crowd hollered and cheered, and threw trash at each other and waved little sticks. There was a band or two, and a parade of people that came to the platform to speak, and yell, and cry. Koobert saw the speakers reading the same stuff he had ridden to the stadium with, but somehow now it didn’t exactly smell the same. The whole picture was just so impressive, and Koobert could not help himself. Congratulations were certainly in order for this fine party in the football stadium!

Koobert hopped up to the podium just as one speaker in galoshes and a slicker finished an eloquent comparison between someone else and a houseplant, or something like that.

“I’m just a little guy, but I’m so glad to be here tonight!” Koobert announced, and the crowd went wild. Some people broke into a chant about helping little guys, and taxing big guys. Others noticed that Koobert had one leg, and began to chant about helping the differently-abled. Is he an alien? Is he legal? Hooray for the brave alien! Koobert waited respectfully for the crowd to quiet, and the TV cameras to focus.

“Congratulations are in order for this terrific party!” Koobert hollered, and the crowd accepted with a roar. “I would never have guessed you could make this party, these speeches, this whole platform out of old recycled smelly garbage!”

Of course, that’s when the TV went off the air for a few minutes, then switched to Lassie reruns. I wonder how it all came out?

It was last weekend, while I was belatedly unpacking the hall closet stuff, I made a very happy discovery indeed. Kootie was in the box, looking a little disheveled, but resting comfortably in a cozy nest of wadded up table linens and newsprint-wrapped candlesticks.

“I’ve missed you so much!” I exclaimed in delight. “Have you been in here all along?”

Kootie stretched her arms and favored me with her most beautiful smile. “Here I am,” she croaked, then gave a cute little hacking cough to clear her throat. It had been a little more than a year since I had taped this box securely shut, and if Kootie had been in there all along, well, just imagine. I offered her a drink of water, and she accepted eagerly, struggling stiffly to her foot to receive it.

“I’ll bet my new friend would like some water too,” Kootie said to me, and with an awkward flourish pulled aside some loose newsprint to reveal our Christmas nutcracker. Erect and stoic he stood, wedged in the corner of the box, right where I had put it last summer. It was fashioned as a toy soldier in a red coat with hand-painted shiny black boots and breeches. He stared through widely open handpainted eyes, and his enormous white teeth were clenched in a tight grimace that surely would have intimidated any nut; I was no exception. Kootie glanced at me expectantly.

“Water?” I asked the nutcracker uncertainly, feeling a heavy sense of obligation not to question this important new relationship in Kootie’s life. The nutcracker maintained his fine military pose and said nothing.

“So, Kootie,” I said, hoping in vain to change the subject, “Uh, how are you doing, anyway?”

“To tell you the truth, I was starting to get bored,” Kootie admitted to me. “I had just introduced myself to, uh,” and she pointed conspiratorially at the nutcracker, “when you closed the box. It was all dark, and I think he was too shy to say much, so I tried some friendly small talk. After a while, I realized that he must be on a speech-fast, and I wasn’t being very helpful by tempting him to talk. For the whole night I kept quiet, and that made the night seem extra long, but now you’ve opened the box, and it’s day, and I’m happy.”

“I’m so glad,” I said.

“So, is Koobie awake?” Kootie glanced around with bright inquisitive eyes. In an instant I wished that there was more to see than just a clutter of empty boxes and partly-arranged household goods. The truth is that I hadn’t seen Koobert since the move, and I did still have a couple of boxes left to open. We opened the last of the boxes together, but Koobert was not to be found anywhere.

“Maybe you should try your special Koobie call,” I offered. Koobert is, after all, fond of hiding and leaping out at people as part of an elaborate game I don’t really understand, but he gets points and mail-order prizes, but I digress. The Koobie-call is a password to his deepest sensibilities, and he forgets all about hiding to race up and join the fun. I wonder if he even realizes…

“Ahem,” Kootie cleared her throat, then said in a loud voice, “Chipotle’s burrito.”

We waited together expectantly. It would just be a minute, absolutely.

Kootie glanced at me with unusual concern.

“Where could he be?” Kootie wondered aloud. “Yesterday he was sorting through a pile of old books and stuff. You don’t suppose he got klonked on the head or something, do you?” She called out again, “Chipotle! Burrito!!”

Nothing. A brief cloud of worry passed across her brow, but didn’t linger.

I struggled to recall a pile of old books from the packing frenzy last year. It had to have been toward the end, and you know how it goes. I had initially been pretty enthusiastic about carefully sorting and packing most everything, but toward the end, you just get tired of messing with old stuff you never really ever use. Some awkward stuff just gets thrown in boxes with some sort of vague idea of handling it carefully, and making the decision when we get there. More and more toward the end though…

“Thrown away?” Kootie asked incredulously. “You threw him away by accident?”

I nodded helplessly and with deep regret. But then, Kootie brightened and giggled.

“I bet he got to ride in a garbage truck then! We love adventures on big trucks! I’ll find him and we’ll have some real fun.” Kootie paused and glanced around. “Which way to the dump, then?” she asked.

“Oklahoma,” I replied, and pointed vaguely west. “That way.”

Kootie politely waved good-bye to the stoic nutcracker, gave me a quick hug, and hopped happily out of the door. I lingered for a moment after she disappeared around the curve in the street, and heard the receding echo. “Chipotle!”

Next time, the “Revenge of the Burrito!”

It seems that one fine morning not too long ago, Koobert and his big sister Kootie were having a pleasant hop along a wide, smooth path, and wondering what delights they would find for exploring, when they spied a crowd a long way off.

“Whaddayah s’pose they’re all doing over there, Koobie?” Kootie posed in her most curious tone of voice. 

Koobert peered down the broad smooth path to where the crowd stood, silent and still. “I think they’re looking into that big cave.”

“They’re being awfully quiet,” observed Kootie thoughtfully. “We should be quiet too, so whatever is in the cave isn’t scared away”.

Well, the two brave adventurers had a lot of ground to cover before joining the group, but they shared a mutual determination to be as polite as possible. What a struggle, especially for Koobert, who was more and more struck by the peculiar crowd as they approached.

“These guys are all dressed alike,” whispered Koobert conspiratorially. “You don’t suppose they’re a team or something.”

“Maybe the army,” Kootie replied. “Look at how they stand, almost like a formation.”

It was true. As they drew closer, it was apparent that the crowd was definitely standing in straight rows, all lined up like, well, like soldiers.

“I think they all have one leg, like us!” Kootie whispered very softly indeed – there was no telling how far sound would carry, and they were getting very close indeed. Experience had taught Kootie to explore very carefully, and take nothing for granted.

“But, look, Kootie! They’re all bald as billiard balls!”

“Shhhh!” Kootie giggled, but was also a little surprised that no one in the group had overheard Koobert and turned around to look. Kootie risked playfully slapping Koobert’s shoulder. “You silly doof, they just have fancy helmets!”

“This is gonna be great,” Koobert whispered. “I get exactly what’s going on here. These army guys are waiting to get medals from somebody in the cave…”

“I hope it’s the queen!” interrupted Kootie, almost forgetting to be quiet.

“Yeah, the queen! That’s why they’re wearing fancy white uniforms! They all have to look straight ahead, and if they get caught not lookin’ where they’re s’posed to, they won’t get any medals at all!”

“Let’s get closer so we can see the queen!”

Confident now that they could go right up to the group, Kootie and Koobert hopped the last little ways until they were just behind the soldiers standing still in their straight rows. In fine military style, nobody in the group turned or even flinched. First Koobert, then Kootie boldly slipped in between the soldiers, straining to see the queen in the big dark cave.

Suddenly, from way back down the path there was a boom, and the sound of thunder. Louder and louder the thunder roared as a gigantic bowling ball plowed down the smooth path at the formation! Somewhere in the distance, there was hollering and clapping!

X!

Next time: Kootie and Koobert in the gutter.

Pardon me while I let that sink in for a minute.

Sherlock Holmes was very observant and keenly logical all throughout his adventure entitled “The Hound of the Baskervilles”, and though the story spanned several days, he never once made a recorded trip to the loo. If it would have been me, I would not have been thinking very clearly after even one day omitting that activity. Yet, somehow we manage to enjoy the tale without having to even think about such mundanities.

And of course, since Sherlock Holmes walks around on two legs, no little boys ever ask, “Mister Doyle, sir, did Sherlock Holmes even have a bottom?” This despite the fact that the only real evidence that he actually has one is that he sits down every now and again. I guess novel readers willingly give themselves to certain routine presumptions, freeing most storytellers to more interesting imagination.

I can tell you, my dears, that Kootie and Koobert are every bit as comfortable in their one-legged frame as you and I are in our two-legged construction. And I’m delighted to say that they have managed to do any number of things that you and I might think of as requiring two legs.

I remember a time not so long ago when Kootie and Koobert were enjoying a pleasant amble around a popular city park when they encountered a fascinating contraption, just lying by itself in the grass.

“Ooooh, a bicycle!” said Kootie admiring its clean utilitarian lines.

“Let’s ride it!” said Koobert with enthusiasm. Obviously Koobert was undaunted by the prospect of managing two pedals with only one leg.

The pair of adventurers stood the bike up on its two wheels, one on either side next to one of the pedals. Without even thinking too hard, they simultaneously realized that this task was going to be complicated and require cooperation. Instinct guided their movements as first Kootie, then Koobert, grasped the upper crossbar of the frame with both hands, and on three, hopped up onto the pedal on their side. It was amazing to see them in action, eyes locked on each other as they first struggled and wobbled, then settled into an amazing balance that would have made a circus acrobat blush.

With a barely perceptible nod from Kootie that she was ready, Koobert used his grip on the frame as leverage to push down on his pedal, and gave a satisfied sigh as the pedal gave way. Kootie was relaxed as she rode up on the pedal on her side of the bike, then took her own turn to push down as her pedal wheeled past its apex.

“Wheeeee” cried Kootie as the gentle morning breeze began whipping past the team in meaningful earnest. It felt good to go fast!

“This is better than a teeter-totter!” hollered Koobert as the pedals pumped up and down, speeding the bike forward. This was so much fun!

“Turn right, Koobie” Kootie called out to her little brother as she pushed especially hard on her pedal.

“I can’t reach the handlebars, Kootie”, replied Koobert, getting ready to push with both hands firmly clutching the frame. “You do it!”.

“I can’t reach the handlebars either,” Kootie said thoughtfully. “I wonder how we’re supposed to steer…”

Just then, the bike gave a jolt as it jumped over a curb, into the street, and right in front of the oncoming number 206 city bus. At that moment, I don’t know whether Kootie and Koobert did or not, but I can tell you that the amazed bus driver certainly proved quite able to go to the bathroom.

So did the bicycle.

Next time, Kootie and Koobert’s pancake adventure…

Ka-Ching! The drawer popped open with a happy jolt as though the cash register was enjoying the game too. This set off a whole new game as the pair hopped on more buttons trying to figure out what had caused the drawer to open, and what would close it again. The paper tape rattled in delight.

“Koobie, we gotta figure out how to close this drawer,” Kootie observed matter-of-factly.

“Somebody’s coming! Let’s hide and surprise them!” Koobert replied. I think it’s fair to say that Koobert has never been one to let coherency interfere with his conversational style, but in this case his timely change of subject was followed almost immediately by the sounds of a key being fitted uncertainly in the front door lock.

Koobert wasted no time diving into a bin of scripture gum on the counter and knocking it over as well as a nearby rack of keyrings with inspirational slogans on them. Kootie, lacking a better idea, or Koobert’s appetite for chewing gum, decided to stand very still right where she was and pretend to be a collectable figurine. Neither had time to worry about the cash register drawer, or the yards of paper tape, or the mess on the counter before the front door pushed open.

In walked a pretty young lady. Or maybe staggered is a better word.

“More like drifted,” said Kootie, correcting me in a rare verbal rescue that both compromised her clever disguise, and utterly disregarded the rule that characters never talk to the narrator.

“Is she sleepwalking?” Koobert whispered.

Apparently she was.

The young woman was dressed very casually in a sweatshirt with a hood drawn loosely over her flowing blue hair. She swayed a little as she moved about the darkened store tidying up a little here and there as she went. If she noticed Kootie or Koobert she gave no sign, but when her directionless wander brought her near the cash register, she pushed the drawer closed with a practiced flip, tore off the paper tape, and set Kootie down onto the shelf next to the bookmarks. Kootie held very still, confident that her disguise was working perfectly.

Then the young woman opened a drawer under the counter and withdrew a large binder labeled “Schedule”. Though her eyes were closed, she flipped the book open and her head gently rolled like she was studying the pages carefully. “I love my job,” she half mumbled-half snored. Then she wrote the name “Christine” in wobbly script in the center of the page, dropped the pen noisily on the counter and drifted out of the door. Kootie relaxed and sighed as the lock on the door shot home.

Koobert emerged from his hiding place with a mouth full of gum and a fresh, minty grin. “That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Kootie hopped back down to the counter and examined the book carefully. “Maybe we can help the lady with her job. If we do her work, maybe she can stay home and sleep at night.”

“Yippee! Just like the cobblers elves!” cried Koobert. “I’ll go first!” Koobert picked up the pen, flipped a page in the book, and wrote “Christine” on it, right in the middle.

Kootie and Koobert spent the rest of the night taking turns helping the lady with her work. I’m sure the lady was blessed to know that Christine was scheduled for every shift for the rest of the millennium, and could therefore relax and have a good night’s sleep.

 Of course, these Oklahoma mountains are not at all like the steep jagged pinnacles of the continental divide further west. Here, a gentle slope of crusty broken earth replaces the flat prairie grass and gradually builds toward a central summit with a breathtaking view. Literally thousands of these monuments dot the flatlands, and most of them have never been disturbed by human feet. Kootie and Koobert were surrounded with opportunity to discover, and they were quick to avail themselves.

Koobert paused after surmounting a particularly difficult incline. The challenge hadn’t been the gentle slope so much as the fact that the ground had been mushy and a little steamy as though heated by an underground spring, or maybe a geyser. Slogging through the muck was much more effort than hopping, and the adventurous duo paused partly to catch their breath, and partly to survey their progress.

“The air up here sure is good, huh Kootie,” Koobert observed with an exaggerated deep inhalation.

“I think I smell a stable,” giggled Kootie, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

They stayed for a short while appreciating the view and gathering their strength for a final hop to the summit, now tantalizingly close. Like any experienced mountaineers, they were careful to plan a route that would follow natural contours to reach the top without making dangerous steep vertical climbs. It was a bit longer, but they judged a route that spiraled around the summit would bring them safely to the peak before lunchtime – provided there were no surprises around the bend. Another deep breath of fresh mountain air, with a tiny hint of invigorating ammonia, and they were off.

Suddenly, their ascent was interrupted by a cataclysm that dwarfed their mountain quest. An immense farmhand reached down and scooped up the whole mountain with one swipe of a pitchfork.

“Whoa doggies,” thundered the farmhand. “This one’s ripe, but I betcha someone tosses it ten miles!” With a practiced flip, Kootie, Koobert, and their cow chip mountain sailed onto the wagon, destined for the annual world championship cow chip throwing competition.

Next time, Kootie and Koobert take an unexpected ride on a UFO…

“Whew. It sure is hot out here Koobie,” observed Kootie, mopping her brow and ducking under a briefcase.

“Let’s cool off in here,” Koobert replied, pushing boldly through a nearby frosted glass door. It is precisely this sort of carefully planned and cautiously executed action that precipitates Kootie and Koobert’s best adventures. Koobert’s surprised yell faded immediately as though he had fallen into a deep well, and the glass door swung noiselessly shut behind him.

Kootie, never content to wallow in a quandary, quickly overcame nagging common sense and hurried over to the door to see what had happened to her beloved sibling. After waiting a moment in vain for the telltale belch that would confirm that Koobert had indeed been eaten by the hungry building, Kootie decided it must be safe enough to look inside.

Cautiously she pushed the door open, and was confronted by an amazing sight. Inside, the spacious room looked like an ordinary modern office, with desks arranged in clusters and cubicles, glowing computer screens and stacks of paper everywhere, but what was amazing was the whole office seemed to be severely tilted. Up and to the right, the office seemed utterly empty, but when she looked down the steeply sloping floor to her left, she could see clusters of people scattered where gravity naturally took them, along the wall at the bottom.

Kootie only had a moment to consider this unusual arrangement before she was accidentally pushed into the room by a delivery man who was pushing a hand-truck load of fancy coffee supplies. Immediately both began the long slide on the richly waxed floor. Before she even had time to enjoy the sliding sensation, Kootie crashed up against the wall at the bottom. Ouch! There she found Koobert, not far off, munching a yummy doughnut and listening to a passionate conversation.

“It’s just not fair,” one young executive was saying as Kootie scrabbled over to join her brother. “People working for minimum wage work so hard and get almost no money for it, while CEO’s do almost no work and can afford to buy fancy cars!”.

“CEO’s should be paid minimum wage too; that would teach them a lesson!” agreed another nicely dressed employee. At that moment the floor dropped a little lower and the wall that everyone was leaning on seemed to move a few feet deeper to the left. At the same time everyone all up and down the wall slid down, crashed with a bump, and said ouch almost in unison. Then they all laughed.

“What is going on here Koobie?” Kootie demanded in a whisper. Koobert snickered stickily through a thick glaze of powdered sugar.

“Watch this, Kootie,” Koobert whispered back, then called aloud, “I think everyone should be paid the same!”

“Except more for school teachers,” someone else a little ways away answered back. There was a deep rumble in the wall they were leaning on.

“Living wage for teachers,” someone else agreed,

“And healthcare too!” Once again the floor sank, and the wall moved to the left. The chorus of ouches and laughter was a practiced unison. Some people seemed to be concerned that the fall had made them spill their coffee, but most everyone seemed too busy talking and making notes on little pads of paper to notice.

“Wow, Koobie, gimme a bite of your doughnut so I can try too?”

For what seemed long time, the hubbub of many discussions about how bad the president was and how much various groups of Americans wanted higher taxes levied on anyone wealthier than themselves was punctuated by sudden movements of the left wall, always deeper and lefter. The laughter was frequent and infectious.

“Koobie,” Kootie lowered her voice and wiped away doughnut crumbs. “How are we ever going to get out of here? It’s a very long way up.”

Koobert thought for a second, and replied, “We need the floor to tilt the other way. I have an idea!” Koobert hopped up on the shoulders of a very surprised wiry man in bellbottom jeans and a rainbow tee-shirt. “I think global warming is an over-hyped myth!!” Koobert announced to the crowd.

The room went silent – the kind of heavy pregnant silence that precedes catastrophic violence. Suffice to say, mayhem followed, and Koobert learned that doughnuts and coffee can be used as weapons but not as shields.

As they hiked through the forested undergrowth of Yellowstone National Park, Kootie and Koobert carried the souvenirs of their adventure on their back, and just about everywhere else. Their most obvious new possession was the thick coating of mottled black and gray ashes that made them difficult to see in the underbrush. Even if you couldn’t see them, you would still know they were around, however, because of the other souvenir they had gotten from a friendly skunk; an aroma that had diminished only a little with the passage of time.

By and by they came upon a picnic area, with wooden tables and benches, a campstove, several coolers and baskets, tableclothes, and signs of a recent feast. Funny that no one seemed to be around right then. It seemed strange to Koobert that all of this good stuff would be left behind, but he was hungry, and God always saw to it that there was something to eat.

“Are you hungry too?” Koobert asked his big sister Kootie, and she nodded.

“Very Hungry! Let’s eat!”

Kootie and Koobert thanked God for the food and then dug right in. There was potato salad, and chips, and sandwiches galore – some laying out on the table with bites missing out of them, and some still in stacks with their plastic wrappers in place. It wasn’t long before Koobert found his favorite.

“Ballooony Samwich! Yipee!” Cried Koobert.

“I found Peanie Buster and Jam,” replied Kootie with a sticky grin. “And Pickles too!” she added…

Of course, Kootie and Koobert both had to get up onto the tables to reach the best food, and they had a ball chasing from one delight to another. No matter how big a hurry they got into, though, they were very polite – no pushing each other into the pickle relish, and each was careful to make sure that they stayed on the table – no sense in spoiling someone’s clean plate by getting sooty footprints on it.

“Oh boy, This basket has Grapes!” Yelled Kootie, and stuck her head deep into one large basket at the end of a table. Koobert, who especially loved grapes, hurried over to see.

“Can’t reach. Can you help me Koobie?” Kootie said, as she leaned further into the basket. Koobert reached down and grabbed Kootie’s foot, to give her a boost. But the ashes on Kooberts hands were a little slippery, now that they were also mixed with mayonnaise from his sandwich, and he lost his grip almost as soon as he had it.

“Oopsie”, said Koobert, as Kootie flipped over the edge and into the basket. Koobert peered over the edge of the basket that had eaten his big sister, and giggled.

Just then, a rustling in the trees at the edge of the picnic area startled Koobert, and he hopped up into the basket without even thinking. Down came the lid, and the two adventures were trapped, with nothing but napkins, catsup, plastic containers of salad, and luscious grapes to keep them company. They didn’t really mind.

Meanwhile, two bears had emerged from the undergrowth, and began pawing through the picnic area. They were not being nearly so polite as Kootie and Koobert, though – putting their big furry paws right on the plates, and pushing pickle relish on everything. The larger of the two was wearing a funny green hat, and seemed to take particular interest in the picnic baskets.

“Shhh”, Koobert warned his sister, who was wiping grape juice from her chin. “I think we gonna have some company”.

From outside the basket, Koobert and Kootie could hear the bears discussing the picnic area and its contents.

“I don’t think Mr. Ranger’s gonna like this”

“Nonsense, Booboo boy, We’re just, yah know, cleaning up the park and taking care of these old pic-i-nic baskets. Eh? Ooooooeee, This one is spoiled!”

The basket containing Kootie and Koobert lurched, then seemed to sail through the air. For a brief moment everything in the basket seemed to float in midair, then suddenly crash with a metallic thud. Kootie and Koobert bounced playfully around among the food, then collapsed on a puffy pile of napkins.

Now it was dark outside the basket, and Kootie and Koobert lapsed into contented slumber. With full bellies and tired feet, the pair slept soundly, and only a little disturbed when the dumpster they were in was upended into the park service garbage truck. Yes, they were leaving Yellowstone National Park in style, and their next adventure was bound to be just over the horizon, and just as much fun.

Kootie and Koobert’s adventures in Yellowstone National Park had become somewhat less eventful since they encountered a friendly skunk. Sure, the scenery was breathtaking, but so was the odor that seemed to stick to the intrepid pair like glue. They encountered no more friendly animals, the pleasant chirping of tiny birds was vague and far away, and even the cool ferns and ivy undergrowth seemed to withdraw in front of them, clearing their path to speed them on their way. You could almost sense the sigh of satisfaction from the forest as Koobert and Kootie passed, or maybe it was relief.

Still, Kootie and Koobert had fun chasing each other through the beautiful forest landscape, playing tag and singing songs. In their peaceful journey, they barely noticed when they wandered into a public camping area. The stately pines and undergrowth abruptly gave way to manicured lawns, sidewalks, camper hookups, and firepits. Funny that this area seemed to be as deserted as the forest they left behind.

“Where is everybody?” Koobert wondered aloud.

“I’ll bet there’s gonna be a surprise party for someone”, mused Kootie.

“That sounds like fun! Let’s hide too”.

So Kootie and Koobert started searching for a great place to hide.

Koobert tried jumping into a firepit, now full of cold black ashes from the previous nights’ campfire. Around and around he rolled, until he was covered in soot from his toes to the ends of his floppy ears. Then he crouched down next to the ring of stones that lined the pit, and held still.

“That’s a good hiding place, Koobie!,” gushed Kootie. “I can barely see you!” Koobert giggled and crouched even lower.

Kootie hurried over to a camping trailer and crawled under the front steps. She was pretty sure she was out of sight, and when she held really still, she could hear some whispering from inside the trailer. Now normally, Kootie was polite, and would never dream of eavesdropping, but she did so want to find out about the surprise party, after all. So, she listened as hard as she could…

“What do you mean, ‘the door doesn’t have a lock on it?. I suppose you want those skunks outside to just come waltzing in here like they own the place”.

“The way things smell right now, we may as well invite them in. Peeeeuwie.”

Well, Kootie really didn’t need much more of an invitation than that. If these nice people would allow skunks in their trailer, then certainly she and Koobie would be OK. She raced back to the firepit with the good news, but accidently caught her foot on a twig and tumbled in, right on top of Koobert.

“Koobie, Koobie, Koobie. I gots a great place for us to hide”, and she briefly described the nice people in the trailer.

“Yipee,” yelled Koobert, “I’ll race you there”.

The two adventurers dashed over to the trailer, and this time, Koobert won the race owing partly to a sizable head start, and partly because he didn’t even try to stop until he crashed into a pile of stones under the trailer hitch, knocking it over.

“You OK, Koobie?” asked Kootie, hopping up to her brother.

Koobert was fine, of course, but the trailer was another matter. It had been jolted forward pretty hard as the tongue fell to the ground, and swiveled sideways as the weight inside shifted. The trailer tongue scraped noisily across the toppled rocks as it rolled backward down the campsite driveway. From inside the slowly accelerating trailer, there was a surprised yell.

Kootie said, “Hurry Koobie, we must be missing the party.”

Kootie and Koobert hopped with all of their might, but just couldn’t quite catch up with the front door of the trailer as it careened wildly down the steep hill. From inside the trailer, the shouting only got louder as it opened up a sizeable lead in the race for the bottom of the slope.

Exhausted, Koobert puffed, “I think we’re too late for the party”.

Kootie agreed, then added, “Oh well, at least somebody got to enjoy a surprise!”