He’d just abide there, infuriating them with his snow angels. They never messed with his peen and never messed with his fingernails. They would make him lie on his back looking up at the racing clouds while they tortured him in ways he could actually take.

Safe inside the rock wall, the shot one would go, Guys, look at my butt.Īs a group, all would look at Gzeemon’s butt, exchanging sullen glances of: Gzeemon shall indeed be limping for the next nine million years, poor bloke.īlimey, one of them might say from withal. Which could be as long as an additional nine million years. Who henceforth would limp for the rest of its days. Occasionally, for a joke, he would shoot one in the butt as it fled. Sometimes for whole days he would just nurse their wounds. He would turn, level the pellet gun, intone: Are you aware of the usage of this human implement? They were small but, upon emerging, assumed certain proportions. By that species that lived amongst the old rock wall. Today’s assignation: walk to pond, ascertain beaver dam.

Every time she came over he had to haul it out so she could make a big stink about the woodgrain. Painting the pellet gun white had been a no. Then requisitioned the boots he’d spray-painted white. The pale boy with unfortunate Prince Valiant bangs and cublike mannerisms hulked to the mudroom closet and requisitioned Dad’s white coat.

Saunders tenth of december