Sprinkles
"Mr. Moss!" Haimish called in his country accent. "Hello? Mr. Moss?"
The animal keeper strode down the corridor of the Zartaclan prison, cupping a hand to his mouth and calling, "Mister Moooooooooooooooss!"
"Shut up, son, I'm right here!" bellowed Mr. Moss as Haimish bumped into him, using one hand to cover an ear and the other to whack Haimish with his hat. "Whaddya want?"
"I got a surprise for ya, Mr. Moss!" Haimish told him cheerfully, bouncing up and down with anticipation.
"What might that be, boy?" the prison warden asked him wearily. He had never felt so old in his life as he did today, and he wasn't feeling up to his assistant's antics.
"It's this way, boss!" Haimish answered before shooting off down the hall, only glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Mr. Moss was following.
Barely able to keep up with the younger man what with his . . . er, physical deficiency, Mr. Moss huffed and puffed as he jogged after Haimish as quickly as he could.
Haimish led his boss out to the main courtyard, not far away from where the Trackbeasts were pacing in their cage. They stopped beside a something covered in a sheet.
"Close your eyes, Mr. Moss!" Haimish said gleefully. "You're gonna LOVE this!"
"Unless it's Aerrow, gagged and bound under there, I doubt it," Mr. Moss growled, but obliged all the same.
"On the count of three! One," Haimish counted slowly, gripping the sheet as he prepared himself. "Two . . . three! Open your eyes, Mr. Moss!"
The young man wrenched the cover off of the gift, gazing upon it happily as he waited for Mr. Moss's reaction.
"It's . . . It's . . . " the prison warden breathed faintly. The large man then fell to his knees, a look of pure joy on his face, happy tears in his eyes. "Beautiful!"
"Happy birthday, Mr. Moss!" Haimish cried, relieved that he liked it.
For Haimish had revealed the most wonderful creature in the world:
A baby Trackbeast.
Mr. Moss ran over to the puppy excitedly, reaching into the little pen Haimish had rigged and picking her up.
The puppy licked his face in greeting, snuggling up against Mr. Moss's chest.
"I'll call her . . . Sprinkles!" he decided, carrying the newly christened Sprinkles into the prison.
And so, Sprinkles she was.
Today, February 5th, is my birthday. I want a Trackbeast puppy.
I wonder how old Mr. Moss is now?
Sorry I haven't updated in forever. Review!
