A/N: Okay, finally, I think this chapter is in an alright spot =_=. So, when I started Off the Trail, I wasn't sure if I would have these little drabbles proceed directly in line with the story (as in, the next drabble would correspond to the latest "Run" chapter) or not. I've decided they will not. So, this story circles back to Chapter 4: Part III (in case it's confusing) and explores how Judy's parents feel about this whole thing. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you to the most recent reviewers, Berserker88 and Cimar of Turalis Wildehopps for your thoughts! I'm glad y'all thought the Ottertons were fun (I had a blast writing that one). I think this chapter is a bit softer and sweeter.

And thanks to all of you who read! I hope this brings a smile to your day :D.

Happy reading - Euphonemes

Off the Trail

Chapter 3 - Wouldn't That Be Something?

A Companion to Chapter 4: Part III

"Well, geez, Bonnie, did ya have to hang up so quickly?"

Bonnie's soft paw enfolded the phone as the screen went dark. And Stu's enfolded hers. Stu enjoyed holding her paw very much. Usually, one child or another would break apart their hold. Sometimes, the little ones would run squarely into their parents' forelimbs; and, sometimes they would shout at each other and pull their ears until their parents had to disconnect so they could intervene.

But after Judy had disappeared from the screen, the children who had watched her begin to make history had scattered, their laughs and jeers floating away down the hall. Bonnie and Stu stood in their kitchen, a little dumbfounded at the total silence that greeted their ears. Silence had never been a mainstay at the Hopps household and, to be perfectly frank, Bonnie and Stu had no clue what to do with it.

Eventually, Bonnie spoke up; Stu knew that she could never leave his questions alone. "Did you have something you wanted to tell her? I thought we were pretty thorough, dear."

Stu sheepishly kicked at a kitchen floorboard, which sent up a plume of fine dust. Later, he knew that she would reprimand him for tracking so much dirt in from the field. "Well, I wanted to tell her what a great job she's been doing. And how proud she makes us."

"But you said that five times, Stu!"

"Maybe the sixth time is the one she needed the most."

Bonnie set down the phone on the kitchen counter; Stu waited for a moment before again wrapping his paw around hers. He twitched as he studied her with eyes that flicked between the thousands of strands of fur on her face. Her free paw held his cheek. "She knows it, Stu. She was the one who always listened to you."

He smiled; thinking of dear Jude always made him happy. "I know. Wish I could say the same about our other ones, though." Her paw slipped off his face as he peered around the quiet house. His brow split into furrows deeper than the ones for the carrots planted beyond the wood-trimmed kitchen window. "Speaking of which: Where did the children go?"

Her laugh was softer than her paw (which was certainly not easy to accomplish). "Oh, who knows, Stu. They just go off on their own now…though I suppose that was always the case. They've forever had minds of their own."

He thought of the last time he attempted to teach forty of their children how to properly till a field. It ended up being quite a fascinating exercise as Stu learned forty new ways to dig up the dirt. But perhaps the most interesting way to do it had been Judy's: don't do it at all. He remembered how she would pick at loose clods in a vain effort to make it look like work. She certainly wasn't lazy; it just simply didn't interest her. She always forged her own path, which simultaneously terrified and pleased Stu. "Yep. And I think our Judy is just about the best example of that."

"She's a good one."

Stu was ready to agree, but a sudden evening chill blew through the open kitchen window, whose old rusted hinges creaked in the gusts. He felt Bonnie shiver; he wrapped her under his forelimb, closer to his chest. Even with Bonnie nuzzling him, the cold did touch his nerves, and he began to worry. "I mean…am I the only one who's nervous for her?"

Bonnie playfully slapped his belly. "When have you not been nervous for her?"

He took it as the compliment that it was and continued. "But this is different, Bonnie. It was hard enough when she told us she would be a city police officer. But mayor… of the whole city…."

It was curious how quickly Bonnie answered him; Stu wondered how long she had been waiting to deliver her thoughts (likely, she had started mulling it over long before Stu got around to it). "And she will do a phenomenal job, Stu. We raised her well. She's a good rabbit – just like her father."

The wind calmed, and the creaking of the old hinges on the window stopped. It was silent once again. Stu was happy to say nothing to spoil this moment. While holding Bonnie closely, he thought of his little girl, how his paws used to slip so easily under her forelimbs. He would always lift her when she tumbled off the porch while playing cops-and-robbers with her siblings or when she jumped off the couch just a little higher as she tried to break her own record. These days, his paws had trouble slipping around her so easily; yet, he would always be there to pick her back up, to keep her going so she could jump just a little higher.

"Yep, we did alright, Bonnie."

They soaked in the silence for a minute more and thoroughly enjoyed the brief reprieve from the world around them. Stu would have been happy never to end it; Bonnie got thing moving. "Now then, Mr. Hopps. I believe it's time we gather our children. It's time we really talk to them about what Judy is doing."

Some of the older ones (most of whom were of voting age) had chimed into the discussion over the phone in a cacophony of jeers of sibling rivalry and cheers of support; however, most of the little ones had been distracted by a fun thing on television or the swaying grasses outside. Stu thought it was a bit of a shame: Judy sounded so smart when she talked. Though Stu was no slouch and figured he had taught her a few things, he could tell that she had grown considerably since her time in Bunnyburrow. He wondered how much of her knowledge and skills came from living in the city as long as she had, and how much came from the mammals who were helping her out. "You are very right. Maybe we should warn them about Nick, too? Y'know, in case they come for a visit?"

Bonnie tensed; he could feel her absolute disdain for his suggestion (Judy visiting, that is). "Stu, Judy can't take that much time away! She wouldn't know what to do with herself." She relaxed just a bit. "And with Nick…let's cross that bridge if we get to it, okay?"

Stu had taken a liking to Nick; Bonnie seemed to have as well, though perhaps her sentiments were a little more tempered. It was funny, he thought, as he had always been the jumpier one around foxes. But something about Nick just felt right. Though, as he looked into Bonnie's eyes, he realized she was probably more concerned with how the children would feel about Nick. Stu thought they'd be perfectly fine, but now was not the time to argue. Children had to be gathered, after all, and potentially scaring them away with stories of foxes would be ear-pullingly frustrating right now. He sighed as he reluctantly let go of Bonnie. "Okay. Well, then, let's round 'em up."

"I'll sound the dinner bell – that usually gets them running, even if it's a little later than usual." Her soft laugh made him smile. Really, everything she did made him smile, but her laugh was imbued with a special quality that he adored. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he started wandering down the hall.

"Y'know, Bonnie," he shouted over his shoulder as he neared the first wayward gaggle of children, "when those city folk first started talking about annexing Bunnyburrow way back when, their big thing was that mammals like us would have a stronger voice in the government…that we might even get ourselves a Bunnyburrow-born mayor." He picked up one of the youngest children; Stu's paws slipped so easily under his forelimbs. "But I think our Jude will do it on her own."

"Wouldn't that be something?" arose Bonnie's increasingly harried voice from the kitchen. He smelled boiling carrots; she had actually put on a pot of soup to get the kids moving.

In the hallway, Stu felt the breeze pick up again. Bubbling carrot soup intermingled with freshly tilled earth. He savored the aroma as he played with the young one on his lap; the young one's laughter was soft, like his mother's. "Yep, that'd be something, alright."

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