Chapter 5
Twinkie Soft
RJ abruptly woke from a dream in which someone was jabbing him in the ribs with a golf club. The pain remained, and as he rubbed his eyes, the gradual focusing brought to light the agitated face of a certain squirrel, who just happened to be kicking him in the side every few moments. Just as he was about to tell him to stop, RJ noticed that he was asleep, and then simply lifted him by the scruff of his neck, and set him to the side. Hammy's leg continued to twitch, apparently excited by his dreams.
With a heavy smacking of his lips, RJ pulled himself to his feet. He placed his palms on hips and rolled his back until his spine popped, which resulted in a relieved sigh. What also brought him delight was that upon gazing over the others, he saw an empty spot that had been full the previous night.
Maybe he left, RJ thought. His lips curled back into a devilish grin while his eyes remained on the other side of the group. Or maybe some dogs really did get him.
A graceful hop over Hammy brought him outside into the heat. He grumbled a bit as he felt the rays of sunlight cutting through his fur. Why the recent rain had not cooled his surroundings was a mystery. Usually that was what it would do, but if anything, the rain had only made the sun even more intense. At least the heat would give him an excuse to crash in someone's pool.
And just maybe, look for the twinkies on his own. RJ had planned to do it anyway, but for the moment it was too much fun making Duncan uncomfortable. He secretly hoped that if he did indeed go look for them, that he would not come back. Maybe he would be recaptured, or hit by a careless minivan. The latter was more likely, with the way drivers loved to talk on their cell phones, and juggle a handful of snacks that were simultaneously being shoved into their plump faces while driving. Some could even do all of this and change the radio station at the same time.
Resting behind the log was his golf bag. RJ knelt down to fish through it, pulling out and tossing assorted items aside until he found what he needed. It was a pair of blue children's goggles. They had been found recently in a trash bag alongside a half finished can of soda. There was nothing wrong with them, save the fact that the rubber headband was broken, and he wondered why they had been tossed out with things that were more obviously trash. Fixing the band was as simple as applying a few pieces of duct tape. Once it had been done, they were fine with the exception of the inevitable leaking through the edges of the plastic lenses.
With the weather still unfavorable, and with a desire to not bother with Duncan for as long as possible, RJ knew that it was time to spend the morning, and probably the afternoon, pool hopping. Due to the unfortunate fact that the humans would actually come home at some point during the day, he could never stay in one place for long. By then, he had learned the schedules of most of the nearby homes, and could plan his day accordingly.
One of his desires was instantly squashed as he poked his head through the other side of the hedge. Duncan stood approximately twenty feet away, beside a rusting red scooter that had not moved since the previous Christmas. With him was Ozzie, who was making a few wild gestures with his arms, and saying something that could not yet be deciphered.
Just as he had taken a few steps into the clearing, someone landed on his shoulders, and playfully clasped his or her hands over RJ's eyes.
"Guess who?!"
"Get off of me, Hammy," RJ said instantly, trying to suppress a smile. His eyes were freed as his left perked a little at the sound of a squirrel landing on his side.
"Aww, you're getting good at this!" Hammy pouted. "You're too smart for me!"
"And there's no worry that I won't ever be," he said as he returned his focus to the other two. He watched them for a moment, and began to wonder at what point they'd stop and eat grass. As he remained focused on them, he addressed Hammy again. "Hey, I'm going swimming. Want to keep me company?"
"You bet!" Hammy said gleefully as he jogged in place, ready to zip away at any second.
"Then let's go." RJ motioned with his hand to follow. First however, he knew that he would have to get past Duncan and Ozzie. Not wasting any time, he paced up to them and stopped about a foot away.
Duncan caught them out of the corner of his eyes, but did not turn his head to see them. He kept his attention on Ozzie, and took a few steps away from RJ. "Eh, hi Hammy, and RJ," he mumbled.
"Hello! Good morning!" Ozzie said as well, wiggling his fingers in a delicate wave. "We're going to get the twinkies for you!"
"Oh? Well go, go! You've made me wait long enough," RJ said, waving his fingers as well, although in a rapid shooing motion.
"We just have one problem."
"What's that?"
"He, doesn't know what they look like, and, I don't remember."
RJ's head snapped to face Duncan. "You what?!" he asked, quirking his brow as his mouth remained open at the end of the question.
Duncan gulped and tried to focus on the grass. "I don't know what a twinkie is."
RJ's palm violently collided with his forehead. "Are you serious?" he asked after a loud groan. "I know you're overly sheltered and a textbook moron, but even you have to know twinkies. Didn't the humans ever feed you some?"
"I-I don't know." He broke any eye contact he may have pretended to have had while his fingers tapped together. "Just tell me what they are."
"Oh I will, I will, my tubby little holiday icon."
Hammy lightly tapped on RJ's shoulder. "Eh, what's that?"
"You know, the Easter bunny?"
"The what?! He's not going to get me is he?"
"No Hammy, calm down. He's not scary. He brings chocolate." RJ shook his head in frustration, and then returned his attention to Duncan. "Now about these twinkies. I think there's only one way I can really explain."
"How's that?" Duncan asked flatly. He groaned, anticipating something unpleasant.
"Well," he began, his hand proudly touching his chest while his nose smugly rose into the air. "With a song!" RJ cleared his throat, found his pitch (although just barely,) and then with a delicate hop to the side, began.
Oh!
I would do anything for a twinkie!
I would roll in something stinky.
I'd shave my tail!
Then eat a snail!
Yes, I'd do anything for a twinkie!
I would like to stay up late,
Maybe even m-
"Okay, that's enough you vocal villain," Ozzie said as he tightly squeezed his hand over RJ's muzzle. "You're going to make my tail curl! And, you're giving me the urge to, to die!"
RJ snorted. "Well excuse me. I'm sorry you can't appreciate fine singing."
"It's not just me." Ozzie pointed to Hammy, who was rolling on the ground, shoving grass into his ears.
"You stink!" came an angry squeak.
Duncan, who was also cringing, and doing his best to smother his ears, glanced downward at him. "It's pretty bad isn't it, Sammy?"
"No! It's Hammy!" he wailed.
"At least get his name right, you fat idiot," RJ spat, his teeth showing clearly.
Duncan quickly spun on him, a tightly balled first shoved into his hip. "Get mine right!" he snapped, and then suddenly gasped, clutching a paw over his mouth in surprise at his sudden bravery.
"I feel like a part of me just died!" came a shaken voice below them. Hammy packed a few clumps of dirt into his ears, along with the tangles of grass. He looked away from the others, as though too ashamed to draw their attention.
"I have, Duncan," RJ sneered after giving Hammy a quick glance. After a forced cough, he added: "Hines."
Hammy shivered below them. "So cold. So very cold."
With a roll of his eyes, RJ returned his attention to him. "It's going to be okay, Hammy. Snap out of it! It isn't the first time someone made that mistake."
"It isn't Duncan Hines! Just Duncan!"
"Hey! I'm not the one that said you were named after a cake box. If you prefer, I'll call you Betty." RJ was nearly standing on Duncan's feet during the retort.
Ozzie finally interjected, dramatically throwing his hands up in frustration. "Could you please, stop fighting? Explain to him, so we can get your twinkies, so we can stop this nonsense. Please."
Taking a step back, RJ crossed his arms. "Oh, fine. I shall explain for my ferociously fat friend," he said sourly. "To me, the twinkie is proof that God exists, and furthermore that he must surely be a raccoon, as only a being so naturally divine could create such a flawlessly perfect treat." His chest swelled with pride as he continued, a bit of moisture leaking from the corners of his mouth. "Begin with a fluffy, golden layer, made with a touch of the sun itself. Then, fill it with only the freshest, creamiest, most delectable sugary filling, and individually wrap them to be placed in an easy to open box. Each is nearly four inches of mouth watering, toe tingling, eye popping excitement for your tongue! And you can never have enough, oh no. Never!"
"They give you big thighs!"
"Why, yes they do Hammy." By the time RJ was finished, he had to take a step to the side to get out of the puddle that had formed at his feet. He shook off each foot, his tongue flicking out in disgust.
While trying to digest the description, Duncan gnawed his paw. One of his ears twitched rapidly, as though disturbed by a fly that would not leave it alone. "I think I've seen those before," he finally said. "Yellow, squishy, full of cream. About this long." He held his fingers about four inches apart, squinting through them.
The initial response from RJ was a loud growl from his stomach. "Good enough. Now go get them! Hurry! Shoo!" He fanned his fingers dismissively, eyes slightly lidded. "I don't want to look at you anymore."
"That's why I'm here!" Duncan said eagerly, standing straight and having to blow the fur out of his eyes. He began to dash to the house before them, but was quickly halted by a heavy tug on the back of his neck.
RJ cleared his throat before releasing him. "By the way, wrong house. It's over there. Three houses that way." He pointed to his left, through the nearby hedge. "And you better hurry, while no one's home."
"How do you know no one's home?"
"Oh, I'm just that good." He did not look back as he trotted away, the blue goggles swinging in a wide circle at his side.
Once RJ and Hammy had were gone, Duncan shrugged and began walking to where he had been directed. He had to cut through a few more hedgerows, which resulted in a few nicks and cuts from stray branches that he did not see until it was too late. The irritation for once made him consider trimming the overgrown tuft of fur over his eyes. At least then it would have been easier to see the obstacles coming.
When he pushed his way out of the first hedge, he paused to make sure Ozzie was still with him. Out popped the opossum a short moment later. After gaining his footing he followed, letting Duncan lead, but occasionally skipping ahead as it was difficult for him to walk slowly enough to not pass him.
To their right was a kidney shaped swimming pool. A child's size duck float drifted along the water, occasionally bumping into an orca float that had seen better days; the dorsal fin was sagging from air loss and the paint was fading. What was left in the way of open water was not much, as each cookie cutter home had been built with the smallest pool that could still be considered one, in the ongoing effort to do things as cheaply as possible. Duncan took a look at this, and then quickly averted his eyes with a shiver. To him, pools were yet another unfamiliar danger of the outside world.
Ozzie skipped ahead of him momentarily. He did a quick spin to face him, and then pulled out a carrot from a fanny pack he had been wearing. "Carrot?"
"Oh sure!" It was snatched away without a second thought. His overgrown teeth still needed work, and he gnawed the carrot eagerly, enjoying the momentary relief it brought.
Soon they had passed through the next hedgerow, with only a slight set back. Outside of Duncan getting stuck between two branches, and having to play a game of Twister to free himself, it was easy going. Once again, Ozzie managed to slip through unscathed.
The following yard had a bit more of interest. Alongside the pool was a blue trampoline, much like one would see in the many funniest video shows, where it was required each time to show someone taking a misguided bounce to the ground, or falling through the edge, and thus getting hit between the legs; it was bordered by an eight foot net on each side, to prevent the former from happening. Rolled underneath the trampoline was a plastic, pastel colored tricycle, that had a pouch connected to the handles to hold a cell phone, and an addition between them to hold a canned drink. Resting at the back of the house sat a tall, wide, metallic beast of a grill. It reflected the sunlight like a signaling mirror, and appeared to be the lone object that had been regularly maintained.
Duncan had to be tugged away from the hypnotic display of shininess coming from the grill. Even after passing through to the final yard, he still felt the need to stare at it. The only problem was, the brightness made his eyes burn.
"Ouch," he choked under his breath, rubbing his eyes in hopes of clearing the spots he saw. Once his vision was reasonably clear, he stopped to look up at the house. It was almost identical to the others, but instinct told him he was in the right place. Or, perhaps it was the abused soccer ball near the back door.
"So, how do we get in?" he asked.
"Is there a pet door? We use those a lot," Ozzie said. A few leaves had stuck to his fur and he was busy brushing them out. A few stubbornly clung to his cheek, which had to be more forcefully removed. "Curse you, mother of nature," he muttered.
"What's a pet door?" His ears twitched in Ozzie's direction.
"Well, when humans live with a cat, or sometimes a dog, they have a tiny door in a door, that they can walk through to get outside." As he said this, his fingers mimicked a pair of legs, walking from right to left across his face.
"Humans can fit through little doors? Wow, I didn't know that."
"No, no. They go through the big door. The cat or dog goes through the little door."
"Oooooh," Duncan said after a moment's thought. "There isn't one. They never let me leave the house."
"Then we'll find the key!" Ozzie heroically pumped his fist in the air, and then hurried to the front of the house.
Duncan quickly followed. Panting heavily from the run, he stopped next to him by the front door. "How will we find it?"
"Simple," he said dramatically as he leaned over and placed his fingers under the welcome mat; it was made of a foul smelling black rubber, and painted with pastel flowers and humming birds.
"Humans always leave the keys under the mat!" He heaved it upward, tossing the mat into the grass. Much to his horror, there were no keys to be found.
"Noooo!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees. "RJ, was, wrong! They, aren't there!" He held out his hands, as though pleading for mercy, and then made two tight fists, clutching them together at his chest. Ozzie promptly pretended to die.
Duncan shot a glance at him as he lay on his back, his tongue lifelessly hanging to the pavement. "Why do you always do that? I'll just ask this guy." As he said this, he gestured to a lawn gnome in the grass.
"Hey buddy, we're looking for a key," he said, stepping up to the gnome, and looking him in the yes. They were the same height, minus the pointy hat. "Do you think you can help us?"
The plastic figure said nothing, forever smiling.
"Excuse me? Hello?" Duncan's foot thumped anxiously. "Can you help us? We need the key. Key. Understand?"
He was once again met with the painted smile.
"You know, it's very very rude to not answer when someone is talking to you. We desperately need some help or I'm going to get eaten by dogs and you just stand there smiling at me like you don't care! With your stupid hat!" His voice had gone shrill by the end, but it could not coax the gnome into talking. He turned his head for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then looked it directly in the eyes again as he gripped the shoulders. "Why won't you talk to me?! The hat guy on that travel commercial talks all the time!"
It was not until the head began to rock and then topple to the ground that Duncan realized that he had been shaking the gnome. Horrified, he looked down at the decapitated little man. His voice leapt two octaves in an emasculated scream that threatened to break all of the nearby windows; a car alarm went off in the distance. Running around in a circle with his arms in the air, he yelped. "I killed him I killed him!"
Ozzie, who was slowly picking himself off the ground, saw this and gasped. He fell onto his back again.
"Get up, we've got to hide the evidence!" Duncan gave a nervous hop as he looked around for a safe place.
Still on his back, Ozzie opened his eyes and rested on his arms. He squinted past the frantic rabbit to the massacre. After blinking a few times, he noticed what it really was. But more importantly, he noticed something shining atop the neck stump. "Hey look, right there!" he said, pointing with a rigid arm, and then hopping to his feet.
Duncan gasped as he covered his eyes. Ever so slowly, he turned so that he could peek out the side of his palms. His eye was caught by a bright glimmer, which resulted in another scream. He bolted, nearly tripping over his feet, and ducked behind Ozzie's back. "He's all ready bleeding and it's shiny!!" he wailed.
"No, you. . ." He paused and looked over his shoulder to see the shivering rabbit. ". . .do not understand. That isn't blood, it's the key! And that wasn't a man, it was a decoration."
"Ohhh! Of course. I knew that, I just forgot what they looked like. Yeah, that's it." He forced a laugh, as though it had all been a joke.
Trotting past Ozzie, he picked up the key, and marveled as it reflected the sunlight. Upon seeing a sliver of his reflection, he decided to groom for a moment as the messy tuft of hair over his eyes was an even bigger mess than usual. He blew it out of the way, tried to brush it back, and then waved the key at door. When nothing happened, he addressed Ozzie. "It's not working."
"What are you doing?"
Duncan waved the key at the door again. His eyes clenched tightly as he strained in vain. "Um, trying to make the door open," he said squeaked with an embarrassed smirk.
"It goes in the door," Ozzie said casually. "In the hole, in the knob. You turn it and push the door open, and then you can go inside the house!" Each action was dramatically mimed.
"Oh!" Once the idea had sunk in, he scratched at his chin, and then gazed up at the doorknob. "I don't think I can reach that," he said, sighing in defeat. "It's too high."
Ozzie took a step back, holding out his hands vertically to judge the distance. "I bet you could if you stood on my shoulders." He ran up to the door, stopping a few inches before it, and then squatted as he tapped his shoulder. "Climb on!"
"Good idea!" After a period of trial and error, he finally found himself on Ozzie's shoulders. There was a lot of straining and grunting from below, as he did his best to support the weight.
Soon, Ozzie's legs began to tremble. They quickly began to feel like loose rubber bands. He took a deep breath and tried to look up at the knob. "What's taking so long?" he said through his teeth.
"It's not working!" came the reply, followed by a hasty clunking sound. "I'm turning the key, and nothing is happening!"
"You have to turn it to the right."
"Which way is that?!"
Ozzie stifled a frustrated groan. "The way you aren't turning it."
"Oh right! To the right." At the same moment he realized this, there was a click. The door promptly swung open.
"Good, now please get down," Ozzie said as nicely as he could with all of his muscles burning and about to fail him.
This he did. As soon as Duncan landed, he peered into the house; a very relieved moan came from behind him. "Okay this is it!" he said after checking out the front hallway. He turned to Ozzie, placing his hands on his shoulders as he had done the gnome, although he did not shake this time. A very stern, yet peaceful look came over him. "I have to do this myself. I want to go alone."
"Okay. Just hurry."
"No no no. That's not what you're supposed to say."
"I'm not?" Ozzie asked, confused. "But it is okay. You're not making sense."
Duncan sighed, drawing a hand over his brow. "You're supposed to say, 'I can't let you do this alone!' That's the way these things always work."
"Yes I can, you crazy rabbit."
As though he did not hear the remark, he continued. "And then I say, 'No, take care of yourself! And if I don't come back, tell Heather I love her!'"
"You do?"
"Oh, never mind! It was just an example!" Not wishing to speak anymore about it, he pushed away from Ozzie and dashed into the house.
Once inside, Duncan took a quick glance around the home. Everything was just as he remembered, although he was not used to viewing the house from the floor. He had not been there in nearly a week, but it felt as though he had never left. Everything looked and smelled the same. Even the television had been left on, as was often the case, especially with the sets in the bedrooms.
The maternal glow coming from the screen instantly invited him to watch. An infomercial for a stain remover ran, complete with a man that could not stop yelling about the infinite wonders of the product. When he actually paused from this, he yelled instead about bonus gifts that one would receive if he or she ordered within the next fifteen minutes. Strangely enough, the same ad would reair not only later in the day, but for the next several months as well. There would always be fifteen minutes to order.
Fortunately for Duncan, there was nothing worth watching. Yet. Cautiously, he tiptoed into the living room, ignoring the yelling man. After peering around the furniture, he looked up to where his cage had been. It was gone. The stand that it had been on was folded up and resting against the wall by the entertainment center. Flattening himself against the back of the couch, he looked from side to side for any signs of danger. The coast was clear.
His eyes caught something in the carpet. Unable to tame his curiosity, he knelt down to inspect. It was a tiny brown ring that appeared to be made of some sort of organic material. Covering it was a thick, hardened layer of a white powdery substance. Duncan picked it up, turning it over between his fingers as a few bits flaked off and fell to the floor, disappearing into the carpet.
After waving it before his eyes, and giving it a quick sniff and lick, he realized that it was a piece of cereal, probably from the morning's breakfast. He remembered that often they ate on the couch, and so finding the piece in the carpet was not much of a surprise. He contemplated trying it, wiggling his nose a bit as he thought. Sure, it was basically junk, but it was so insignificant that it could not hurt. Duncan also reasoned that he was hungry, not having had anything that morning outside of a few dried up berries and a piece of bark. He gave the piece another lick, and that helped make up his mind. He needed sugar.
The cereal piece was hastily popped into his mouth as he looked from side to side frantically, as though expecting to be caught. No one was home, but with his stress level raised, he did not trust reason. Suddenly, his body went rigid. It was not from fear, but from a familiar, and very well missed tingling in his body: the sugar rush. Even the small portion caused his hands to momentarily tremble. He felt his feet patting the ground, slowly at first, but soon picking up speed to the point that he nearly rocketed into the air.
Duncan wrapped his knuckles on his head as he felt his concentration slipping like a greased ice fisherman. His spotty memory tried to recall where RJ had been, the places he had all ready looked, and where his owners had taken their food after returning from wherever it was that they got it. Usually the groceries were left in brown sacks in the middle of the kitchen for about a day; each item was slowly put away as it was actually needed. The only foods he could count on actually being stored immediately were the important frozen ones, like ice cream, pizza, and chocolate chip waffles.
He remembered watching RJ tear through every cabinet. Every one of them. If the twinkies were not hidden there, they had to be upstairs somewhere. He considered the refrigerator for a moment, but from what he had seen, snack cakes were not meant to be cold, especially not perfectly golden, delicious ones. Perhaps they were upstairs.
Several minutes later, and with numerous rug burns from dragging himself to the second floor, Duncan collapsed. He took a moment to catch his breath and thanked the sugar for helping him get as far as he had. As he lay there, he looked down the short hallway to see three doors, two of which had been left open. The lights had been left on as well. He felt a sinking sensation in his gut as he considered that the twinkies could very well be behind the closed door, and this time there was no way he could open it. He felt that if they were even half as amazing as RJ thought they were, that they would have most likely been kept in a safe place. Gradually he came to his feet once more, still breathing raggedly. There was not much he could do other than check the open rooms. He chose the nearest.
Inside was an explosion of toys. They were strewn about the floor in seemingly random places. Some were by the bed, some were under the window, some were by the television (which had been left on as well,) and some were resting under a truncated series of empty shelves that had been painted white and pink to match the Disney princess wallpaper. The bed, which stretched into the middle of the room, was also covered in a set of princess sheets and a blanket, although one could not easily tell with how they were untucked and bunched up near the end of the mattress.
A hilariously unfunny movie from the comedy channel provided background music as Duncan ventured further into the room. He had to step delicately to avoid tripping over any toys. Some of them appeared rather dangerous, especially one string haired doll with a motorized jaw; he could only begin to imagine what its purpose was. Any concentration he had was soon broken as he spotted a pizza box under the bed. He considered checking to see if any was left, but just as he entered into a debate with himself about the benefits of eating so much cheese and meat, he tripped.
Duncan yelped as he found himself eating carpet once more. He rolled onto his back and rubbed at his chin, which throbbed and ached. Along with the rug burn, he began to feel that he was earning a fair share of battle wounds. He hoped that he would be repaid for the sacrifice, but did not believe it would happen, not even for half a second. Sighing, he sat and looked around for what had caused his misfortune. It did not take long to find it.
By his feet lay a purple crayon. As he looked at some of the larger toys on the floor, and then back at the crayon, a perfectly timed round of laughter came from movie. "Oh, shut up," he spat as he gave a half glance at the screen.
As he further scanned the room, he noticed another, smaller room connected to it. Much to his surprise, clothes were hanging up inside in a well-organized manner. But over in the corner of it, was the most beautiful, welcome sight he had ever seen. The only other organized part of the room lay before him, smiling from below the clothing. He felt his face light up as he drew closer; any pain he felt had melted away like butter in the microwave.
Stacked inside was a pillar of snack boxes, packed firmly together against the wall. He wondered why they would be stored here and not with the regular food, but since he was sure that he had found what he needed, answering this question was not a concern. Fortunately for Duncan, there were pictures on each that revealed the contents. The top box contained fudge cakes, complete with a cream filling. The next two boxes had small, hexagonal shaped treats, with butterscotch icing and chocolate spots; they were known as Cheetah Chompers. Next was a box of peanut butter cookies (now with more peanut buttery flavor!) And then a few more boxes down, all the way to the bottom, he saw a picture of a certain fluffy, golden treat, that looked exactly as described.
Without wasting any time, he grabbed the box. The treat tower collapsed as soon as he did, and had it not been for a quick hop backwards, he would have been buried in them. He then just as quickly made his way from the room, leaping to and fro around the mess, as though playing a game of hopscotch. It was especially awkward while carrying a box that was nearly the same size as his body; fortunately the contents lacked enough substance to have any real weight.
Getting down the stairs proved to be more difficult. After a few unsuccessful attempts to step down them, he fell to his rump, box still in his arms, and scooted all the way to the bottom. A very sore rear met him there. After giving his tender rump a good massage, he glanced up at the TV in the living room. As soon as he did, he wished that he had not. A rerun of Andy Griffith that he had not yet seen was showing.
His eyes slowly traveled down to the twinkie box, out into the back yard, and then back to the screen. This process repeated several times, until with a heavy sigh, he talked himself into staying. He reasoned that the show would be over soon, that RJ could wait a little longer, and that maybe, just maybe, this would be the only episode that he had missed, and could finally say that he had seen every one.
As he sat before the couch, his eyes continued to fall on the twinkies. Gnawing on his lip, he pondered trying one. What could it hurt? If they were as good as RJ said, surely he deserved to try at least one for his efforts. Duncan thought about this for a minute, while watching Barney and Andy get into a silly argument. The show was soon interrupted for a set of commercials. He looked down at the box again. Sighing, he began to peel back the ends.
ooo
Twenty minutes later, Duncan stumbled into the back yard, where he hoped to find Ozzie. Rather quickly he did, standing beside the rear door. "Ozzie! I got them!" he called, and nearly dropped the box when he tried to wave.
With his attention held firmly by a paddleball, it took Ozzie a moment to notice him. "These contraptions were designed by a mad man! They're impossible! How, does RJ do it?!" he asked with a great deal of frustration, and a heavy wave of his free arm.
"Where'd you get that?"
"Trash can," Ozzie replied with a sudden coolness.
"Oh." There was a momentary pause, in which the paddleball was tossed aside, just barely missing the can as it struck the rim with a metallic clang, and then finally bounced to the grass. "I said I found them. Can we go?"
"Hey, you did!" he said after checking out the box. "Yes, let's go home."
ooo
"Look! I got them!" Duncan called as soon as he saw RJ returning from his swim. He had waited impatiently for hours, the box never leaving his grip. Unable to wait a few seconds longer, he hopped to his feet, and ran directly toward him with the box waving above his head.
RJ stopped abruptly, ducking to the side to avoid being tackled. "Thank you, I guess. I can't believe you didn't mess this up," RJ said as he snatched the box and lifted the goggles off of his eyes to inspect it. "And, you got the extra filling ones. I'm almost impressed."
"I got them just for you! Now we're even!" He grinned widely and held out his hand to shake.
"I didn't say we were friends yet." RJ corrected, licking his lips. With his attention on more important matters, he tore the wings off the end of the box, and then dived his arm into it. "Hey! There's only one left! There are supposed to be twelve in here!" he said after a startled pause.
Duncan squeaked with a nervous laugh. "Um, it was like that when I got it?"
"No, I don't think it was. You ate them, didn't you?"
"Well, you see, um-It's a funny story really."
"Funny? Do you think stealing from me is funny?!" he snarled.
Duncan began to tremble. Suddenly, he fell on all fours and wailed. "They were so good! I couldn't resist! I'm so sorry!"
"All right, butterball," RJ said as he dug through his golf bag. "Tell me how fast you can run."
"W-w-why?"
"Because," he began, his voice growing very warm and gentle. He pulled a large roll of duct tape from the bag, and with a rough tearing sound, pulled the tape back in a long strip. "I want to know how long it'll take me to catch you."
ooo
Later in the afternoon, Verne and RJ rested their backs against the log, and each enjoying a fruit drink. They spoke little. Their attention instead was on the constant chatter of birds. The various chirps and squawks combined to form a wash of cacophony. Every so often, a brave soul would stand out, but the others soon swallowed his voice. After listening to them for a while, Verne began to think he was hearing voices other than the birds, calling from within, but kept quiet in the event RJ thought he was losing his mind; or at least more so than normal.
"Have you seen Duncan anywhere?" Verne asked after finishing his drink. He crushed the juice box and set it to his side. "I heard he went to get your twinkies."
RJ unwrapped his one twinkie before answering, first placing it to his tongue and happily cooing. "Eh, he's hanging around," he said apathetically. "Maybe he dug a hole and got stuck in it."
"I was worried you had frightened him into leaving. You know he would never survive on his own," Verne said with a more concerned tone than he had received.
"Me?" RJ asked as he pointed to himself. "Verne, I'm hurt that you would think so. I wouldn't harm anyone."
"I just know how you've been treating him. He was really afraid of you, you know. I just hope that you'll leave him alone now that you have what you want."
He smiled and yawned before answering, taking the first bite of his twinkie. "Mmm, these are so good," came a voice muffled with cake and cream. "And I don't think he'll be bothering me anymore. We've made up. We even shook on it."
"Good. So what have you learned from this?"
"That extra filling is so worth it!" he said. All of his teeth shone as he smiled, along with bits of cake that stuck to them.
"And did you learn anything else?"
"Hmm." RJ pondered for a moment, and then took another mouthful of his treat between thoughts. "Okay, yes I did. Duct tape solves everything!"
"What do you mean by that?" he asked accusingly.
"My goggles, Verne. My goggles."
Groaning, he threw up his arms. "No! Anything else? Anything about not judging others until you get to know them? Or the value of friends?"
"No, not really," he said after taking the last bite. "But really, these things are delicious. You have to try them!"
"Ugh, you are helpless! I give up!" Verne stood as quickly as he could, which was still slow by ordinary means. "I'm going to the lake!"
"Okay, see you later Verne," RJ said with an unseen grin as he watched him leave. "Clean up that shell mildew while you're there!" He gave a wave and then closed his eyes for an afternoon nap.
Meanwhile, Hammy gaily trotted through the forest. Most of his fur was still damp from the swim earlier, and in clung to his skin in patches, whereas the rest was frizzed, giving him a wild appearance. As he walked, he nibbled a discarded pizza crust that he had found on the way back; a faint taste of pepperoni and sausage lingered on the dough. Happily he hummed to himself while finishing it.
Suddenly, a panicked voice came from above. "Hammy! Hammy! Help! You have to save me!"
He stopped in his tracks, gazing upward suspiciously. His eyes narrowed as he listened for the voice. "Who's that?" he asked.
"Up here above you! I need your help."
"God, is that you?" Hammy then asked after a moment's silence. "Because I've got something I wanna know!"
"No, it's me!"
Confused, he dropped the pizza crust and scratched his head. "God's wife?"
"No! It's Duncan! Come on Hammy, come up here. You're my only hope! You've got to let me down! I'm taped to the tree! I can't move!"
"I'll be right there!" Just as Hammy was about to bullet to the top, he paused. "Hey, wait a minute! You can't trick me! I'm not supposed to talk to you" he said angrily, sticking his fingers in his ears. "You want to eat all of my cookies. Well you can't have'em!"
"No Hammy! Don't. . ." Duncan went silent as he saw a red blur fly out of view, along with his last ounce of hope to be rescued anytime soon. Like a silver wrapped mummy, he waited, peering out through the one opening that had been left for his eyes.