Boilerplate Disclaimer: The various characters from the movie Zootopia are owned by Disney the great and powerful. Any and all registered trade names property of their respective owners. Cheap shots at celebrities constitute fair usage.

Reviewers, like Combat Engineer, gerbilHunter, GhostWolf88, Invader Johnny, Muzzlehatch, and Thomas Linquist receive replies and previews.

Any Old Iron is an old British music hall song. Some on the internet manufacture bogus claims that every song is about drugs, or homosexuality, or racism. There are enough real songs reflecting drug use, or homosexuality, or racism there is no reason to fantasize fitting all songs to your obsession. (Those obsessed with homosexuality interpret Any Old Iron that way.) YouTube has various versions. I like a classical version by music hall singer, Harry Champion, another by pre-Monkees Davy Jones, and Tsai Chin's 1963 cover - partially in Chinese.

Any Old Iron

At breakfast Uncle Charles asked, "Do the two of you want to walk downtown and see the changes?"

Judy suspected the invitation was meant more for Nick than her. "I'll stay and talk with Eleanor, and Streak wanted me to watch tapes of some of the games. Nick? You should go."

His uncle could grate on Nick's nerves, but he seemed bursting with desire to show Nick some changes, and Nick was very curious to see what had happened in the last few months.

As they walked Nick noticed some cracked sections of sidewalk had been repaired.

"Are the new places open yet?"

"Mostly. There was more damage to the old grocery building than expected, but the repairs are finally finished... Structure's now fine. Interior work on shelves, painting, and other details this week. We can stop by, animals are volunteering to help the workers. Old Greene is feeling the excitement. Did Eleanor tell you about the new business, the one I invested in?"

"You put your money into a business?" Nick asked. His uncle understood real estate, but had no experience with investing in start-ups. Nick hoped his uncle hadn't been conned.

"Family of armadillos with experience in metal working - forging iron and brass casting. Don't have a good location for them yet, using the old Masterson garage. I bought the equipment, but–"

"How much did you spend?"

"Doesn't matter. It's worth it."

"Are you serious? What does Fox Ridge need with a smith?"

His uncle sighed, "Nick, a few months ago a young fox accused me of having no imagination. I'm going to return the favor. They are bringing in very nice profit."

"Paying you back?"

"Eventually. Right now I'm putting it into more equipment, and finding a better location. There might be animals who'd want to watch smiths at work."

"So, what are they doing?"

"Several things. The buildings around town that need repair? Old iron parts have rusted out, or new metal braces needed? The forge. Handcrafted pulls or hardware for fine furniture? The forge. Hardware for the carpentry shop? The forge. Fixing some of the old machinery around town? The forge. They make knives. Custom cooking knives are in demand, and expensive! We sent out some paring knives to big-name chefs. Have orders for three full sets of knives, and they've said we can use their names and pictures in endorsements on-line. Custom fitted for the paw of the chef."

"You said Fox Ridge is getting products on-line?"

"Absolutely. Our web site looks great. Got a computer class out at the high school who run the site for a part of their grade."

"Fox Ridge Fine Furniture?"

Charles shrugged, "Slower than I expected. Perhaps that's to be expected, high end and expensive means I shouldn't expect a lot of orders, But the carpenters' shop is doing too well. I'm jealous."

"Carpenters' shop?"

"Can't have the fine furniture business associated with cheap carpentry work. I had the tools and lumber, and there was a need for people to do repair work. I don't tell them what to do. Manager of the carpentry side started doing some cheap things – book shelves and whatnot. Then they stumbled onto pie safes and–"

"Pie safes?"

"Place to store pies, back before refrigeration. Plain pine construction with sheets of tin on the sides and front, some small nail holes to make a pattern and allow ventilation, but small enough to keep out flies. There's usually some sort of design. Used to be in most homes. The antiques are worth money, so Carlos figured there'd be a call for new ones. More animals getting into baking. And since Fox Ridge carpentry turns them out made to an animal's exact size, with custom, hand-made angle-iron and hardware from the forge we're turning them out twenty-four seven right now."

The temporary home for the forge was an old gas station/garage at the edge of downtown. They passed the building on their way to the town center. There seemed to be no forging going on, but one of bay doors, once used to bring automobiles in for repair, was open and an armadillo cleaning inside the building waved, "Good Morning, Mister Meadows."

Charles sighed, "I had hoped they might be working. It's fascinating to watch them move metal. Ah well, there are other things to see."

There was activity around the soon-to-close tiny market, "Selling off everything that's left." There were many more animals around the soon-to-open large grocery, "May open as soon as Wednesday. Everyone in town is looking forward to it."

"Any work on the theater yet?"

"Just some cleaning - and fixed the roof. May need more repair than we thought. That's years down the road unless we find some outside investor. Don't know if we'll get to your mother's place at the end of the street today. She spends a lot of time there and says it's doing well."

"I'll visit it sometime this week."

There wasn't much at the drug store, several shelves of merchandise with a blackboard inviting animals to suggest items they wanted to see stocked. A teen fox stood behind the lunch counter, "Morning, Mister Meadows. Anything I can do for you?"

"Just showing my nephew the changes around town. Nick Wilde, he's a detective in Zootopia."

"I heard of you! You were mayor of Zootopia, weren't you?"

"That was an accident," Nick grinned.

"An accident? How do you get elected by–"

"Say, is that old espresso machine working."

"Uh, no. No one's really tried to get it working. We think it's probably corroded inside or something. The grinder's fine, but it wasn't sitting for years with water in it."

Nick shrugged, "I might give it a look while I'm in town."

"You could fix it? Really?"

"I can give it a look, really. I can fix record players. Maybe it just needs a good cleaning."

"Be wonderful if you could get it working," his uncle told him.

"But realize my motives are entirely selfish, I'd love a real espresso while I'm here. Judy has work to do and I need something to do with myself."

"Soft drink?" the teen asked optimistically.

"Maybe later, Want to show my nephew the furniture store."

The building next to the drug store appeared to be... "A bakery?" asked Nick. "Has it failed already?"

"No, it's not open every day yet. I'm hoping soon. On baking days there's usually a line. They need more fox recipes... But some of their stuff isn't bad. If you can get the espresso machine working you can have a cup with a... I don't know the name of the thing. I just point and they know what I mean."

They continued down the street to the next block. The building, now used for building furniture, had been a store selling furniture in Fox Ridge's glory days. The large area in back, formerly storage for sales stock, had been converted into work space. Large display windows on either side of the front doorway once displayed couches and beds. The windows and entrance had been beautifully restored. On the right side were displayed a few of the items for the fine furniture business and the forge. "I can see why the custom knives are on this side," commented Nick as he looked over a display.

The window on the other side contained items from the carpentry side of the business. Bookcases, television stands, and other items, mostly of pine and unpainted. "Pie safes?" asked Nick pointing to three objects in different sizes that matched the description his uncle had given. Charles nodded in agreement.

They pushed open the door. An old fox sat in a rocking chair, reading a book – the picture of tranquility slightly jarred by the laptop computer on the table beside him. "Morning Mister Meadows."

"Morning, Ren. What's up?"

"Got a couple armadillos out doing repair work over the grooming salon. Order for a sideboard and there's–"

"Back up. Sideboard? A real sideboard?"

"Wants inlaid pattern and everything. A lion, I think. The directions are printed out over by the computer for woods and size and stuff."

"Forget the email directions. That's probably a twelve thousand credit piece. For that money we send someone to talk with the lion about wood, measure the space where they plan to use it, and measure the lions so it will be the perfect height for them."

"And look them over to make sure they can afford twelve grand?" asked Nick.

"That too," his uncle admitted.

"And I run a credit check before I even mention it to Mister Meadows here."

"Oh, Ren, my nephew, Nick Wilde. He's in from Zootopia for a few days."

"Pleased to meet you." He looked at Charles, "Did you think about Marco's questions?"

"What questions?"

"You need to look at email and text message more."

"You can't teach an old fox new tricks," responded Charles.

Ren pointed to the computer beside him, then the old fox fished into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

"It's like the joke asking how many psychologists it takes to change a light bulb," Nick explained. "Only one, but the light bulb has to really want to change."

The old fox stared at Nick for a moment, "Nephew Nick, from Zootopia... You must be the one he calls a misguided genius."

"You weren't supposed to say that in front of him," Charles sighed. He turned to Nick, "Come on, Genius, let me show you the heart of this place."

"Misguided?" Nick asked as they walked to the back.

"How many reasons you want?"

"Think I'll just focus on the genius part." Nick could think of several things his uncle might have said that could start a quarrel between them. It was better to just drop it and let his uncle show off changes in Fox Ridge.

An elaborate, but incomplete, desk stood on the largely empty right side of the work area in the back. On the cluttered left three animals were at work, a teen fox and two armadillos. The younger armadillo stood at the circular saw, measuring and cutting pine boards.

"Good morning, Mister Meadows."

"'Morning, Dave. This is my nephew, Nick Wilde. Just showing him around. I heard Marco had questions for me?"

"You need to check your–"

"Ren already reminded me. Sometimes you just don't want to be disturbed. Can you tell me what it's about?"

"Sure... But you might want to know Tomas had trouble with a drawer on the desk."

"What?"

"Said it wouldn't go in. He may have tried to force it."

Charles muttered a soft, "Damn," then turned to go over and examine the desk. He picked up the drawer, sitting by the desk, and turned it around and over. Nick heard another soft curse and his uncle called, "Can we stay while I figure this out?"

"Sure," answered Nick.

His uncle took off his jacket and donned an apron.

"You are the nephew who changed your uncle?" the middle-aged armadillo whispered.

"Not sure I changed him. I think his heart is still the same."

David shrugged, "His heart is his own. But around you, you see the proof of change. I have served other patrones, but–"

"I don't like the sound of you serving Uncle Charlie."

"I have misspoke. No... Not a patrón, but I have served patrones. They cared nothing for me. They did not ask my opinion or respect my work. Here? I don't care if you uncle does not like armadillos. He respects my work. He made me a capataz. He listens to me. I–"

"Ha!" came from the direction of Charles Meadows. "Whoever put together the pedestal assembly used the wrong screws. Nick? I'd like to fix this. I can't believe Tomas tried to force it in."

"Go ahead and fix it," Nick called. "I've always thought if something didn't work you just needed a bigger hammer."

"Dave?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let my nephew get his hands on a hammer. And this drawer is scratched on the back and bottom, it will need to be replaced."

David's voice dropped down to the earlier tone as he continued talking with Nick. "The owner of the desk would never see the scratches. But your uncle would know, so it will be fixed. I worked for patrones. I never saw one who would get his paws dirty. Your uncle is a proud fox. He is a cold fox. But he is not afraid to dirty his paws. I do not ask him to like armadillos. He does not ask me to like foxes. We respect each other for who we are."

"You don't like foxes?"

"I did not say that. I said he does not ask me to like foxes. You are odd animals, and your uncle swears you are odder than most."

"How so?"

"You are seeing a rabbit?"

"Married her yesterday."

"It is not my concern," shrugged David. "I was raised that we marry our own kind. But it does not harm me if you marry outside your species. Your life is your own."

Nick let David return to his own work. The fox wandered over to watch the younger armadillo working on the circular saw, then watched the fox teen working on nearly completed pie safes.

"Custom measurements for what you're calling inexpensive kitchen furniture? Wouldn't a half dozen different sizes be more efficient?"

"Biometrics are one of the factors that make Fox Ridge pie safes special."

"Okay, why do measurements matter on something you put pies in?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure how many pies go in these. It makes you look like a serious baker to have one in the kitchen, but since no one can really see in, it's mostly used to hold stuff you want off the counter. But you want the top at eye height, shorter and you lose storage space – taller and you can't see the top and something gets misplaced. Bottom shelf is knee level, so you don't have to stoop too much. And with species having different builds you need to design to fit... It's really just a matter of cutting boards to size and figuring out where to put the hardware. It's almost as easy to make them custom as to have six or seven standard sizes – and there's added value in customization. Animals will pay a premium for something they know was custom built for them."

Nick shrugged, "Makes sense, I guess."

"Absolutely. If you can create the perception of added value into your business model you set yourself apart from the competition."

"There's actually competition for these?"

"Sort of... Those are the questions you're uncle hasn't read."

"There!" Charles Meadows declared, with a voice of satisfaction. He rose from his knees, brushed off the sawdust, and took off the apron before donning his jacket. He came over to the carpentry side of the shop. He addressed the older armadillo, "Dave, tell Tomas I am disappointed with him."

"He feels very sorry."

"He should. He will need to rebuild the drawer he damaged."

"Is there other punishment?"

"Fixing his problem isn't a punishment. I am more unhappy with whoever did the initial pedestal assembly. Tomas is usually so careful, where was his head?"

"He wished to finish it."

"And trying to be fast ended up costing more time. Now, what were Marco's questions?"

"The reporter who wrote an article on the pie safes?"

"Yes. I can't believe she was more interested in them than–"

The armadillo cleared his throat. "The article created more interest. That is why orders have increased. Others are interested in making them. A small and a short firm are interested in licensing our design. There was an offer from uBuy for us to sell an unassembled version online."

"Your design?," asked Nick. "I thought these were some kind of old kitchen thing."

"They are," David assured him. "But Marco and the smiths developed some design touches Fox Ridge Carpentry has registered."

Nick felt suspicious that his uncle might have read the emailed questions and was not sure what to do. During the last thirty or forty years Charles Meadows had little experience with success. The detective called over to the teen fox, "Hey, can you come over here a minute? I'd like your opinion."

"He's just–" began David.

"I'd like to hear his opinion," Nick told the older animals. The teen joined them, and Nick asked, "You know the questions?" The teen nodded. "What do you think?"

The teen seemed slightly nervous about being included in the conversation, but had definite ideas. "Well, we don't have tools or workers to produce small units. If Fox Ridge worked out a licensing agreement, even if the payment per unit for using the Fox Ridge design is low, the small market is huge. Those are credits in the bank with no expenditure on our part. The short manufacturer... They are a big place, they have automation that can turn things out cheaper than we can. If we license the Fox Ridge design they might put Fox Ridge out of business, in my opinion. Now, uBuy... There's a DIY market that–"

Both Charles and David looked a little confused.

"DIY, do-it-yourself," explained Nick.

"Exactly," the teen nodded. "Some animals like to put things together themselves. An unassembled safe would ship cheaper, and low labor costs... Well, less in the carpentry shop. The smiths would be making more hardware. We could either cut the sides to the users' height, or we could let them cut them to size themselves. In either case I think we could have the same, or higher, profit margin on the pie safes and – with the savings on the cost of assembly labor – we could sell the kit version cheaper but still make same or better profit."

"You said the short company has more automation?"

"I looked them up."

"Will they hurt our sales if they start making pie safes with the old design?"

The teen hesitated and made an 'I don't know' gesture. "The Fox Ridge design is so much better than the public domain versions they may not bother. If they use the old design our version is so superior they'll have trouble competing."

"You said they'd be cheaper," Nick reminded him. "People will buy crap rather than spending ten creds more for something decent."

"Sometimes," agreed the youth. "If it's something you have to have you'll get it as cheap as possible. No one needs a pie safe. The fad will pass. But while it's around most of the animals want one will buy better quality, if the better quality is obvious."

"I guess that makes sense."

The teen nervously shuffled his feet, wondering if he could say a bit more, then gathering his nerve, offered, "I think we should start considering market saturation."

"Market saturation?"

"Pie safes are a niche market. Not all animals want them, and eventually demand will drop. They've given Fox Ridge Carpentry name recognition and an association with quality products. I think Fox Ridge needs more product diversity in terms of kitchen items. Expanding product line will keep the business going strong if one item loses popularity.

David nodded his head. "Makes sense. We should ask animals for ideas."

"Oh, and if we license with the small company? We could partner with them in product development. Save money on R and D."

"R and D..." Charles asked, "Research and development?"

"Exactly."

Charles sighed, "Need to talk with Marco tomorrow. I want to know his ideas." He turned to the teen. "When are you out of school?"

"Three, Sir."

"I want you there at the meeting. Four."

As they left the wood-working shop Nick told his uncle, "That's a sharp youngster. You should send him out to do the biometrics on the lion who wants the desk."

"Biometrics?

"Fancy word for taking measurement."

Charles thought a minute. "I may. Need fox faces for Fox Ridge Fine Furniture."

Nick sighed inwardly, his uncle's prejudices still came through. Perhaps he should take the old armadillo's view that limited progress is still progress.

"Well, if they're doing construction down at the grooming shop it probably isn't open either. It's like the bakery, not open every day yet. Soda and fried egg sandwich at the drug store for lunch before heading home?"

Soon after Nick and his uncle left the house in the morning Judy put in a DVD to watch a game tape. She sat on the couch with Nick's mother.

"I'm not sure how excited I can be at the tapes, Dear," Eleanor told the rabbit. "I know Fox Ridge won."

"I not interested so much in the fact they won, but how. They asked me to watch a practice this afternoon. Their coach is sick?"

"Yes, poor thing. Started the school year, but about a month ago she... Well, I've heard she's doing well with chemo and hopes to be back next year."

Judy decided not to report Streak's comments on how she was running things in the coach's absence, and the fact some players resented her efforts. "I don't know if I have anything for running around the field this afternoon. Is there–"

"The little shop Isabella and I opened would have some shorts your size."

"Thanks. Can I watch an hour or two of game tape first?"

"Certainly. Let me straighten in the kitchen for a minute and I'll be back to watch the games. Charles and I may drive over to see the game next Friday. It's very exciting."

The game tape was not especially well done. High school game tapes seldom are. But whoever had recorded the game had used a tripod, so it didn't suffer from the jerky movements of a handheld camera.

"They play very well, don't they?" Eleanor asked when she rejoined Judy.

"They certainly do. Can I have a piece of paper and a pencil? I'd like to make some notes. Oh, and do you know the names of the players?"

"A few, not all."

"How about the goalie? She's quite amazing." When Judy had first seen an image of the squat armadillo in the box she had thought the team must have been desperate. But the female had an uncanny knack for anticipating the attempts to score against Fox Ridge.

"Oh, I know her name," Eleanor said. "Let me... Ah, here's a pad and a pen."

"Thanks."

"Everyone calls the goalie Connie. I can't swear it is her real name."

"The vixen, there," Judy pointed at the screen.

Mrs. Wilde stared at the screen. "That's Violet."

"And that armadillo near her?"

"I'm afraid I don't know."

"That's okay," Judy assured her, starting to take notes on the players. Eleanor watched with her for an hour, then headed to the shop to find something for Judy to wear at practice. The rabbit broke for lunch, then watched more videos. Nick and his uncle returned from their expedition downtown. Nick joined Judy on the couch and spent a few minutes trying to distract her, running his nose against her sensitive ears and telling her how wonderful she smelled.

"Later," she promised. "I'm supposed to run a practice, remember?"

"Of course I remember. Is is a crime to find your own wife attractive?"

"I love it when you say that," she assured him. "Let me devote myself to the game now, and I'll devote myself to you later."

"So, football is a higher priority than I am?"

"Mr. Wilde, please remember there is a time and place for everything. And this moment is football time. Your time is tonight." She gave him a fast, hard kiss. "But if you want to sit closer and put your arm around me I won't mind a bit."

Nick's uncle Charles looked in the room, saw Nick sitting with his arm around the rabbit, and moved on. Nick's mother came in and sat on a chair.

"Are you coming with us to the park this afternoon?" Eleanor asked her son.

"You don't need to come," Judy told them

"Nonsense. I want to talk with Nick, and show him something at the park."

"What are you wanting to show me, Mom?"

"If I tell you now it will spoil showing you."

Work had been done on the park since Nick and Judy's last visit. New goals were in place. And now, instead of a single pitch there were two, with a smaller one to the side for younger animals. Another change was that the worst of the damaged park benches were...

"Are those new, or did they get the old ones fixed?" asked Nick.

"Repaired. The forge is wonderful. Animals make a donation to pay for the materials... I think they've all been sponsored for repair, and even some new ones. But with the demands for making hardware right now the work on benches is on hold. Over there," she pointed to one of the restored benches.

"Do you want your bench, Ellie?" one of a pair of armadillo mothers asked.

"It's not my bench, Rose. I just want to show my son–"

"This is your Nick?"

"Yes," she told them as the two animals moved so that Nick could read a small brass plaque on the back of the bench. 'This bench given in honor of William Wilde'.

"Are you sure you don't want it? You paid–"

"I paid to have it repaired for any animal to use."

"Oh, and that rabbit over there, is that the Judy you talk about?"

Eleanor looked around and found that Judy had left them to go over to the full-sized field. There were a number of females, dressed for football, on the field, with a few male friends there chatting with them. To Judy's surprise there were two squirrels dressed for the practice - she didn't remember seeing any squirrel on the game tapes.

"And this is Judy Hopps," Streak told the group, some of whom had already met her. "She's like a really great football player, and a detective in a Zootopia, and a hero and everything. There's a bunch of stories about her on the internet!"

"None of which qualifies me to take over a practice," the rabbit told them. "And I wouldn't call myself a great player. I was on a great team in high school. We were our district champions. And I play in a mixed league in Zootopia. I–"

"Mixed, like in different species, or males and females playing on the same team," a vixen called.

"Both," an armadillo who had met her answered.

"I already said I don't know that I'm qualified to run a practice for you," Judy began again, "but Streak loaned me some DVDs of game tapes, and I have to say you are a very good team. Ms Redpaw clearly has done a fine job with the team. If you want me to lead a practice I'd be honored."

"Anyone but Streak," someone said.

"You really watched the games?" asked Streak.

"Yes."

"So, what did you think?"

"I told you, this is a very good team."

"I mean, specifically. What did you think? Who was really great?"

Judy sighed. She had half expected the vixen to ask the question, but had hoped it wouldn't be asked. She found the squat armadillo standing quietly to her right, and gestured. "I don't think I've ever seen a high school goalie as good as Connie." She pointed at a vixen she recognized from the tape, but didn't have a name for. "Your defense against Plainview? Outstanding, although I felt you could be a little more aggressive." Violet, a vixen Judy recognized from the tape, received praise, as did an armadillo mid-fielder Judy for whom Judy had no name.

Streak fidgeted impatiently as Judy praised a couple other players. "What about me?" she finally demanded.

"Could I talk with you after practice?"

"No, I want to hear now!"

"Okay, I saw that you have some wonderful offensive skills," Judy told her. "But my question is, do you know how to pass?"

"What?"

"Pass, as in kick the ball to the forward and let her attack the goal."

A vixen laughed, "You sound just like Ms Redpaw," she called to Judy

"Shut up!" Streak snarled at the other player. "I'm the best scorer on the team!"

"That doesn't answer the question I asked," Judy reminded her.

"You can't win without scoring goals!"

"But they don't all have to come from the same player. Fox Ridge... Any team needs a balanced offense."

"I still say a team has to make goals to win."

"I didn't disagree with you... Streak, would you rather score three goals and see Fox Ridge lose or score one goal and see Fox Ridge win?"

"If I score three goals we'll–"

"Answer the question," an armadillo demanded. "Do you want Fox Ridge to win?"

"Of course I want Fox Ridge to win," snapped the vixen.

Judy felt a fight brewing. "We're here to practice. Coach Prowler said it was all right for me to lead a practice session. I'm willing to try, but only if you want me to."

There were multiple voices calling for Judy to lead some skill drills for the team. Streak said nothing, and kept her sulky silence for several minutes. Judy turned to a few animals standing nervously in a group. "I'm not sure if I saw you in the games I watched."

"Substitutes and scrubs for scrimmaging," a vixen explained.

"Well, I'd like you to participate too," Judy told them. "And I'd like everyone's names."

One of the squirrel twins introduced herself as, "Ginger, and this is my sister, Cinnamon."

"Are you sure?" the second squirrel demanded. "I thought I was Ginger."

"No... At least I think I'm Ginger."

"We just call them the spice twins," an armadillo told Judy in a loud whisper. "It's easier that way."

Judy sighed, it wasn't easier for her. Practice ran for two hours. Judy was impressed by the spice twins, and wondered why they weren't on the first team, she suspected their real or pretended silly behavior was what held them back. Streak tried to impress Judy during the practice by displaying her passing game. It was apparent to Judy as well as the other players that Streak's passing game was not as strong as her other abilities. Still, it was obvious to Judy this was a team of females with a lot of talent, who had been coached well.

Players shouted thanks at the end of practice as they left the field. Judy could sense Streak's frustration and managed a private word with the vixen. "You're a great player, you just need to work on being a complete player. You're only a junior?"

"Yes."

"The colleges will be lining up to offer scholarships if you can work on the skill sets where you're a little behind. You certainly have the talent, it's just a matter of being a more complete player...

"You really think colleges will want me."

"A player with your ability? If I was college recruiter I'd want you at my school."

"Thanks."

"One other thing, I didn't have a chance to talk with you alone yesterday. You called the male team losers?"

"They are! They didn't even make the playoff for our division!"

"Be that as it may, if the female team was struggling and–"

"We aren't!"

"I said if. If the female team had a bad year would you want the male team calling you losers?"

Streak hesitated, "Okay... You're right."

Judy grinned and raised a fist, "Go Fox Ridge!"

The vixen smiled back and exchanged a fist bump, "Go Fox Ridge!"

Several parents congratulated Judy for running the practice. The rabbit eventually made it over to Nick and his mother. Nick took an exaggerated deep breath. "Someone had a hard practice."

'You're telling me," the tired rabbit answered. She turned to Eleanor, "I'll take a shower before dinner."

Nick leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Want me to shower with you?"

"Nicholas, I wish you would remember your poor old mother has not lost her hearing," Eleanor scolded.

"Sorry, Mom," laughed Nick, "I should never underestimate you."

"Dangerous for any animal to underestimate a mother," Judy seconded.