 
Tickle Box

By Bobby A. Troutt

Copyright 2013 Bobby A. Troutt

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Strike Three

Honk

The Crow's Nest

Ophelia's Shoes

Wiggles the Worm

Buzzard Breath

The Swan on Willow Lake

One Feather

The Kite with the Rainbow Tail

Bizzy Bee of Whispering Valley

That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles

*****

Tickle Box

Strike Three

Strike one, strike two and strike three was in the air once again in the little town of Tyler. Spring had finally come; baseball fever was spreading throughout Tyler and the other neighboring towns of Sideview, Gravely Hill and Bon Air like wildfire.

Everyone was excited, especially little Joey Delmotte who was at Pleasant Field Park in Tyler for the little league tryouts.

"Hey, kid," yelled a deep voice from home plate. "Are you here for the tryouts?"

"Yes, sir, I am," replied Joey as he tucked his glove under his arm and ran over to the man.

"Hi, I'm Coach Martin of the Tyler Sparrows," he said.

"Hi, Mr. Martin, I'm Joey Delmotte. I just moved here from Jasper."

"So, are you here to try out for baseball?" asked Coach Martin.

"Yes, I am," replied Joey.

"Are you any good?" questioned the coach.

"I think so," he said with hesitation.

"Have you ever played before?" asked Coach Martin.

"No, I haven't; but I love baseball. It has always been my dream to play," replied Joey.

When Joey took off his jacket, Coach Martin noticed that he only had one arm.

"Okay, boys," yelled the coach. "Let's all gather around home plate for a little meeting before we get started."

As Coach Martin talked to the boys, he noticed Joey standing in the back all bright-eyed. He was all ears as he listened to everything Coach Martin was saying. However, a lot of the other boys were playing around, giggling and talking. Coach Martin even had to call them down a few times. But not Joey; he came to play ball.

"Okay, boys, let's see what you can do!" yelled Coach Martin.

First, he worked with the boys in the infield. Joey tried hard but just didn't fit in. He couldn't get himself in front of the ball to get his glove down and it caused him to miss the balls. It was the same story when he was in the outfield. In the outfield, Joey couldn't judge the ball in the air. He was either too far under the ball or not far enough under it. It was exactly what Coach Martin was afraid of. Joey didn't have what it took to play. He had the spirit to play but not the ability.

"Okay," yelled Coach Martin, "let's hit a few."

The boys took turns at bat. There were some good hitters and some bad ones. Guess what? Yeah, you're right; Joey was one of the bad ones.

"Strike one," yelled the coach. "Strike two," he yelled again.

Joey stood at the plate holding the bat with his one hand. He swung with all his might.

"Strike three, you're out Joey!" cried Coach Martin. "Next batter up, let's look alive out there, boys."

Joey walked over to the dugout and sat down on the bench with the others. He was disappointed and discouraged. He knew he would never make the team. But, there was one thing he knew in his heart; he tried his best. Sometimes, that's all anyone can do.

"Hey, gang, its strike three you're out," yelled Billy Ray the star player of the Sparrows as he poked fun at Joey. "That's going to be your new nickname, Strike Three."

"Leave him alone, Billy Ray," insisted Chip, one of the older players.

"He's a real Louisville slugger," laughed Billy Ray as he walked by and pulled Joey's hat down over his eyes.

"What's going on over here?" asked Coach Martin when he walked into the dugout.

Everyone sat quietly and didn't say a word.

"Everything is cool, coach," said Joey.

As Coach Martin turned and walked away, Billy Ray whispered to Joey, "Strike Three."

It was Billy Ray's turn at bat. The pitch was low to the outside but Billy Ray's bat made contact with the ball. Pop sounded the ball as it drove long and high over the outfield fence.

"Home run!" yelled Coach Martin. "Bring it in, boys. I think we've had enough for today."

The boys gathered around the dugout and waited for Coach Martin to make his decision. Finally, Coach Martin had made up his mind.

"First, I want to say that I believe you all have put forth a great effort," said Coach Martin. "Unfortunately, there are some who didn't make the team. I hope, if you're not chosen, that you will keep practicing to get better. Never give up or stop trying. You're a good bunch of boys."

Coach Martin called the names of the boys he had chosen. Joey listened for his name but it wasn't called. The ones that made it cheered while Joey and the others walked away. Coach Martin watched as he and the others walked away. He knew there was something special about Joey.

"Joey!" Coach Martin yelled out.

Joey quickly turned around and saw Coach Martin running toward him.

"Hey, Joey, wait a minute," cried Coach Martin.

"What is it, coach?" asked Joey.

"I was wondering if you would like to be the bat boy for the Sparrows."

"Would I!" exclaimed Joey. "That would be great, coach. Whoopee!" yelled Joey. "I made the team."

Joey's eyes sparkled as a big smile crossed his face. He was only the bat boy, but to him it was the beginning of his dream. As Joey walked away, Coach Martin turned with a smile, took his hat off, ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. That Joey, thought Coach Martin, is one special kid.

The next few weeks were very important as the Sparrows got ready for their first game. Joey worked hard and encouraged the others when they failed. Joey's nickname, Strike Three, stuck with him. But, in the end, the little one armed bat boy that wore uniform number three would be remembered forever. Everyone loved Joey, including Billy Ray, even though he wouldn't admit it. Joey worked hard to help the team and was a great inspiration. After each practice, Chip and some of the other boys stayed behind and helped Joey practice his hitting, catching and throwing. Billy Ray only hung around to laugh at him and tell the others they were wasting their time. Billy Ray may have been the homerun king of the summer league, but whenever he struck out it humbled him down. But, guess what? Joey always tried to cheer him up. Unfortunately, Billy Ray still had no time for him.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the opening game of the summer little league," exclaimed the announcer. "My name is Bob Bentley and I'll be your announcer for the games."

"Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the park," sang the crowd.

"This crowd is wild here today at Pleasant Field Park!" shouted announcer Bob. "They have baseball fever."

Everyone stood for the National Anthem. The Mayor of Tyler threw out the first ball of the season and the crowd cheered louder than ever.

"Play ball!" yelled the umpire.

The pitcher wound up and threw the ball toward home plate. Pop sounded the bat as it drove the ball toward outfield. It was a base hit.

"We're off to a great start," yelled announcer Bob.

It wasn't Wrigley Field or Yankee Stadium, but to Joey it didn't matter. He was proud to be part of a team in Pleasant Field Park. The summer league was the next biggest thing to the county fair. For the next few months, everyone would enjoy the exciting games. The first game went to the bottom of the ninth; the Sparrows defeated the Sideview J's 5-3.

From the first game to the end of the season, the Sparrows had their wins and losses. As time passed, with the help of Joey's friends and his hard work, a future valuable player was created. It was Billy Ray's last year to play and Coach Martin hated to lose him. The team had a good season that summer. They were midway through the season and had nine wins and six losses. They were on their way to the playoffs. Finally, the time came for the championship game.

"Welcome everyone to the Little League World Series," exclaimed announcer Bob. "It's between the Tyler Sparrows and the Bon Air Eagles. Listen to this crowd cheer here at Pleasant Field Park. One of these teams will walk away, today, the winner of the summer league."

Joey and the team were excited. The Eagles were first up to bat.

"There's the pitch," said announcer Bob. "It's low and to the inside."

"Ball one," yelled the umpire.

"Get your popcorn, peanuts and cotton candy," shouted the man up in the stands.

The batter swung hard. Slam went the bat against the ball, knocking it down the third base line.

"Foul ball!" yelled the umpire.

"You can do it, Chip. You can do it," hollered Joey from the dugout as Chip wound up for his next pitch.

"Strike one," cried the umpire.

"This is going to be a close game," said announcer Bob. "There's the pitch."

Pop!

"It's a hit high out into right field. It's going, going, it's going... Wait a minute. Look at Billy Ray jump. He's got it! What a remarkable catch. It's an out," cried announcer Bob.

Everyone was jumping and shouting for joy until they saw Billy Ray lying on the field; he was hurt. Coach Martin rushed out to him to see what was wrong. The crowd was silent.

"It's hard to tell from here," said announcer Bob. "But, it looks like he's hurt his leg because he is limping. Coach Martin is helping him to the dugout. I don't know what the Sparrows will do now. It appears their homerun king is out for the rest of the game."

Coach Martin's team was one man short. He needed someone to take Billy Ray's place. But who! The only person available was Joey, the bat boy.

"Joey, you're going to have to go in for Billy Ray," said Coach Martin.

"Okay, coach," he said. "I'll do my best."

The game went on as both teams played hard to win the championship. It was a close game.

"It is the top of the ninth," cried announcer Bob. "The score is Sparrows 7 and Eagles 6. The Eagles have one man on base with two outs. The Eagle's batter is up to the plate. There's the pitch. Slam, it's a long hard drive over centerfield. It's a homerun! The Eagles take the lead. This has been an unbelievable game. Both of the teams are good enough to be the winner. Unfortunately, today, only one will walk away with the trophy. The next batter is at the plate. This young pitcher, Chip Wells, is under a lot of pressure and is really hanging in there," said announcer bob.

"Come on Chip," screamed his teammates. "You can do it."

"There it goes," exclaimed announcer Bob.

"Strike one," yelled the umpire. "Strike two," he yelled again. "Ball one," cried the voice from behind the plate.

Carefully, Chip looked the situation over. He nodded his head at the catcher, slowly wound up and threw a fastball across home plate.

"Strike three, you're out," cried the umpire.

"We're in the bottom of the ninth," said announcer Bob. "The Sparrows have 7 runs and the Eagles 8. Can the Sparrows pull it off with Billy Ray out of the game? Well, we're about to see!"

"Batter up," yelled the umpire.

"There's the pitch," exclaimed announcer Bob. "It's a base hit. The Sparrows have one man on base. The next batter is awaiting the pitch. There it is. It's a hit down the third baseline. The Sparrows have two men on base with no outs. There's the pitch. Pop!

"It's a fly ball to left field and he's out, one out and two to go. This game is really close. It has been something to see here today. The Sparrows have of a chance to win this. The next batter's up."

"Strike one," yelled the umpire. "Strike two," he yelled again.

Pop went the bat as the batter hit a line drive toward shortstop.

"Out two," yelled the umpire from behind home plate as the shortstop caught the ball.

The runner on second tagged up, ran and slid into third.

"Safe," yelled the umpire.

The runner on first was able to steal second while the Eagles tried to get the runner out at third.

"We're in the bottom of the ninth and the Sparrows are down by one point, 7 to 8. The Sparrows have two men on base and two outs," cried announcer Bob. "What a game this has been. Now up to bat is the Sparrow's bat boy; he is filling in for Billy Ray."

"You can do it, Joey," Coach Martin and the team yelled as they cheered him on.

"I'm counting on you, son," cried Coach Martin.

Joey looked around the field, knocked the dirt from his cleats and raised his bat behind him. The pitcher wound up and fired the ball across the plate.

"Ball one," yelled the umpire.

Joey hit the end of his bat on the plate and raised it once more behind him.

"Ball two," yelled the umpire.

The crowd eased up to the edge of their seats and the team nervously awaited the next pitch.

"Strike one," yelled the umpire as Joey swung and missed.

"Keep your eye on the ball," coached Coach Martin. "You can do it."

Billy Ray sat over in the dugout with his fingers crossed and talking to himself. Come on, little guy. Come on. You can do it Strike Three."

"Strike two," cried the umpire as the ball zoomed across the plate.

Joey looked out at the pitcher. He thought to himself, this is the moment. I can't let my friends down.

The pitcher slowly wound up and threw the ball toward home plate. Joey swung with all his might. His bat made contact with the ball. Crack went the bat and pop went the ball. It flew high and long over centerfield.

"It's going! It's going! It's gone! It's a homerun!" yelled announcer Bob. "The Sparrows have done it. They're the summer little league champions, Sparrows 10 to 8 over the Eagles."

As Joey rounded third base and headed for home, he looked at and the crowd. They were cheering and Coach Martin and the team gave him the thumbs up. When he crossed home plate, everyone went wild. They lifted Joey up on their shoulders and carried him around the infield. After things settled down a bit, Billy Ray eased out of the dugout and went over to Joey.

"I'm sorry, Joey, for picking on you," said Billy Ray.

"That's alright, Billy Ray. We couldn't have done it without you," replied Joey.

Then Billy Ray took his cap off and placed it on Joey's head.

"In my book, Joey, you're not Strike Three anymore, you're the Homerun King."

*****

Tickle Box

Honk

Honk, honk, honk sounded the geese as they circled around Emerald Lake. Yes, it was late summer and early fall at the lake as the geese flew in for the winter. Randy and his Granddad stood on the banks of the lake fishing as the flock of geese flew in.

"Look Granddad!" shouted Randy as he pointed to the geese.

"I see them," answered his Granddad as he looked up at the sky.

"I think they're going to land," cried Randy.

"I believe you're right, grandson and I'd say Honk is leading the way."

Honk, honk, honk went the gaggle of geese as they flew high in the deep, blue sky. Honk, honk, honk, they sounded when they landed on the water, flapping their wings.

"Honk," replied Randy with a slight giggle.

"Oh, Randy, have I ever told you the story about Honk?" asked his Granddad.

"No, you haven't, Granddad," he replied.

"Well, let me tell you," he laughed.

Granddad loves to tell stories, Randy thought to himself.

"When Honk was growing up," said his Granddad, "he couldn't honk like the other geese. That's how he got his nickname, Honk. His real name is Gilbert Quackster. Gilbert was really something."

"Why couldn't he honk?" questioned Randy.

"Well, Randy," replied his Granddad, "no one really knew at the time. Gilbert would try and try but all that would come out of his mouth was a little cushion of wind with a faint quack."

"Was that all?" asked Randy.

"That's it," said his Granddad. "He had a little tickle in his throat that bothered him."

"What kind of tickle was it?" asked Randy.

"Oh, it was kind of like the tickle you get in your throat when you have to cough," explained his Granddad. "Gilbert's dream was to one day lead the v-shaped formation and fly the other geese back and forth from north to south. The other geese wouldn't have anything to do with him because he was different; he couldn't honk. As Gilbert grew older and flew with the others, he flew alone. He tagged behind the formation and brought up the rear. The other geese laughed at Gilbert and made fun of him. They were a little too hard on him, at times, I would say. But, Gilbert was tough."

"Did anyone ever try to help him?" asked Randy.

"Yes, they did," explained his granddad. "Gilbert's Dad and Mom tried. Burney and Bedillia took him to see Doc. Gander several times. Doc. Gander examined him, but all he could find was a little redness in Gilbert's throat and that unexplainable tickle. All Doc. Gander ever said was that he would grow out of it. However, he did give him some awful tasting medicine for the tickle."

That tickle has something to do with his honk, thought Randy to himself. But what could it be!

"Honk had one friend that stood by him," his Granddad continued. "A friend all the way to the end; his name was Billy Ray. Gilbert and Billy Ray were friends all through the years. It didn't matter to Billy Ray if Gilbert could honk or not. He liked and accepted Gilbert for who he was."

"Gee, Granddad, that's great. Gilbert not only had a friend he could turn to but someone to help see him through."

"Yes, Randy," he said. "Gilbert and Billy Ray, those youngsters, went through a lot as the years went by. There was even a time when Gilbert was going to run away but Billy Ray talked him out of it. He told him to stay and face his problems because running away was not the answer. Watch your line, Randy. I think you're getting a bite," cautioned his Granddad. "Every time the other geese came against Gilbert, Billy Ray was by his side. The geese would honk something fierce. But, Gilbert always stood firm and told them he might be different and couldn't honk but he was still Gilbert. Watch it, son, he's going to take your worm," warned his Granddad.

"I'm ready, Granddad," whispered Randy.

"Gilbert never backed down. He stood firm on what he believed. The other geese would laugh, honk at him and waddle away. Jerk it, Randy; pull it up. You got him, son. Bring him in," cried his Granddad.

"Look, Granddad," cried Randy.

"I see," chuckled his Granddad. "It is a fine catch."

"Randy, the older Gilbert got, the less the others teased him. He still couldn't honk, but it wasn't as big of an issue as it was before. Gilbert always flew behind when he first started flying the in v-shaped formation, hoping one day to lead the flock. Then one day, Big Sam, the lead goose of the formation went to talk to Gilbert," said his Granddad.

"You are a strong bird, Gilbert, with strong, wide wings," Big Sam said. "I would like to see you fly lead in the formation one day."

"You would, Big Sam," replied Gilbert.

"Yes, I would, Gilbert. It is such a waste not having you as part of the team. Besides, the formation looks bad with you lagging behind."

"Yes, sir, Big Sam!" shouted Gilbert.

"Gilbert was something else wasn't he, Granddad," spoke Randy. "If that had been me, I probably would have given up and quit trying."

"Me, too," replied his Granddad. "But you know, son, the important lesson is Gilbert never gave up."

"You're right," said Randy. "What happened next, Granddad?"

"You wouldn't believe it, Randy," his Granddad replied. "One day a pack of wolves wandered around the lake as Billy Ray and some of the other geese swam around the cattails. When one of the wolves leaped out from behind the bushes to attack them, Gilbert flew out from behind the cattails, took a long, deep breath and tried to honk. But, instead of honking he coughed a feather out of his mouth. Scared for his friend and the other geese, he took another long, deep breath and belted out a strong honk, honk. It was his first time to honk. His honk saved the day. It warned Billy Ray and the others in the nick of time to get away from the hungry wolves. The geese immediately took flight. Their honking cries and the flapping of their wings echoed across the lake. They hurriedly scattered themselves across the lake, flew high into the sky to safety and regrouped into formation. The frightened wolves quickly disappeared into woods and never returned."

"Hooray!" yelled Randy. "That's the way to go, Gilbert. You showed them."

Randy's Granddad laughed and said, "I told you, Gilbert Quackster was something. Yes, Gilbert was a hero that day and from that time on," rejoiced his Granddad. "The geese flew to the other side of the lake, gathered around Gilbert and thanked him for saving their lives."

"Thank you, Gilbert," said Billy Ray. "I knew one day you would come through."

"Oh, it was nothing," replied Gilbert.

"Nothing," spoke up Big Sam. "Oh, it was something alright," he said. "You saved our lives and we are proud of you."

"Thank you, Big Sam," Gilbert said.

"You know, Gilbert, I have been watching you through the years. I'm getting too old to lead the formation and I've been thinking about falling back into formation. So, we'll need a good lead goose."

"No, Big Sam!" yelled Gilbert. "You can't quit!"

"It is time for me to let it go, Gilbert, and I want you to lead the way."

"You want me to lead the geese from north to south," smiled Gilbert with a little scared grin.

"Yes, I do, Gilbert. I know you can do it; you've proven it today," encouraged Big Sam; "right, gang."

"Hooray for Gilbert," honked the other geese.

Billy Ray eased over to him and whispered, "You can do it, Gilbert. I always knew you could and I'll be flying beside you to your right."

"There was honking all around the lake that day. The geese's wings flapped with joy as they circled high in the deep, blue sky. What a day it was," said Randy's Granddad.

"But, Granddad, where did the feather come from and how did it get lodged in Gilbert's throat?"

His Granddad sort of laughed to himself, grabbed his fishing pole and reeled it in.

"Well, Randy, it's still a mystery to this day. No one really knows where the feather came from. Some think it may have happened in Gilbert's sleep when he was young. They think the feather got stuck in his throat when he was snoring. It was the feather that kept him from honking and at the same time it tickled his throat. Gilbert was so scared when he jumped out on those wolves he tried to honk as loud as he could and it caused the feather to break loose and fly out of his mouth."

"Wow, Granddad, that's quite a story," exclaimed Randy.

"I'll tell you one thing," his Granddad chuckled. "That Gilbert Quackster was full of surprises."

"You know, Granddad," replied Randy, "you never know it might be Gilbert Quackster leading the way when you look up in the sky, in the spring or fall, at the geese flying over and hear the honk, honk."

"That's right, Randy," laughed his Granddad.

*****

Tickle Box

The Crow's Nest

A heavy, thick fog hung over the countryside, as J.W., the hobo crow, flew from one cornfield to the other. This has got to be the thickest fog I have ever seen, he said to himself as he darted back and forth across the sky. All of a sudden a loud boom, bang, boom, flip, flop and a cry was heard.

"Oh, me!" he moaned.

J.W. stood dazed and confused in front of a big pole. With one hand he gently rubbed the knot on his head that popped up after he hit the pole. He took his other hand and leaned against the pole as he curiously looked about.

"What a place to put a light pole," he mumbled.

"They're only a few feet apart around here," said a voice from the fog.

J.W. quickly looked around so see where the voice came from. He was startled when he saw Big Dave, the crow.

"What about it?" asked J.W.

"What about what?" replied Big Dave.

"What is it, my man?" laughed J.W.

"What is what?" Dave answered.

"You know, man. Like, what's going on? Where is everybody? Like, where do they hang out?"

"Oh, I catch your drift, dude," replied Big Dave. "You're asking where everybody does their thing."

"Yeah, man," laughed J.W. "You know like, what's happening."

"Well, brother, welcome to the corner of Happy Hollow Road and Winding Way," replied Big Dave. "This is where it's at."

"I can dig it," giggled J.W. as he slowly looked around. "Is this all of it, brother?" he asked. "A pole with a sign on it is where it's at?"

Then Big Dave pointed up toward the sky.

"There it is, bro., over yonder in the middle of the cornfield stands a great sycamore. At the top of that sycamore is the Crow's Nest, a hangout for all the crows."

J.W. looked up through the thick fog to see if he could see the Crow's Nest. Slowly, the fog started moving out and J.W. was able to see a glimmer of light.

"Yeah, man, I can see it now. Like, I know where you're coming from," cried J.W. as he flapped his wings and took off.

"I like your shoes!" yelled Big Dave after J.W. flew away.

Up, up, up, he flew toward the glimmer of light. Finally, as he grew closer to the light, the clubhouse became visible within the dense fog. He could hear music playing as he got closer and closer to the clubhouse.

"Wow," cried J.W. "Get down! Get down!"

Carefully, he landed at the door. He stood outside on the porch and shook himself loose to get all his feathers in place. He spit on the top of his wing and pushed the feathers over the knot on his head so they would lie down. He shuffled his feet, wiped his new kicks off with the back of his leg and peeped inside.

"Wow," he said. "This is it, my man. This is what's happening."

As his eyes searched the room, he saw crows throwing darts, playing ping pong, checkers, marbles, chess and air hockey. Others were laying around listening to the giant boom box. They were all drinking sodas and munching on popcorn, candy, cookies and candy corn.

"This is it," cried J.W. "This is where it's happening. "What it is!" J.W. shouted when he burst through the door.

A hush quickly fell across the room as everyone stopped and stared at him. J.W. took a deep breath and smiled. Over in the back corner, two tiny, beady eyes peeped over a hand of old maid cards. The eyes sized J.W. up and down before fixated on his brand new kicks. The two beady eyes vanished behind the cards and then suddenly reappeared with a long face and a smile from ear to ear.

"Why, hello, my man," came a crackly old voice from behind the table.

The stranger rose to his feet, walked toward J.W. and snapped his wings. The party was back on.

"Blackie is my name," he said. "I'm the old crow around here. I don't believe I caught your name."

"J.W., sir," he replied.

"You're not from around here are you?" asked Blackie as he bent over for a closer look at J.W.'s kicks.

"No, sir," answered J.W. "I'm from a little bit of everywhere."

"So you are," said Blackie. "So you are. Got something good in your bag," inquired Blackie.

"Oh, just a few things," replied J.W.

"Welcome, my main man. J.W., come on in and have some fun," laughed Blackie. "Make yourself at home."

As J.W. moved about the room having fun, Blackie could not keep his eyes off J.W.'s kicks. I have to get those shoes, he thought to himself. But, how can I get them? He thought and thought with all his might. I just couldn't take them, he said to himself. However, I can win them. Blackie slowly walked over to J.W. and poked him on the shoulder.

"Gee, Blackie, this is awesome," J.W. said. "It's the greatest, my man," he said as he gave Blackie a high five.

"J.W., would you be interested in playing a game?" asked Blackie.

"Yeah, man," replied J.W. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, J.W., I was thinking of something along the lines of a contest," said Blackie, "between you and me."

"Cool!" replied J.W. "Like, man, what kind of contest do you have in mind?"

"Well, a few fun games," replied Blackie. "The winner will get a prize."

"Like, what kind of prize?" asked J.W.

"Well, I was thinking along these lines. If I win, I get your new kicks. And if you win," said Blackie, "I will give you my great-great-grandfather's old corncob pipe that I wouldn't take anything for."

"Let me see it," said J.W.

"Sure," replied Blackie as he reached in his pocket and pulled out an old pipe.

Blackie quickly flashed it before J.W.'s eyes. But, Blackie was not as quick as he thought he was because J.W. saw made in Japan written on the side of the pipe. It only took J.W. a few minutes to make up his mind.

"You got it, my man, my kicks and your great-great-grandfather's corncob pipe!" yelled J.W.

"Now what games will the contest consist of?" mumbled Blackie as he placed the tip of his wing on the side of his face and thought. "Here's what we'll do," stated Blackie. "The first one to score ten points will be the winner. We'll play marbles for one point, checkers for two points, bubble gum blowing for two points, darts for one point, karaoke for one to ten points and a dance contest for one to ten points. The karaoke and dance contests will be scored by the crowd."

"You got it, my main man," said J.W. "Let's get down to business."

The games began and the other crows gathered around. The first game was marbles and it was a close game. The game quickly moved on and the crowd watched in amazement. Every time Blackie thought J.W. wasn't looking, he would cheat. But, J.W. wasn't fooled; he saw Blackie out of the corner of his eye. Blackie won the game of marbles. The score was Blackie one, J.W. zero.

The tension spread throughout the clubhouse. The crowd held their breath around the checkers' table; they were afraid to move. Blackie made the first jump, then J.W. It was a close game until Blackie dropped a checker on the floor. When J.W. bent down to pick up the checker, Blackie slipped a couple of his checkers back onto the board which caused him to win. J.W. kept his eye on him; he knew what was happening. The score was now Blackie three, J.W. zero.

Quickly, Blackie reached into his pocket and pulled out some bubble gum. He gave J.W. one piece and tossed three pieces into his mouth. The crowd watched on and looked at each other as the bubbles grew bigger and bigger. Blackie peeped out of the corner of his eye and saw J.W.'s bubble was bigger than his. He knew J.W. would win so he reached into his pocket, pulled out a pin and stuck it under J.W.'s bubble; pop went the bubble. The crowd sighed because J.W. was defeated once again. Nevertheless, J.W. was not giving up that easily. The score was now Blackie five, J.W. zero.

Next was the dart throwing contest. To make it more challenging J.W. and Blackie wore blindfolds. J.W. stepped up first. He steadily aimed, threw and missed. He aimed again and still missed. Blackie stepped up, carefully aimed and threw.

"Bull's-eye," the crowd yelled.

He aimed again and hit another bull's-eye. Unfortunately for J.W., no one saw Blackie peeping out from under his blindfold. The score was Blackie six, J.W. zero.

"It doesn't seem to be your day, J.W.," said Blackie as he laughed.

J.W. stopped, stood still, looked at him and said, "It's not over with yet, my man."

Next, the crowd formed a circle around the room for the final two contests. Blackie took center stage first and tested the microphone.

"Testing one, two, three, testing," he said. "Can you hear me in the back?"

The karaoke music started playing as Blackie prepared to sing. His voice was old, crackly and squeaky; it hurt everyone's ears. While he sang, they placed their wings over their ears. Blackie received one point from the crowd. Next, J.W. took the microphone and wow he could sing. The crowd clapped, yelled and cheered him on.

"Sing it, brother. Sing it!" yelled one from the crowd.

The crowd gave J.W. seven points. Blackie stood in the back gritting his beak and mumbled to himself, I want them new kicks he's wearing.

At last, the final contest. Who would be the overall winner? Suddenly, they cranked up the big boom box; it jarred every window in the Crow's Nest. They turned down the lights and a burst of rainbow-colored lights swirled about the room as Blackie slid across the dance floor.

"Ooh," sighed the crowd. "What on earth is he doing?"

Blackie's bones popped and snapped. His legs bowed as he jumped around the room. The crowd watched; they didn't know what to say. Boo's came from everyone in the crowd. Blackie came to a sudden stop, twirled and walked away disappointed.

"We want J.W.! We want J.W.!" cried the crowd.

The boom box, once again, jarred the windows as J.W. took the dance floor.

"That's it. That's it, my man," cried one from the crowd.

"Get down, brother, get down," cried another.

The music roared and J.W. was limber as a wash rag.

"Ooh!" went the crowd.

"Look at that bird getting down," they cried.

There was no question who had won the contest. Everyone gathered around J.W. and congratulated him. They shook his wing and patted him on the back. Blackie stood in the distance with a long face and tiny, beady eyes. His heart was cold and sad; it was broken because he had not won J.W.'s new kicks. Slowly, he eased his way over to J.W. and congratulated him.

"Good job, sport," he said.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the pipe and started to hand it to J.W. But, J.W. stopped him.

"There's no need to, Blackie. You can keep the pipe. It means a lot to you since it was your great-great grandfather's."

J.W. reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of brand new kicks. They were exactly like the ones he had on.

"Here, Blackie," said J.W., "you can have these."

Blackie's mouth flew wide open and a hush fell across the room.

"For real, J.W.," said Blackie.

"For real," replied J.W.

Blackie's frown immediately became a smile and his eyes sparkled as he held the kicks close to his heart.

"It's time for me to fly the coop," J.W. said on his way out the door.

"There goes a real cool dude," Blackie said as he smiled from ear to ear.

*****

Tickle Box

Ophelia's Shoes

A few miles up the coast, according to the way the crows fly, sat the little community of Round Stone. It was located along the ocean-beaten shore, way back in the cracks and crannies of the foothills. Round Stone was but a twist and turn of a town. It was most noted for its fine shops and bargains. People from everywhere came to get the best bargains, cheap deals and to shop until they dropped at the peddler's store. There was the bakery with fresh bread; dress shops galore, bargain barns, bargain bins along the streets and restaurants with fine cuisine. There were also hotels, motels, churches, grills, fix it shops, gadget places, barbershops and shoe stores. You could buy, sell or trade to your heart's desire. The streets were made of cobblestone, engraved and lined with old-fashioned streetlights of years ago.

Miss Ophelia was a regular to Round Stone. She came every chance she could. She loved the little town, especially the shops. Well, I have you to know on one particular trip to Round Stone, she had just about shopped until she dropped. Her feet were hurting her so bad that she made her way into The Lost Soles Shoe Shop owned by Mr. Omar Heel. It was located on the corner of Flat Ridge Road and Shady Dale Lane.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she cried as she made her way over to a chair and collapsed.

Mr. Heel saw her and hurried over to her.

"May I help you, ma'am?" he asked as he fanned her with his hands.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she cried out again. "It's my feet," she explained. "I have been walking all day and my feet are about worn out."

Mr. Heel slowly looked down at her feet. He was so amazed by what he saw it caused him to stumble backwards. Good gracious, he whispered to himself. He couldn't help but notice that she was bowlegged and knock-kneed. Also, both of her feet were turned inward; she was pigeon-toed. And to make matters worse, she had two left feet.

"Oh, I'll be alright," she said. "Don't worry about me."

"Is there anything I can help you with?" he questioned. "Maybe I can find you a more comfortable pair of shoes."

"Well, I'll take a look around," she said when she rose to her feet and started to look around.

"Be my guest, madam," stated Mr. Heel.

"What an extraordinary place you have here," she replied.

"Why, thank you, ma'am. It's been in my family for three generations," he boasted.

"It has?" she replied.

"Yes, ma'am, my great-great grandfather, Omar Stump Toe, built it. I come from a long line of proud shoemakers," he explained.

"Where on earth did you get all these shoes?" she asked. "Do any of them match?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "All of them match. I travel throughout the town and gather all the shoes that have been thrown away. I bring them back here, clean and repair them. I have all sizes. Also, a lot of the townspeople donate shoes they no longer want; most of them are in good condition."

"But, you have so many that are still piled in the floor," she stated.

"Yes, ma'am, I am still working on those," he said. "Let me see, I believe you need a size seven and a half."

"I beg your pardon, sir," she interrupted.

"But, but...," he replied.

"For your information, I wear a size six not a seven and a half," she said.

"Seven," he said. "I don't think I have..."

"I said a size six," she annoyingly interrupted as she plopped down in the chair and slightly pulled up her pants leg.

"A six, are you sure?" he inquired.

"Six!" she yelled. "I have pretty feet, don't I?"

Mr. Heel didn't respond. He figured it was best that he didn't.

"Don't I?" she asked again.

"Why, yes," he agreed. "They are very different and unique. Well, madam, what do you have in mind? I have round, square, pointed and opened-toe shoes in all colors along with wingtips and saddle oxfords. I also have flip-flops, slippers, boots and sandals for all occasions. Oh, yes, I almost forgot; I have tennis shoes and cleats as well."

"I believe," she replied, "I'd like to see something with a flat heel in a size six."

"A flat heel in a six coming up," he replied as he reached for a size six.

She raised her pants leg a bit more and exposed her feet even more. He bent down and looked a little closer this time. His eyes sprung out and his mouth flew open.

"I've never seen anything like this before," he whispered under his breath.

"Seen what?" she questioned.

"Oh, nothing," he replied, "nothing at all."

She had two left feet with three-inch toenails.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"Oh, no," he said as he hurried to get the shoes on her feet.

Carefully, he tried to ease her feet into the shoes but they just wouldn't fit. He pulled, tugged, stretched and pried. Her size seven and a half foot was not going to fit inside a size six shoe.

"Having a little trouble?" she asked.

"Slightly, ma'am," he groaned as he grabbed a shoehorn and tried again.

Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he gritted his teeth. He collapsed in relief when he finally got the shoes on. Her feet were puffed up around the top of the shoe and her ankles hung over the side. Her toes were curled under and her heels had busted out the back.

"What do you think, ma'am?" he asked out of breath.

"I don't know," she said. "What do you think?"

"They're charming," he replied.

"Well, I don't know," she said. "I believe they seem a little tight for a size six. Do you have something like this in yellow?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do," he responded.

"I'll take them. Also, I need some liquid shoe polish with no wax and some shoestrings? Oh, my, look at the time; I have to go," she said as she paid for her things.

"Thank you, ma'am," cried Mr. Heel. "Come back to see me soon."

"Thank you, sir, I believe I will. I just love this store; it has become one of my favorite places to shop. It seems to have so much history," she replied.

"Goodbye, ma'am, have a good day."

"Bye," she responded as she walked out the door.

After she left, Mr. Heel closed the blinds and collapsed in a chair. Nobody would ever believe what I just went through, he thought. Several days passed. Mr. Heel figured he wouldn't see Ophelia again. However, when he was in the back room repairing some shoes, she walked in unexpectedly.

"You who," came a voice from the front door. "It's me, Ophelia!" she yelled. "Is anyone in? Mr. Heel, are you here?" she cried as she closed the door.

"Oh, no," he said softly when he saw her. "Why, Miss Ophelia, what a surprise. Is there something I can help you with today? Do you need a buckle, bow or hat to match your shoes?"

"Oh, I don't think so," she replied. "I was in town and I thought I would stop by to see you. I don't think I need anything in particular."

"Good!" Mr. Heel hurriedly replied.

"Well, on the other hand, I might have a little something in mind," she replied.

"And, what might that be?" asked Mr. Heel hastily.

"Well, I was thinking about something casual, you know, something I can were every day," she explained.

"Let me see," he said. "I don't know if I have anything casual or not."

"Oh," she said, "what about these? They look very comfortable."

"I don't think I have your size in that," he replied. "You are a six, aren't you?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Heel," she giggled, "how nice of you to remember. Oh, look, Mr. Heel, I like this pair."

Mr. Heel looked at her with his eyes bugged out and mouth half open. His voice quivered and his hands trembled as she handed him the pair of shoes. She sat down and slipped her blue jean pants leg up. The very first thing he noticed was her toenails.

"You trimmed your toenails. Thank you, thank you," he said as he kneeled down to help her try on the shoes.

He tried to gently slip her feet into the shoes. He loosened the strings and pulled the tongue of the shoe back, but it didn't work. He stretched this way and that, pulled, tugged, gouged and poked, but he still couldn't make the shoes fit. Not only was she pigeon-toed, she had two giant bunions that he had to pry the shoes over. Suddenly, out of the clear blue sky, he had a brainstorm. He went and got a pair of crutches from the back storage room. He placed one of the crutches down the left side of her hip and the other to her right hip. He hoped the crutches would straighten the bow out of her legs so he would have enough slack to ease her feet into the shoes. With the crutches in place, he helped her stand up, leaned her against the wall and bent down to put her shoes on. He tried and tried; sweat ran from his face and dripped onto the floor.

"Do you think this is going to work?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "If I can get them over these bunions, it might."

All of a sudden, the crutches popped loose. Ophelia started to fall. She tried to keep herself from falling with her feet; she did so with such force that it drove the shoes onto her feet.

"You did it," she laughed. "You are a brilliant man," she said.

"Oh, it was nothing," he replied. "We were lucky. Bye, Ophelia."

"Goodbye, Mr. Heel. Oh, I do, I do love these shoes," she gloated as she hobbled out the door.

Every day, Mr. Heel looked and looked for Ophelia. He was afraid she would come back. Months and months went by; she never came. She is such a nice lady, he said to himself. Unfortunately, she has some crazy feet. I've never seen feet like that before. Then one day, just when he thought she wasn't coming back, she returned.

"You who, Mr. Heel," she hollered. "It's me, it's Ophelia."

He immediately recognized her voice, raced over to the counter, squatted down and hid.

"Mr. Heel, come out, come out, wherever you are," she cried. "I know you're here. I just happened to be in town so I thought I would come by to see you."

The store was silent. Mr. Heel didn't say a word. He didn't even blink his eyes because he was afraid she would hear him.

"Now, don't you want to see little Miss Ophelia?" she teased.

Mr. Heel stayed hidden behind the counter and hoped she wouldn't find him.

"Mr. Heel, why on earth are you squatted down behind the counter? Didn't you hear me calling you?" she questioned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What did you say?" he asked.

"Didn't you...oh, well forget it," she said. "I'm looking for a pair of boots."

"Boots!" he screamed. "Boots, I guess you need a size six in them too."

"Oh, no, you're not going to believe this. It's funny; I wear a size five and a half in a boot."

Immediately, he reached up, grabbed his hair and pulled it.

"No," he cried, "not again. What about a pair of house shoes or moccasins? Something you can just wrap around your feet?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Heel, I can't wear those. My feet would get wet when it rains. Nope, boots for me," she stated.

She took him by the hand and led him over to the rack of boots.

"Now, let's see what we have here," she said, "nope, nope, nope, nope, not this one or that one."

Mr. Heel stood in a daze with tears in his eyes.

"Aw-ha, here we go. These will do just fine," she announced.

She sat down in a chair and Mr. Heel squatted down to remove her shoes. When he slipped off the first one, he smelled something awful.

"What on earth is that smell?" he asked.

"Smell, what smell? I don't smell anything!" she shouted.

His eyes started burning. He took a few short breaths of air before he pulled off the other shoe. He almost fainted.

"Good grief, Miss Ophelia, your feet stink to high Heaven," he complained.

"Why, I beg your pardon, Mr. Heel, I don't smell a thing," she responded sharply.

About that time, Ophelia heard a loud thump. Mr. Heel had fainted. Embarrassed, she looked to her right and then to her left; she hoped no one else saw her or smelled her feet. She rushed to get her shoes on, carefully eased over to the door, flipped the sign in the window from open to closed, threw back her shoulders, tilted her head, opened the door and to walked out. Huh! she mumbled to herself. I don't think he ever believed I wore a size six. Huh, why he has a nerve to say my feet stink! It's probably all those old shoes in there that he smells.

When Mr. Heel finally woke up, he was still panting for air. After that day, Miss Ophelia never did visit Mr. Heel's store again. But, from time to time, he still laughs about the lady with the weird feet.

*****

Tickle Box

Wiggles the Worm

Womack Lake was located at the back of a valley with hills on each side. It was a beautiful lake nestled down in the valley and bordered with giant evergreen trees. In the distance the sounds of the redwing blackbirds, the fluttering of the dragonfly's wings and the rough voice of the bullfrogs as they splashed into the water could be heard all around. Fishermen from miles around went there to fish. Ah, yes, it was a fisherman's paradise.

There was a little bait shop that sat by the pier. It was called Hook Line-n-Sinker. It was owned by a man named Hogsucker. He got his name, Hogsucker, from wearing a snatch hook on his cap. He was quite a character; he loved to play tricks on the fishermen and tell fish stories. However, he knew everything there was to know about fish and bait.

There was also the Fish'n Club, by the lake, where everyone liked to hang out after a long day of fishing. A young man named Simple Crappie came in quite often. Simple was a real fisherman; he came from a long line of top-notch fishermen. His daddy and his daddy's daddy had fished there for years. They had received many trophies for their outstanding catches. There was even a picture of them hanging up in the Hook Line-n-Sinker Bait Shop with one of their prized catches! One day, Simple went to buy some bait at the Hook Line-n-Sinker.

"Good morning, sir," greeted Simple.

"Good morning to you," replied Hogsucker. "How may I help you?"

Hogsucker eyed him up and down. He thought to himself, a prize candidate to initiate into the club.

"Well, sir," he said with a slight giggle, "I really don't know," he answered as he looked around at everything in the bait shop.

I believe I can have some fun with him, thought Hogsucker.

"Well, well, well," mumbled Simple.

"Just give me a can of worms, sir."

"That will be fifty cents," replied Hogsucker.

Simple quickly flipped two quarters onto the counter.

"Thank you, sir," he said as he walked away.

As he made his way down to the bank, he slipped and fell. His arms flew up which caused his rod and reel and the can of worms to go sailing through the air. He rolled down the bank and came to a sudden stop at the edge of the water. That was a close call, he said to himself. I am going to have to be more careful. Then he sort of snickered as he carefully looked around. I hope no one saw me, he thought to himself. He picked up his rod and reel, scooped up the worms and put them back into the can. There we go, he said to himself. I can't do much without you little fellows.

He sat down on the bank and got his rod and reel ready to go. Slowly, he stood up and looked out across the water. He was looking for the right spot to cast his rod. He licked his finger and stuck it up in the air to check the direction of the wind. He eased down on his knees and looked across the water to check the flow of the ripples. Uh-huh" he said to himself as he stood back up. Finally, he was ready to fish.

He reached into the can and pulled out a worm. It was all slick and slimy. As it wiggled between his fingers, he tried to put it on his hook. He pushed, shoved, twisted, turned and poked, but the worm would not go on. Uh" he said as he scratched his head and then dropped the worm. Quickly, he reached down, picked it up, held it up to his eyes and stared at it. What kind of worm is this?" he mumbled to himself. About that time, the worm spit some tobacco juice right in his eye. Oh! Simple cried as he grabbed his eye with one hand and held the worm tight with the other. He rubbed his bloodshot eye, reached down and grabbed the can. With blurry vision he saw Wiggle Worm written on the side of the can. Wiggle worm, he laughed to himself. What kind of worm is that?" he chuckled.

Once again, Simple fought and fought with the worm. He tried everything he could think of to get that worm onto the hook. But, nothing would work. The harder Simple tried, the more determined he became. He had his reputation to maintain. He was a top-notch fisherman and he was not going to let some little wiggly worm keep him from fishing.

"I'm going to beat you, Wiggles, at your own game."

Wiggles just laid back and smiled. Then Simple got an idea and hurriedly opened his tackle box.

"I'll tape you onto that hook," Simple snickered. "You'll see who the boss is."

He taped the worm to the hook with clear tap; it didn't work. Then he tried masking tape. When that didn't work, he tried duct tape. But, he couldn't get the worm to stay on the hook. He tried gluing it on and that failed. He even tried to tie it on with his shoelaces. Unfortunately, none of his ideas worked.

"I have never seen anything like this in my life," cried Simple. "What is your problem anyway?"

Wiggles just laid back and slightly giggled.

Simple looked up at Wiggles and said, "I am the fisherman and you are the worm. The worm goes on the hook to catch the fish that I take home to eat."

Wiggles just shook his head back and forth and replied, "Not this worm. Not me. No, no, no!"

That just made Simple more upset. As his face turned red he shouted, "We'll see about that. Yes, yes, yes!"

He tried fancy lures, jigger bugs, fake worms, spinners and even flies. However, none of them worked.

"I have never seen a worm so stubborn," said Simple. "It must be one of those new thing-a-ma-gigs. They're always coming up with something."

"So, you want me on that hook, right," Wiggles spoke up.

"Right," replied Simple.

"So you can catch fish to take home and eat at my expense, right," stated Wiggles.

"Right," replied Simple.

"Now, this is the deal," said Wiggles. "We do it my way or no way, right."

"Wrong!" said Simple. "I mean, right, whatever it takes."

"Right," replied Wiggles, "whatever it takes."

Slowly, Wiggles crawled up onto the hook.

"Now cast me out!" yelled Wiggles as he held on for life.

Anxiously, Simple grabbed his rod, slung it behind him and threw it out across the water. Plop it went when it hit the water. As the hook slowly sank deep into the water, Wiggles shivered with chills.

"This water is so cold," Wiggles said as he slowly climbed up the line and onto the top of the floater. "Hey, man. This water is too cold," cried Wiggles as he crawled across the line and back onto the tip of the rod.

"What now!" Simple screamed as he threw his rod down with big tears in his eyes.

"Now, now, now, Simple, let's try it again. This time, cast me in a warmer spot."

"Well, are you sure?" questioned Simple.

Every time he threw his line out across the water, Wiggles would crawl back up the line, skim across the line on top of the water, jump onto the rod, slide down the rod, jump into the can, and say it was too cold.

"Get real, worm," said Simple.

"Get a life, Simple," replied Wiggles. "Get a life!"

You talk about a frustrated fisherman. Simple was frustrated. He was about to pull his hair out.

"I'm not much on swimming today," said Wiggles. "But I do enjoy lying out on the floater and catching a little sun."

"You are not a sunbather!" yelled Simple. "You are a worm."

"You're not much of a fisherman yourself," replied Wiggles. "Where's your fish?"

Time and time again, Simple cast his line into the water. When Wiggles wasn't swinging around and around on the line or hanging by his tail above the water he was doing chin-ups.

"I have never seen anything like this!" screamed Simple. "How in the world will I ever catch a fish with this silly worm?"

Unexpectedly, up out of the water like a flash, a fish sailed across the water and grabbed Wiggles. The fish dove deep into the water with Wiggles. Simple grabbed his pole and the fight was on. He jerked and pulled. He yanked and yanked as he firmly planted his feet into the bank to keep the mighty fish from pulling him in. The pole was bowed in the middle and close to breaking. Splash went the fish into the water; over and over it rolled. Water was splashing everywhere. Suddenly, the fish turned and headed for the bank. Simple was relieved. His line gave and his rod straightened out. However, he was startled when the fish hurried upon the bank and spit Wiggles out.

"Phooey," said the fish.

The fish spit again and jumped back into the lake.

"I don't believe it," said Simple as he rubbed his chin and eyed Wiggles. "Dang nab it!" yelled Simple as he threw his rod and reel down. "I can't believe it. I haven't had a bite all day and then when I do get one," he cried, "I lose it."

About that time, his feet slipped out from under him and he fell into the water. Splash! As Simple fought to stay afloat, Wiggles watched him from the bank.

"Help me! Help me!" cried Simple as he went down into the water.

Wiggles lay quietly on the bank and watched as Simple went down the second time. Simple sank for the third time and disappeared under the bubbles. Wiggles jumped into the water, quickly swam down to Simple and grabbed hold of him. Wiggles struggled to pull him out of the water and back onto the bank. Simple was out cold. Without hesitation, Wiggles climbed on top of him and started giving him CPR. After a few seconds, Simple moved his eyes and started coughing up water.

"That was a close call," cried Simple. "Thank you, Wiggles, for helping me."

"You're welcome," replied Wiggles. "You know, Simple, you're not a bad guy after all."

"Well, thanks, Wiggles," said Simple. "You're not a bad worm either. A little strange, but you're okay."

Simple gathered his things, placed Wiggles back into the can and headed for the bait shop.

"Here you go, Hogsucker. I believe this belongs to you," said Simple as he placed the can upon the counter.

"Have a good workout?" asked Hogsucker.

"Yes, I did," replied Simple. "The next time I'm going to play golf instead," he said as he walked away still coughing up water.

Hogsucker turned and winked at Wiggles; Wiggles winked at Hogsucker as they both laughed, "Hahahahaha. "

"That's the big one that got away," giggled Hogsucker.

*****

Tickle Box

Buzzard Breath

On the south side of the little community of Billiardville in Scratch County, everyone had gathered around to see Jack's Annual Halloween 8-ball Contest. Jack's Pool Hall was located on 123 North English Street, just off South Hustle Drive. It was the hangout for all the big I's, little U's and any and everyone who was somebody. There was one dude, who was really something, named Swoops Swindle. His nickname was Buzzard Breath but everyone called him Swoops.

"Hey, Swoops, my main man," said Jack. "Give me five, brother."

"You got it, man," replied Swoops as they slapped hands.

Crack went the break of the pool balls. Thump, thump, thump; three balls fell into the pocket.

"Hey, Gary, check my man out over here!" yelled Jack. "And, he's just warming up."

Swoops slid the pool stick between his fingers again; crack it went when it hit the pool balls. Thump, thump; two more balls fell into the side pocket.

"Huh," sighed the crowd as another thump echoed across the poolroom.

"Wow!" shouted one spectator. "Did you see that bank shot?"

"Yeah," whispered another spectator. "He's good, real good."

"The best around," spoke up Jack. "Come on, Swoops, have a cold drink on me while we wait for the contest to begin."

As they gathered around the table, others continued to play pool in the background. The sounds of the breaking of pool balls, squeaking from the chalking of pool sticks and racking of the balls could be heard all around the room. A small bunch of close friends gathered around Swoops. They talked, laughed and bragged on his pool skills which made his head swell even more. Don't get me wrong; Swoops was good and he knew pool. He has been the reigning 8-ball king for years. No one really knows how long he has held the title. They sat around the table drinking their cold drinks and watched a young beginner practice his pool skills. Thump sounded a pool ball as it fell into the pocket.

"Hooray!" shouted the young beginner's friends.

Swoops just looked at him, smiled, took a deep breath and sighed.

"Good grief, man!" screamed Jack. "Watch that bad breath, brother. It's going to drive away my customers."

"Shoo-wee," said another. "What died?"

"I'm sorry," replied Swoops. "I'll try to hold it in next time."

"Good grief, man," said Jack. "You are going to have to do better than that or I'm going to have to ban you from this place. Take short breaths; that might help."

As the odor clouded about Swoops, everyone backed off and crossed over to the other side of the room.

"He's the best pool player around," said one spectator, but he's got bad breath."

"We know," cried out the others in unison.

Finally, the odor faded away and everyone went back over to sit with Swoops. They drank their cold drinks, laughed and talked. They patted him on the back to pump him up for the contest. He loved every minute of it.

"Do you think you'll have much competition this year, Swoops?" asked one spectator.

"Nope," replied Swoops.

"Do you think you'll have any new takers?" asked another.

"Nope," replied Swoops. "I am the man."

"Yeah, Swoops, you are the man!" they all shouted.

About that time, the front doors of the pool hall swung open. A hush fell over the poolroom. There in the doorway stood a small boy with a pool stick case in his hand with a bigger boy standing behind him. As the two stepped in the room, everyone started whispering amongst themselves.

"Who's that kid?" asked one.

"I don't know," replied another. "I have never seen him around here before."

"Rack them up, Big Dave," cried out the little boy.

Big Dave hurriedly rounded up the pool balls and dropped them in the rack. Carefully, the little boy placed his stick behind the cue ball. Silence filled the room. Swoops' eyes twinkled and a big smile stretched across his face. Crack went the break of the balls. Thump, thump, thump; three balls fell into the pockets.

"Wow," said the crowed as they watched in amazement.

Crack went the cue ball; it banked off the rail of the pool table. He knocked not one, not two but three balls in. Swoops' smile fell from his face and then he swallowed hard. The crowd looked over at Swoops with concern on their faces. Jack noticed sweat beading up on Swoops' forehead so he placed his hand on his shoulder to console him.

"This kid ain't nothing," said Jack. "He's too young. He doesn't know anything about pool. He doesn't have the experience you have."

"Yeah," cried out the crowd. "He's just a kid; you can beat him. Swoops, Swoops, Swoops, Swoops," they chanted.

Now, Swoops wasn't fooled. He knew pool and he knew a hustler when he saw one because he was one. Carefully, Swoops eased up out of his chair and walked over to the little boy at the pool table. Crack went the cue ball. Crack, crack, crack was all that could be heard as the little boy ran the pool table.

"Not bad," said Swoops. "Not bad at all."

"Why, thank you, sir," responded the little boy.

"Are you from around here?" questioned Swoops.

"No, sir," replied the little boy. "I'm from the eastside."

"The eastside," said Swoops. "What part of the eastside?" asked Swoops.

"The lower part," replied the little boy. "Have you ever been there?"

"No, I don't guess I have," replied Swoops. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?" inquired Swoops.

"I taught myself," he replied. "What about you; where are you from?"

"Around," answered Swoops.

"Do you play pool?" asked the little boy.

"A little," replied Swoops.

"Are you any good?" questioned the little boy.

"I like to think so," responded Swoops.

"Do you want to play a game?" the little boy asked.

Swoops hesitated, looked back at the crowd and back at the little boy.

"Why not!" replied Swoops.

"Hooray!" shouted the crowd as they gathered around for the game of the year.

"Rack them up," exclaimed Swoops.

Big Dave gathered the balls and racked them up. Swoops slowly leaned over the pool table, eased his stick up to the cue ball, eyed the rack and slowly pulled back on the stick.

"You got a name kid?"

"Sure," he replied. "My name is Sisco Skow Slepski; everyone calls me Sisco."

Thump, thump, thump went the balls into the pocket.

"Pretty good," said Sisco. "You're a bad boy."

"I like to think so, kid," boasted Swoops as he took a deep breath and then sighed.

A rank odor slowly floated across the pool table. Everyone in the room held their noses. It didn't take long for Sisco and Big Dave to get a whiff of the smell.

"Yuck!" screamed Big Dave.

"Good grief!" shouted Sisco. "Man, you are bad aren't you. Like, I mean, rotten."

The crowd couldn't hold their noses any longer. They let go of their noses and gasped for fresh air.

"Ooo-wee!" shouted Jack. "Swoops, don't you have any respect for others you overgrown-size turkey?"

Swoops bent back down over the pool table, eyed the billiard balls and chuckled, "I forgot to brush my teeth."

With his keen eye, he shot the stick between his fingers and hit four balls into the pocket.

"Wow! Did you see that?" said one in the crowd. "I bet he couldn't do that again if he wanted to."

"Oh, yes, he can," responded Jack. "Swoops is the best."

"I'm tired of playing around with this little boy," snapped Swoops.

Crack went the balls; they thumped one after the other into the pockets. Sisco just stood there and watched.

"Okay, Sisco," said Swoops, "the eight ball in the side pocket."

"Can he do it?" questioned someone in the crowd.

"Shhh," hushed another.

The poolroom fell quiet as Swoops stretched backward over the pool table with sweat dripping from his forehead. Everyone patiently watched. Carefully and gently, Swoops prepared to make his behind the back shot. Swoops slid the pool stick between his fingers but stopped it at the crest of the ball. Then suddenly, crack sounded the pool stick as it drove the eight ball down the pool table. It banked not one, not two, but three times before it fell into the side pocket.

"Hooray!" they all cried. "Swoops, Swoops, Swoops," they chanted.

"Rack 'em up, Big Dave!" shouted Sisco.

Sisco chalked up his stick while Big Dave racked up the balls.

"You got a nice stick there, little boy," said Swoops.

"Why, thank you," replied Sisco.

"Would you like to get rid of it?" asked Swoops.

"No, not really," replied Sisco. "Out of curiosity, what do you have in mind?"

"Well," said Swoops, "I might be interested in playing you for it; best two out of three. If I win, I get the stick. If you win,..."

"If I win, you have to brush those nasty teeth, floss and use mouthwash," demanded Sisco.

"Well, I don't know about that," Swoops sighed.

"Do it! Do it! Do it, Swoops! If not for yourself, do it for your friends," yelled the crowd as they jumped up and down.

"Well, I guess that might be alright," said Swoops.

"Deal," replied Sisco.

"Deal, kid," responded Swoops.

Sisco reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter and flipped it to Big Dave. Big Dave snatched the quarter out of midair, rolled it down his finger and dropped it into the jukebox. Click went the jukebox; the sound boomed out across the room.

"Get down, Sisco!" shouted Big Dave. "Show us your stuff."

The crowd broke loose. They started swinging and moving to the music. Sisco waltzed about the pool table with a thump here and thump there. Balls dropped everywhere to the hip-hop rhythm beat of rap.

"Ooo-wee, look at that kid go!" shouted one in the crowd.

"He's got the moves, baby," said another. "I think our main man has finally met his match."

Everyone could tell Swoops was getting worried. He watched the new kid on the block show him up in front of his friends. Thump, thump, thump fell three more balls into the pockets.

"Okay, Swoops, the eight ball in the corner pocket," shouted Sisco.

The jukebox beat went on. Sisco stretched out long across the pool table and eyed the cue ball to put just the right English on it. When Sisco struck the ball, Swoops took a deep breath and breathed across the pool table. Everyone patiently watched the roll of the two balls.

"Oh, man," cried the crowd.

"I believe he did it," whispered one.

"Shhh," hushed another.

The eight ball banked off the end of the pool table and rolled slowly toward the corner pocket. The crowd held their breath and their knees shook. The eight ball got slower and slower as it rolled toward the pocket.

"He's not going to make it!" shouted Jack.

The eight ball slowly rolled toward the pocket and stopped right on the edge.

"Don't move," cried a man in the crowd.

"Well, looks like you lost," said Swoops as he grinned from ear to ear.

All at once, thump, it fell in. The eight ball fell into the pocket.

"Hooray!" cheered the crowd.

"Put another quarter in the jukebox," cried out one man in the crowd. "Let's get down, brothers. Let's get down."

Swoops yelled across the pool table, "Rack them up!"

As the crowd boogied down, Swoops broke loose around the pool table. Thump, thump, thump; one ball after another fell into the pockets. Swoops moved swiftly with the beat as two more balls fell in.

"Get it, brother," yelled Jack, "I've got confidence in you. You can do it."

Thump, thump, thump and another thump; the balls rolled into the pockets. Ah! The pool table was hot. Smoke could almost be seen rising up out of the pockets.

"Okay, little boy," spoke up Swoops, "the eight ball, corner pocket. Cut that thing off!" screamed Swoops.

Jack ran over to the jukebox and hit the side of it. The room was completely silent. No one took a breath nor blinked. They didn't even scratch their heads nor shuffle their feet. All was hush, hush. Swoops slowly aimed the eight ball. His heart raced, sweat rose up on his forehead, his hands dripped with sweat and his legs trembled. Just a little light tap, thought Swoops, just a light tap and it will all be over. Swoops tapped the stick against the cue ball; the cue ball clicked against the eight ball. Slowly, the eight ball rolled toward the corner pocket and fell in. However, the cue ball was right behind the eight ball; it stopped at the edge of the pocket. Swoops shook and trembled because he didn't know if it was going to fall into the pocket with the eight ball. When he thought he had won, he sighed with relief, took a deep breath and blew out.

"Oh, no," he cried. "I didn't."

Yep, he did. Swoops' bad breath quickly moved across the pool table and thumped in the cue ball.

"You scratched," exclaimed Big Dave.

"Hooray for Sisco," cried the crowd as Swoops dropped his head.

"Okay, Swoops," said Sisco, "here's a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss and mouthwash."

Nervously, Swoops reached over and took the toothbrush in his hand. Trembling, he squeezed out the toothpaste; squirt went the paste. The crowd gathered around and started rooting for Swoops. He moved the toothbrush back and forth, up and down, back and forth and up and down. As Swoops brushed his teeth, toothpaste ran down the corners of his mouth.

"Yuck!" he said. "This tastes awful."

"Back and forth and up and down," cried the crowd.

"Now rinse," Sisco said when he handed him a glass of water.

Swoops took the glass, swished the water around in his mouth and spit it out in the sink. Swish, swish, swish he went again before took the towel and wiped his mouth.

"Now floss," said Jack. "I wouldn't have missed this for a million dollars."

"Do I have to?" asked Swoops.

"A deal is a deal," replied Sisco.

Swoops pulled out the floss and moved it up and down between his teeth. He flossed tooth after tooth, hurriedly rinsed again, turned up the bottle of mouthwash, swished it around in his mouth and then spit it out.

"Hooray!" they all yelled.

About that time, Swoops took a deep breath and gently sighed. Everyone stood motionless. The room filled with the fresh spearmint smell of his breath. The brushing, flossing and mouthwash had done the job. His breath no longer smelled bad.

"Whoopee!" they all cried. "Hit that jukebox, Jack."

"Come on, kid, show me some of those nice dance moves you have," chuckled Swoops.

As the jukebox boomed, the crowd moved with the hip-hop beat and Sisco and Swoops danced around the pool table.

*****

Tickle Box

The Swan on Willow Lake

Willow Lake was a beautiful place with giant willow trees hugging its banks and leaning out over the water. The rolling hills and woods that surrounded the lake embraced it with brilliant colors as the seasons changed. Everyone loved to picnic and have fun at Willow Lake. Not only was the lake beautiful but the ones who lived there made it even more glamorous like Grace, the swan. A cherished and long remembered story is told about Grace.

Once upon a time, Grace, in her earlier days, was the most beautiful swan on the lake. Her elegance dressed the lake and her stylish grace trimmed its beauty along with the trees that surrounded it. People came from all around to see Grace and picnic along the lake's shore. The children loved to feed and pet her. She swam like a ballerina in the crystal blue waters. Yes, Grace, in her day, was a beautiful sight to behold. She was an inspiration to all and everyone loved her.

Throughout the years, there had been a lot of young swans to come and go on Willow Lake. But, there was never one to possess the beauty and gracefulness such as Grace because she was special. As the years passed, Grace grew older. Her beauty and gracefulness was not as elegant as before. She knew she was getting old but she still tried to maintain her dignity. Grace wanted things to stay the same; she wanted to always be the beautiful ballerina of the lake. She didn't want to accept her changes. But, she knew she had no choice.

It happened one day without warning when the children were feeding the young swans. As Grace swam over to join the other swans, she saw one of the children pointing at her and telling the other children to look at her.

"She looks old and ugly compared to the other swans," the child said.

Grace dropped her long, graceful neck; her eyes watered and she turned slowly and swam away. She crossed the lake to the other side so she could be alone. She could see her reflection in the water and started to cry.

"I am old and ugly," she cried. "No one loves me or wants to see me anymore."

Unexpectedly, Homer, the duckling, swam up beside her.

"What's the matter, Grace?" he asked. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm old and ugly, Homer. No one wants to have anything to do with me anymore," she explained.

"Who said you were old and ugly?" asked Homer as he gently wiped Grace's teardrops from her cheeks.

"I heard it from the children and I have sensed it from the talk of the younger swans," she replied. "They all think I'm old and ugly. I've lost my beauty and my grace."

"What's wrong?" questioned Billy, the blue-jay, when he abruptly flew up.

Homer responded, "Grace thinks she is old and ugly and she's not as beautiful as she once was."

Then Billy, the blue-jay, chirped loudly and quickly flew off toward the woods.

"Homer, you shouldn't have told Billy!" she exclaimed. "He'll tell everyone!"

"I'm sorry, Grace," replied Homer. "I just wasn't thinking."

Homer tried his best to console Grace while Billy, the blue-jay, flew throughout the woods spreading the gossip of the fall of Grace to everyone.

"She said she's old and ugly," Billy told Wendy, the wren.

"Surely, she didn't say that," replied Wendy.

"Yes, she did," blabbered Billy. "I can't wait to tell the others."

Billy hopped from limb to limb and from tree to tree. He shouted it high into the heavens for everyone to hear. It wasn't long before everyone around the lake knew about Grace.

"Have you heard the news, Haskel?" asked Billy when Haskel the hummingbird flew up and perched himself upon a twig next to him.

"Heard what?" he questioned.

"Grace said she is old and ugly!" exclaimed Billy.

"Oh, no," hummed Haskel as he shook his tiny little head and flapped his little wings. "She doesn't believe that, does she?"

"Yep, I'm afraid so," replied Billy. "I heard it for myself and I could not believe it."

Haskel darted off across the lake. Billy continued to spread the gossip about Grace. Meanwhile, Homer was still trying to console Grace. He told her that beauty was within the heart and in the eyes that loved and beheld that beauty.

"Grace, you still have your beauty and grace; it has never left you. Age has stored it within you. All you have to do is bring it out and share it with others," Homer assured her.

"I do?" asked Grace.

"Yes, you do," replied Homer as he put on his glasses. "You are still as beautiful and graceful as you ever were. Only now, it's mostly in your heart."

Suddenly, Billy, the blue-jay, flew up with Wendy and Haskel.

"Old and ugly, you say," mocked Billy to Grace.

"Oh, leave her alone," quacked Homer.

"I'll take care of this, Homer," insisted Grace.

Grace pulled her long neck back gracefully, lifted up her wings, flapped them and spread them out to flog Billy.

"Old and ugly you say, Billy!" shouted Grace.

"Now, Grace!" cried Billy. "Calm down. You don't need to get too upset."

"Let's get out of here!" screamed Wendy.

"I'm gone!" yelled Haskel as he dashed across the lake and back into the woods.

Suddenly, across the lake, they all heard splashing and honking.

"Help, help, honk, honk, help!"

Grace swiftly turned and swam toward the cry for help. When she got across the lake, she saw a fox with one of the young swans in its grasp. The young swan was fighting the fox close to the edge of the water and trying its best to get away. Grace hurried as fast as she could toward the captured swan. Grace went airborne and flew onto the fox, flogging and biting him. Around and around they fought; fur and feathers flew until Grace finally drove him away.

Homer yelled from across the lake, "That's my girl!"

Billy and Wendy flew off saying, "Did you see that?"

"Yes, I did," replied Billy. "I can't wait to tell the others what happened."

The other young swans hurried over and were relieved to find out the younger swan was not injured; it had only lost a few feathers. But, as Grace turned to swim away they noticed she was hurt. The young swans sat still in the water. They didn't know what to say or do. They wanted to thank her but were too ashamed of how they had treated her. Homer rushed to her side.

"Grace, you were wonderful," he stated.

She smiled weakly, turned and swam away. That's when Homer saw her hurt wing. As night fell, all was quiet on Willow Lake except for the croaking frogs and the gentle breeze blowing through the willows. Early the next morning, the caretaker of the lake noticed Grace was hurt. He gently picked her up, put her into the back of his truck and drove off. Weeks passed and everyone wondered what had happened to Grace; the lake wasn't the same without her.

There were many rumors going around the lake, thanks to Billy, as to what could have happened to Grace. Some didn't believe she would ever come back and others told that she had died. But, no one really knew. The only thing they knew for sure was that she was greatly missed.

Finally, a few weeks later, the caretaker returned in his truck. Everyone watched patiently as he walked to the back of his truck. When he came back around to the front of the truck, he had Grace in his arms. She was as beautiful as before. Everyone on the lake honked, chirped, croaked and honked some more.

"Hooray!" they yelled.

It was an exciting day for all. The caretaker placed Grace on the water. She threw her neck up in the air and swam around in circles honking and flapping her wings. It's great to be home, she thought. The young swans hurried over to see her.

"We want to apologize for the ugly way we treated you and to thank you for all that you have done."

Grace smiled, flapped her wings, honked and replied, "That's alright. I understand."

Then they all gathered together and swam around the lake honking, flapping their wings and rejoicing.

Little Homer tagged along behind them shouting, "That's my girl!"

Although Grace, the swan, was older and wasn't as attractive as she was in her younger days, she could still swim with the best of them. She was a great role model. Everyone on the lake and in the woods respected her. They saw Grace's beauty that was within.

*****

Tickle Box

One Feather

Once, there came a time in the little community of Sycamore Valley that will never be forgotten. It is probably still talked about to this day. It all took place one day on Jimmy Bob Kunnecke's farm. Jimmy Bob lived on Dogleg Creek which was located off the main road. However, the rooftops of the house and barn were visible from the main road. The only way to get to the house was to cross over the creek by either driving across the creek bed or parking and walking across the foot-log bridge. Jimmy Bob was a pretty good fellow. Everyone liked him and spoke well of him. He was a good neighbor and a kind friend.

At the time this all happened, Jimmy Bob had an old rooster named One Feather who helped him on the farm. One Feather's real name was Clifford Eugene. The reason they call him One Feather was because he had lost all of his feathers except the one on his tail. He was Jimmy Bob's right hand man...rooster, I mean. However, One Feather had a slight problem. He was nearly blind and could hardly see a thing even though he wouldn't admit it. The only way he knew when to crow was from the warmth of the sun hitting his face during sunrise. Some say he would stand beside the fence, flap his wings, fly up to the fence to crow, miss the fence rail and land on the other side. Even though he missed the fence, he still thought he was on top of the fence and he would crow as loud as he could. He never did figure it out.

One day as Jimmy Bob was talking with his neighbor, Jack, One Feather overheard that he had a new chicken coming in and he was going to get him to show her around the farm. When One Feather heard that, he was so excited that he hurried off to the henhouse while Jimmy Bob continued talking with Jack.

"Jimmy, did you hear about the wreck down the road this morning?" Jack asked.

"No, I didn't," he replied. "Was it very bad?"

"No, it wasn't. It was a truck carrying some animals to the Pine Tree Falls Zoo. But they did report that one of the ostriches is missing; they're looking for it now."

"Well, if I see it," replied Jimmy Bob, "I'll call the zoo. Well, I have to go to town and pick up some feed at the mill. I'll talk to you later, Jack."

"Okay, Jimmy, I'll see you tomorrow."

Meanwhile, One Feather was back at the henhouse combing his comb. He was getting his feather spruced up so he could show the new chick around. When One Feather stepped out of the henhouse into the yard, he saw a faint shadow in the nearby field. Quickly, he ruffled up his feather a bit, threw his head back and stuck his one tail feather straight up in the air. He cautiously strolled over to the field and approached the shadow. It was the missing ostrich. He stood beside the ostrich and looked at it from head to toe.

"Holy cow!" he shouted. "Look how tall that chicken is!"

The ostrich quickly turned its head and hissed. She tapped him on the head with a quick peck, not once, not twice, but three times.

"Watch it, girl," he said. "I'm not your dinner."

The ostrich strutted about, bobbed her head in the air and waved her long neck from side to side.

"Yee doggy!" shouted One Feather. "Check out the long legs on that baby. Now, girl," he said, "you need to settle down. My name is Eugene and I'm here to show you around Jimmy Bob's farm."

"Hiss," went the ostrich as she quickly stuck her head into the ground.

"Now, girl," he said, "I didn't mean to embarrass you. But, you are going to have to get your head out of that hole if you are going to see the farm."

Slowly, the Ostrich took her head out and pecked him on the head a time or two.

"You're going to have to quit that, girl. It's giving me a headache."

One Feather and the ostrich took off across the field toward the barnyard; One Feather wanted to introduce her to the other hens.

"Hey, girls!" he yelled. "This is the newest member to the farm. I don't know her name yet. I'll let you know as soon as I find out."

Everyone gathered around. The hens looked the ostrich over from head to toe. They whispered, clucked and squawked amongst themselves. It was the biggest chicken they had ever seen.

"Girls, girls, girls, I know what you must be thinking. How are we going to get this big chicken through that little door of the henhouse? Well, girls, don't worry about that. I have it all figured out. I'll make the door bigger."

The hens clucked not once, but twice and fell flat on their backs with their feet sticking up in the air.

"Come on, girl," said One Feather. "Let me introduce you to the others."

Peck, peck, peck went the ostrich on top of his head.

"Come on, now," he replied. "How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not your lunch?"

They strolled about the farm; he introduced her to Mr. Cow, Mamie Mule and Charlie Horse. When they went around the corner of the barn, they came upon Hog.

"Hey, fellow," said One Feather, "how's it going?"

"Oh, it's going," replied Hog.

"Who's your running buddy?" questioned Hog.

"This is...well, I really don't know her name. She hasn't told me and she doesn't say much. Anyway, she is the newest member of the farm and I'm sort of showing her around."

"I see," said Hog, "snort, snort. But, don't you think she is a little...a little strange," he whispered, "snort, snort, snort."

The ostrich quickly buried her head into the mud.

"See there, Hog," he said. "You have embarrassed her. She is really sensitive."

"Are you sure she's not a hog?" asked Hog. "After all she does have her head in my mud."

"Well, Hog, I'll see you later. Come on, girl, let's go."

She took her head out of the mud and shook her head from side to side to get some of the mud off.

"Watch it, girl. You're getting mud on me," yelled One Feather.

One Feather took off running across the field toward the pond with the ostrich right behind him.

"This is Mary Duck and her friends, Samantha Swan and Benny Goose."

"Ribbitt, ribbitt, ribbitt, croak..." sounded the frogs.

"And oh, yes, Froggie, and his bunch," proclaimed One Feather.

About that time, the ostrich hissed and pecked him on his head twice.

"Now, girl, you're going to have to stop that," he said as he felt of his head. "The top of my head already feels like a washboard."

They said their good-byes and headed back across the field.

"You don't have a lot to say," he said. "Do you have a name?"

The ostrich just hissed and flapped her wings.

"Well, I'll just give you a nickname like they gave me. Let's see. What can I call you...Sandra? No...no...uh, Sandy. No...no...uh, Opal. No...no...uh. I know; I'll call you Gerdy!" he yelled.

The ostrich, once again, drove her head into the ground and hid.

"Oh, do you not like Gerdy?' he asked.

One Feather could hear her muffled hisses coming from under the ground.

"Oh, well, girl, I won't call you Gerdy if it upsets you that much. Do you like the name Tiny?"

Immediately, she popped her head out of the hole and started dancing around the field. As she danced about the field, One Feather just laughed to himself.

"I must have said something that tickled your fancy or you really like the nickname Tiny."

Suddenly, Tiny quickly sat down. One Feather rushed over to her but by the time he reached her she was already back on her feet.

"Good grief!" he yelled as he looked down at the ground.

"Look at the size of that baby. That's one heck of an egg. Ooh wee, girl. You sure are full of surprises. Just look at that baby. That's the biggest egg I have ever seen. Why I bet there are at least six to eight dozen eggs in that one egg. No wonder you were dancing around. Wait until the Rooster's Convention hears this story!" exclaimed One Feather.

One Feather strutted around the egg and looked it over. He couldn't believe his eyes. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Girl," he said, "I thought you were a little different but I didn't think you were this strange."

Tiny buried her head into the ground.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I've been around a long time. In all my years, I have never seen a chicken like you."

Tiny slowly pulled her head out of the ground, turned toward him and licked the side of his face.

"Shucks, girl. Oh, come on now," he said. "I like you too."

They both laughed; he crowed and Tiny hissed. Tired and worn out, Tiny sat down on the egg. Can you imagine tossing one of those babies at the egg tossing contest and missing it? One Feather laughed to himself. It would be hard to carry one of those eggs in a spoon race. As they rested in the field, One Feather couldn't get over how big the egg was. I wonder how many yolks are in that sucker, he thought. It would make a great prize egg for the Easter egg hunt; I can just imagine the smile on the little children's faces when they found it! Wee, doggy," he said with a laugh.

Unexpectedly, they heard someone yelling.

"Tiny, Tiny!" yelled the stranger.

One Feather looked up and saw Jimmy Bob and another man coming their way.

"Tiny, Tiny!" the stranger called.

Suddenly, Tiny leaped to her feet, hissed, flapped her wings and strutted about.

"Uh oh," thought One Feather. "Surely she's not going to lay another egg."

"Come here, girl," said the stranger as Tiny eased over to him.

"Here you go," said the stranger. "Well, thank you, Jimmy Bob, for helping me find her. She is my pet; I have had her a long time. But, I sold my farm and I'm giving her to the zoo. I hope she'll like it there."

One Feather pecked at Jimmy Bob's pants leg to get his attention.

"Can she stay here with us?" One Feather asked Jimmy Bob.

"Well, sir, why don't you let her stay here with us and you can come by and visit her any time you want," suggested Jimmy Bob.

One Feather and Tiny got really excited when they heard Jimmy Bob's suggestion. One Feather threw his head back, stuck his one feather high in the air and strutted around while Tiny hissed, flapped her wings and danced about.

"Well, it looks like the decision has already been made," said the stranger. "I guess she can stay."

Suddenly, there was a cock-a-doodle-do and a hiss along with a peck or two on top of One Feather's head.

"Now, if you're going to hang around with us," he said, "that pecking has to stop."

Plop went Tiny's head into the ground.

"Oh, Tiny" cried One Feather as Jimmy Bob and the stranger laughed.

*****

Tickle Box

The Kite with the Rainbow Tail

"I wish! I wish!" yelled little Bobby, as he walked across the meadow and disappeared into the tall grass. "I wish a lot of things," he said. "I wish I knew how it would be to fly high in the sky."

Bobby lay down in the tall grass on the side of the hill. The wind gently blew the grass as Bobby gazed up at the sky where he saw giant, fluffy, snow white clouds against the deep blue sky. I wonder what it would be like up there floating around without a care in the world, he thought.

"I wish; I wish I could be up there," he bellowed, "looking down at the world below."

Suddenly, little Bobby saw a kite with a rainbow tail flying high in the sky. He jumped up to get a better look. The kite floated downward until its string was dangling in front of him, waving back and forth in the wind.

"Oh, boy," he shouted, "a kite."

Bobby grabbed the string; the kite lifted him high into the sky.

"Wow!" exclaimed Bobby. "I can fly! I can fly!"

When he looked down, he became afraid and his little lip quivered. He held tightly to the string and upward. Up, up and away he flew across the sky with his little feet dangling in the air.

As he climbed higher, Bobby looked up and saw a beautiful rainbow arched across the sky. Up, up climbed the kite until it was inside the rainbow. Bobby looked around at all the sparkly and glittery colored drops of water created by the sunshine. Up and up floated the kite as it exited the rainbow; it climbed higher and higher. Bobby noticed his shirt and smiled. It had changed to the colors of the rainbow.

"That's neat," he yelled.

He laughed and giggled as he swung underneath the kite. He swung back and forth in the wind.

"Weeeee! Weeeee!" he yelled.

Suddenly, he swung as hard as he could, let go of the string and jumped onto a cloud. This is great, he thought as he walked around on the cloud. It's so soft and fluffy, just like I imagined. It's a marshmallow heaven with angel hair. He wandered around knee-deep in the clouds.

"Ahhhhh!" he yelled when he unexpectedly fell through a hole in the cloud and onto another one. "Weeeee, this is fun!" he laughed.

He jumped up and down on the cloud as if he were on a trampoline. And he rolled around, tumbling over and over.

"This is the greatest," he exclaimed. "Aaaachooo!" he sneezed after a little bit of the cloud tickled his nose.

As far as his little eyes could see there was no end to the sky. It was above, beside and under him. He couldn't see any sign of home. Carefully, Bobby peeped over the edge of the cloud. He was beginning to get homesick.

"What am I going to do? How will I ever get home?" he sighed.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the kite with the rainbow tail flopping in the wind. Bobby grabbed the kite by its ends and flew off on a gust of wind through the sky like he was hang-gliding. He flew from cloud to cloud.

"Weeeee," laughed Bobby as he flew across the sky.

Shortly, he landed on top of a giant black cloud. Bobby became afraid because each time he stepped on the dark cloud, it would rain. And whenever he stomped his foot, lightning would flash. Bobby looked over the edge of the cloud. A bad storm was raging beneath him. What am I going to do, he thought. Out of nowhere, there came a mighty gust of wind. Bobby grabbed the kite and hung on for his life. He was tossed around by the mighty wind; he tumbled over and over. He struggled to make it through the storm. He fought and fought until, finally, he made his way through the storm and inside a thunder cloud. Boom went the thunder. Flash went the lightning. The lightning struck the kite and broke it in half. Bobby wandered around inside the thunder cloud and waded through the water in search of a way out. The thunder cloud was scary, dark and wet inside. Boom went the thunder again. Flash went the lightning as Bobby held on to his broken kite.

"There's got to be a way out," he cried.

Bobby walked from one long, dark and winding cloud to another. There must be a way out, he thought, but where? Then he spotted a small beam of light in front of him.

"It's a way out!" he cried.

He ran through the cloud as fast as he could until he reached the beam of light.

"This has got to be the way," he mumbled. "It just has to be."

Finally, he made it. The light was so bright it hurt his eyes. He squeezed his little body through the hole of light and climbed out on top of the cloud. Quickly, he used his shoelaces to repair the kite. The thunder cloud was swiftly breaking up; there was no time to lose. Bobby had to get off the thunder cloud or he would fall from the sky. He took off running as fast as he could, sending the kite high into the sky. Up! Up! High into the sky he flew on the kite with the rainbow tail. As Bobby looked back, all he could see were traces of the thunderstorm he left behind.

"Safe at last," he sighed.

As he sailed through the sky, Bobby realized he was getting very tired. His eyes became heavy; he yawned. When he reached to rub his eyes, he accidentally let go of the kite string and fell through the sky onto another soft and fluffy white cloud. He stretched out and lay back on the cloud. Bobby floated through the sky soaking up the warm sun. He was so relaxed he fell asleep. He floated aimlessly in the beautiful blue sky. Time soon passed as the day became night. He was startled awake by the cool night air. Bobby was afraid of the dark and wanted to go home. He sat on the edge of the cloud, looked out at the night sky, wondered how he was going to get home and started to cry.

"I wish! I wish!" he cried. "I wish I was back at home."

He looked across the night sky once again and saw a shooting star. He watched it fall out of sight and then made a wish.

"I wish, little star, that I could go home."

Bobby looked to his right, to his left and around the edge of the cloud. Zoom! Zoom! Zoom fell three falling stars at his side. The stars wrapped their tails of light around the edge of the cloud, fell toward the ground and pulled Bobby back home.

"Bobby! Bobby! Wake up!" shouted a little voice.

Bobby woke up, rose up out of the tall grass and saw Jennifer, his sister, running toward him.

"Have you been day dreaming again?" she asked.

Bobby just yawned and stretched.

"Look, Bobby," she said, "what Daddy bought me. It's a kite with a rainbow tail," she said with a laugh.

"It's beautiful," he replied. "Just like the..."

"Hurray, Bobby, it's late. Mama wants us home right now," she interrupted.

Bobby started to say just like the kite in his dream. But, he didn't get a chance to.

"But, sis," he responded, "you're not going to believe what happened to me."

"Tell me later," she replied. "Tomorrow I want you to help me fly my kite with the rainbow tail."

*****

Tickle Box

Bizzy Bee of Whispering Valley

Summer had come to Whispering Valley. The summer gardens were beautifully decorated with rainbow colored flowers. The flowing meadow which surrounded the valley enriched its beauty. And the gentle breeze blew a whisper of fragrance across the valley.

Bizzy Bee, a worker bee, lived in the valley inside a hollow tree. She worked hard along with the other bees gathering nectar throughout the garden and meadow to fill their beehive and to make honey. Her sister, Lazzy Bee, lay around on a leaf wearing her sunglasses and soaking up the sun with her friend, Stre-e-tch, the grasshopper. Day after day, Bizzy and the other bees gathered nectar.

"Bizzy, when is your sister going to start helping us gather nectar?" asked one of the worker bees.

"Yea," said another, "we are getting tired of doing all the work!"

"I don't know," replied Bizzy. "I will talk to her."

"Queen Bee will be angry if she finds out Lazzy is not helping us," said another worker bee.

Bizzy quickly flew off through the garden in search of her sister. She flew around and thought to herself, what am I going to do? Eventually, she found Lazzy swimming in a buttercup filled with rain from the morning rain shower.

"Lazzy, the other workers are upset because you are not helping gather nectar," Bizzy explained. "Won't you please start helping us?"

"Me, gather nectar!" laughed Lazzy.

Stre-e-tch, the grasshopper who was chewing on a blade of grass, chuckled, "Lazzy, gather nectar! Are you kidding me," he said as he turned his head and spit.

"But, Lazzy," insisted Bizzy, "we all must work together and help each other."

"Phooey," laughed Lazzy, "I'm not going to mess up my manicure."

"Please think about it," mumbled Bizzy as she buzzed off.

A few days later, while on her way back to the hollow tree, Bizzy got word that Queen Bee wanted to see her.

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Bizzy. "The Queen must have heard about Lazzy not doing her share of the work."

As Bizzy approached Queen Bee, she fluttered her wings and dropped her head.

"Bizzy," grumbled Queen Bee, "I have heard that your sister, Lazzy, is not gathering her share of nectar?"

"Yes, ma'am, I know," buzzed Bizzy. "Will you please give her another chance? Just let me talk to her one more time."

"Okay," agreed the Queen. "But, she had better start gathering her share of nectar."

"Thanks," replied Bizzy as she flew off."

On her way back to work, Bizzy passed by the garden where she spotted Lazzy relaxing on a petal and sipping nectar while her friend, Stre-e-tch, chewed on a weed. Oh, what's the use, thought Bizzy. She's never going to change. I would rather do it myself. Bizzy buzzed through the open meadow and darted through the garden as mad as a hornet. She got an idea when she was hurrying about the meadow filling her work pails with nectar. Instead of gathering two pails of nectar, I'll get four to cover my sister's share of the work, she thought. Maybe the extra pails I collect will make up for Lazzy's shortcomings.

Days went by and all was quiet. As long as Bizzy covered for Lazzy, the other workers kept quiet. But, the other workers thought it was terrible the way Lazzy treated her sister. Lazzy's excuse was that she was too tired. All Stre-e-tch would do was repeat the phrase to bee or not to bee, that is the question. Then he would nod his head and spit.

Things went well for a while. However, Bizzy was so tired one day when she was gathering nectar from a flower she got stuck and was unable to get out. She was so tired and weak that two other bees had to pull her out by her legs.

"Bizzy, you are overworked," stated one of the worker bees. "You can't continue to do your work and Lazzy's too."

After they pulled her out of the flower, she tried to fly away but she just fell to the ground. She was too weak to fly. The other worker bees picked her up and helped her back to the hollow tree.

"You need to rest," one of the worker bees insisted. "Take some time off and get well. We will cover for you."

Lazzy fluttered into the hollow tree and saw how sick and weak Bizzy was. The worker bees looked at her in disgust. She just dropped her head; she was ashamed of how she had been acting.

"Bizzy," she cried as she buzzed over to her, "I'm sorry for the way I have acted. I will do better; you'll see. I'm going to do my share of gathering nectar. Please hurry up and get well."

The worker bees swarmed out and so did Lazzy. Each of them darted about the garden and through the meadow. They filled their work pails with nectar and rushed back to the hollow tree. Well, all except Lazzy. She was so out of shape she couldn't even carry one pail of nectar, much less two, back to the hollow tree. The other worker bees watched as Lazzy struggled and struggled with the pail. She was trying with all her might but she couldn't do it; she didn't have the strength. The other worker bees felt sorry for Lazzy and since Bizzy was their friend they decided to help her.

"Call for Sergeant Bumble!" yelled one of the worker bees.

"Go get Sergeant Bumble!" cried another.

Suddenly, from across the garden, they heard a loud roaring buzz and saw a big, black and yellow dot coming their way. Zoom! Across the way he flew. Zoom! He flashed right before their eyes, circled back and stopped right in front of them.

"What seems to be the trouble, girls?" he questioned with a deep rough voice.

All the worker bees started talking at once. He couldn't understand a word they were saying.

"One at a time," shouted Sergeant Bumble. "One at a time, ladies, please."

Lazzy spoke up and told Sergeant Bumble the whole story.

"I see," said Sergeant Bumble. "So, you want me to help you get in shape to carry nectar?"

"Yes, I do," she whispered, "if you don't mind."

Sergeant Bumble turned and thought a bit. He patted his foot and scratched his head.

"Lazzy, I'm going to get you back in shape," he exclaimed.

"Hooray!" buzzed the other worker bees. "Lazzy, your sister is going to be so proud of you."

The next day, Lazzy started her workout drills with Sergeant Bumble while the other worker bees gathered her and Bizzy's share of nectar. Sergeant Bumble had her doing leaf curl-ups with twigs, chin-ups and lifting barbells of nectar.

"One, two, three," coached Sergeant Bumble. "Now, I want you to fly the bee line across the garden and through the meadow!" he commanded.

For three days, Sergeant Bumble had Lazzy doing strenuous exercises. He also restricted her diet to honey only. Finally, on the fourth day, Lazzy was not only able to carry two pails of nectar but four. The worker bees and Bizzy watched and cheered her on. Sergeant Bumble's work was done; Lazzy was in shape to carry her share of nectar. Bizzy was of proud of her sister. Most importantly, she was glad to be well again and ready to get back to work. As Bizzy and Lazzy flew off through the garden, Lazzy saw her old friend Stre-e-tch.

"Hi, Stre-e-tch," she shouted.

"Hello, Lazzy," he replied. "What have you been up to lately? I haven't seen you in a while," he said as he spit.

"I've turned over a new leaf," she bragged. "It's just like you always said, to bee or not to bee that is the question! Well Stre-e-tch, I have chosen to be a bee," she beamed.

"Very well," replied Stre-e-tch as he spit and hopped off.

"Come on, Bizzy," said Lazzy. "We have things to do."

Bizzy and Lazzy flew off to gather nectar from the garden.

*****

Tickle Box

That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles

It was a beautiful summer day in the little community of Fresh Bake Valley. The air was filled with the songs of birds, buzzing of bees and the sweet smell of freshly baked bread and cookies.

"Yum! Yum!" said the townspeople as they strolled by the little bakery that sat on the corner of Sourdough Lane and Bake-n-Boil Drive.

The bakery was the centerpiece of the little town. People came from all over to try its breads, cookies, candies and pies. The bakery was owned and operated by Chef Charlie, the happy baker, and his wife, Sweet Tooth Bessie. Chef Charlie loved his work and he took pride in it. He always made the best bread, pies, cakes, yummy fudge and brownies. Sweet Tooth Bessie loved to help him cook. She enjoyed decorating the cakes, pies and other desserts.

Charlie always got a good workout when he did his baking. He would throw a big ball of dough onto the table and would get to work. The faster he moved, rolled and punched, the bigger the dough got. He used a baseball bat to roll and beat the dough which made it rise even higher. As he wrestled with the dough, he would add a smidgen of flour here and there. Then he would hit it with the bat, roll it over, hit it again and add another smidgen of flour. By the time he finished, he had received a very good workout from the dough; he would be so weak and out of breath. All he could do was lean against the table and mumble how sweet it is. Sweet Tooth Bessie would laugh and tell him that's the way the cookie crumbles.

Sweet Tooth Bessie was crazy about the fudge bars with chocolate icing. She would get so carried away eating them she would have chocolate all around her mouth and in her hair. There was no mistake about it; if there was anything left lying around, she would eat it.

It was truly a sight to see Chef Charlie, the happy baker, at work in his bakeshop. He would wrestle with the dough, choke it and squeeze it through his fingers. At times, you couldn't tell if he was whipping the dough or if the dough was whipping him. He would grab a dash or pinch of two of flour and shoot it down between his toes. Then he would reach down, grab a handful of dough and stretch it up between his toes. He would yank, twist, twist and yank until he got it the way he wanted. I guess you could say he put everything he had in to it.

Chef Charlie and Sweet Tooth Bessie were so happy until one night when the worst of the worse happened. The most dreaded thing; Sweet Tooth Bessie awoke with a toothache.

"Oh, my," she moaned. "My tooth, my head and my jaw is killing me. Oh, my God, what am I going to do?"

She quickly leaped from the bed. She cried and paced back and forth across the floor. Chef Charlie followed right behind her and patted her on the back.

"Honey, what can I do?" he asked.

"Aiyee," she screamed.

Chef Charlie hurried to the bathroom to get the toothache medicine. Unfortunately, they didn't have any. He hurriedly quickly got dressed and left to get the doctor.

Sweet Tooth Bessie held her mouth and twisted this way and that. She squirmed here and there trying to stop her tooth from aching. She cried, screamed, yelled and hollered. But, she couldn't get any relief.

"Ooohhh," she cried. "It's hurting so bad. I know what I'll do; I'll pull it. I'll yank this sucker right out of there. Where's my string?"

She frantically looked for some string until she finally found some.

"Here it is," she said and quickly tied it around her tooth. "That ought to do it," she said.

She wrapped the string around her finger, squinted her eyes, held her breath, slightly turned her head and jerked. Snap went the string; it broke. Throb, throb, throb went her tooth.

"So, you want to play tough," she said as she doubled the string around her tooth.

She wrapped the string around her finger, squinted her eyes, held her breath, slightly turned her head and jerked the string. Again, it broke. But, this time, it broke in two places. Throb, throb, throb went her tooth.

"Oh, no, what am I going to do?" she cried.

She looked around the room and got another idea. Quickly, she ran across the room and tied the string around her tooth three times and then tied the other end to the doorknob.

"I'll show you," she groaned as she stood by the door with a slight slack in the string.

She squinted her eyes, held her breath and titled her head slightly. She slammed the door shut. Bam went the door. The doorknob popped off the door and snap, snap, snap went the string. Throb, throb, throb went her tooth.

"What am I going to do?" she cried. "I have tried everything."

About that time, Chef Charlie was back with the doctor.

"Here she is, doctor. Here she is," he said. "She has a very bad toothache."

"Sit down here, Mrs. Bessie," he instructed, "open your mouth and let me take a look at it. Open your mouth a little wider. Okay, that's good. Now, which one is it? Oh, I'm sorry, you only have one," he giggled. "That was a little joke," said the doctor.

"Yeah, yeah," replied Charlie. "We don't have time for jokes."

"Yes, Charlie, I believe you're right. I believe this tooth is bad," the doctor said as he examined her tooth. "Now hold still and let me...."

"Ooohhh!" she screamed.

"That's definitely the right tooth. Well, now, let me see," he said as he opened his big, long black bag.

Slowly, he pulled out all kinds of thing-a-ma-doodles.

"Let me see," he said. "Nope, not that and I don't need this. Hold this for me, Mrs. Bessie. Charlie, you hold this. Oh, here's my extractor."

"Your extractor," exclaimed Charlie. "That's a pair of pliers!"

"Oh, they'll do. Now, Mrs. Bessie, hold on and let me grab that tooth. I'll have it out in one jerk."

Sweet Tooth Bessie closed her eyes; she didn't want to see a thing. As the doctor eased the pliers toward her mouth, she opened up her eyes and screamed.

"Aiyee," she screamed.

About that time, Sweet Tooth Bessie leaped out of her bed and awakened Charlie.

"Bessie, what's wrong?" he questioned.

When she felt of her mouth, her tooth was still there and it was not hurting.

"I must have had a bad dream," she sighed. "Thank you, Lord," she said.

"I told you not to eat all that fudge and chocolate before you went to bed. I'm going back to sleep," Chef Charlie said. "Goodnight."

"Whew," she sighed in relief as she sat back down on the side of the bed.

From that day onward, Sweet Tooth Bessie took care of her one tooth. She brushed and flossed it daily. She still ate sweets but not as many as before. Oh well, that's the way the cookie crumbles.

*****

Discover other children's titles by Bobby A. Troutt at Smashwords.com

Giggle Book One

Giggle Book Two

Giggle Book Three

Leftover from the Holidays

Bobby A. Troutt is a southern writer who writes a variety of short stories and children's books.
