LES ANIMEAUX
by
D. Craig Taylor
Thursday, June 28, 2012
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE PEOPLE
Craig Taylor
Zita Taylor
All of Craig and Zita’s Friends and a very few of their Relatives
The entire membership of the SAS Flight Attendants Union
THE ANIMEAUX
Colonel, The Honourable, Dugal Blackthorn-Badger, 79th Foot (Ret.)
Haemish-Mór - RRRR (Ret.)
Monsieur Beauregard Clayton-Lyon - An Exile
Albert Grator Esq.
Callum McCallum - Haemish’s younger brother
RSM Bruin Theodore McGruph - late of The PPCLI.
Tutk - A Great FuryBear
THE IMPERIOUS TEDDYBEAR ZOUAVES
Allywishes Bear
Le Duc Douglas Louis D’Orleans DeBellevu Furbanques
L.L. Bear
Mr. Bearkowski
Osgoode Small (QC)
Roncivales Navigator (Captain RN. Ret.)
Seamus “Slugger” O’Toole
The BigWhite Bear
The Lady that’s Known as Lou
The TeddyBear with GreenFeet
The TeddyBear with The-Red-Toque
THE QUEEN’S OWN PIG IRREGULARS
ArchiBold McOinqle (of That Ilk)
Maes Howe (PH.D.)
F-X McGurq (PH.D.)
L.B, “Spike” Pig (PH.D.) Esq.
Winston Hog’Inn Däs (Oxon.)
THE FEARSOME FIRST FENCIBLES
Alexsandair Grant of Freuchie
Festis Grant of Glenmoriston
Angus SteadFastt
BatmanBear - Dugal’s soldier servant
Halvadar-Major Rupert Palantine Finehorn RRRR
Horatio ‘Potomus
Mr. Springfield Buffalo (Late of Lord Strathcona’s Horse)
T.T. McGruph
Tim The Bear
THE FIRST DRAGON DRAGOON GUARDS
Rhome Clay Esq.
Tre’r Ceiri The Sliver Dragon
The TeddyBear with the damaged arms (A Most Honourary Dragon)
MINDERS AND WATCHERS
Mr. Ajax
Mr. Achilles
Mr. Exeter
Mr. Brun
Mr. Blanc
PYRATES
By their Nefarious Billions......
Chapter One
Story One
The Beginnings - One of Many Possible
It was a deep gray depressing October afternoon. Winter was busy forecasting itself overhead. To hide from its onset he had been browsing, as was his habit, in some of Ottawa
As he meandered his way past mashed cardboard boxes of obscure Macedonian poetry, and frayed Saskatchewan
From their battered and disheveled appearance he knew at once that they were some unfortunates captured by the increasingly desperate and despicable Pyrates, and interned in that infamous “L’Animeaux Perdu” depot, in French South-by-North East Africa.
Fortuitously he was quite knowledgeable where Animeaux were concerned, having witnessed the endless extravagances of “Dragon Dragoon Guards”, “The Queen’s Own Pig Irregulars”; a rather motley crew of Bears, and Colonel Blackthorn-Badger for several years now. Therefore it was with an abiding sadness that he looked across the deeply bowed and grimy shelves at the small huddled and dejected group. He would consult with the Colonel and the Dragoon Guards as soon as he got home. Perhaps together they could right this all too common scandal.
That night, over dinner, he told Zita about the small herd of hostage Animeaux. Naturally she was appalled. As she had often said, “Living amid shelves of tawdry third-rate romances and worse biographies was a poor fate for any self-respecting Animeaux.”
(And all the Animeaux that they were acquainted with, were quite respectable, -- well most of the time anyway, and that was usually all that could be said for anyone of us.)
As they continued with their dessert, Colonel Dugal arrived. He had just climbed the stairs from the basement, where he had been checking on the state of his “supplies”. He stopped by the dining room doorway and listened intently.
Now Dugal was usually found with his long black nose pushed far into some new book; trying to re-fight Gettysburg or defend the lost residence in Kabul
After a few silent moments, he strode into the dining room, and took to one of the side chairs and said, “Craiglellachie, we must have a powwow. I seem to have misplaced an old friend of mine. Careless I know; but did you perhaps see a tolerably stocky, closely cropped, rather natty looking Rhinosasauris in that crowd of unfortunates?”
Craig said “Well no. Actually I don’t know what a Rhinosasauris is. A relative of the rhinoceros I assume?”
The Colonel was appalled. He grasped his walking stick and gasped, “By the Great Gods in all the Heavens. Ahhh.... No wonder the wee Animeaux are disappearing at such a rate, when not even fine Peoples like you ken The Rhinosasauri! ‘Is no right. No right t’all!”
He rocked back and forth for a few moments, bracing himself on his graying tail. He stopped and looked off into the distance and said, “Now whist a while and listen to your betters for a change; for your information The Rhinosasauri are one of the most majestic creatures on the once beautiful Earth. Along with Badgers – naturally - the formidable Great FuryBears, the Vainful Lions, the Whimsical Wolves, and their extremely dangerous friends, the Worrisome Wolverines, Various sundry Whales and some of our very peculiar Porcine friends, and, and.... well Others!”
Dugal shook his head several times, and then turned away and looked out the dining room window with a sad, wistful and slightly older look on his checkered face.
“Oh, I am sorry. I really didn’t know.” Craig said softly, not wishing to upset his old friend any further. Then Zita said that she would be off work the following day, and would risk sneaking into the bookstore to see if there were any Rhinosasauris matching Dugal’s description held captive.
He thanked her, and using his ever-present briar walking stick slowly got down from the chair, climbed over the sofa and onto the walnut cabinet. He rummaged around for a moment until he found one of his discs of “The Tannahall Weavers”. With some difficulty he placed the headphones atop of his ears and then withdrew into the familiar pipes and Bodhrán of his Caledonian home.
Craig and Zita were more than a little distressed, and a bit ashamed that they had let their old friend down. They decided to not let this happen again, if it was at all possible.
Chapter Two
The Rhinosasauri Appear
The very next night Zita arrived home, loaded down with her regular accumulation of parcels. Pounds of silk from here, bolts of cotton from there, a lump of velvet found somewhere, in addition, peeking out over her shoulder, from inside her knapsack, was, what could only have been a Rhinosasauris; looking a bit bedraggled, and perhaps just a tad apprehensive.
It was dressed in a much smudged, creased turquoise safari jacket, and had an often dented pith helmet tied onto its head with short pieces of frayed, knotted twine. Zita gently lowered the knapsack on to the living room floor.
The Colonel dropped his newest acquisition - a not too used copy of McPherson’s “Battle Cry of Freedom” and quickly climbed down from his chair.
“Damnation! - This here’s only a bairn. Great Goodness what is happening over there?” He shook his head in a fashion that suggested that the fall of The Empire was not altogether an advance for either Animeaux or Peoples, the hiding his concern behind regimental formality, he picked up his walking stick and marching into the living room, rested against the wicker end table.
“And now wha’s been happening t’ya laddie?” he asked in his best official voice.
(The Rhinosasauris had long since climbed out of the knapsack a stood fore-square facing the household. He was not overly large, but like all of his kind he was wonderfully graceful. He had a rather silvery gray coat and most specifically blue eyes; his two horns were a complementary muted blue-gray, a short tail protruded from under his jacket; it seemed to wave in tempo with his conversation. All-in-all the Rhinosasauris cut quite a stylish figure, though it was clear to all that even with the assistance of extremely well-tailored ensembles, he would always be described as “robust”.)
He stood up straight, stretched his arms, shook both legs, straightened out his jacket (as best he could), and adjusted the rake of his hat.
Rubbing his eyes he looked around at the multitude who had gathered in the living room. He held up his head and turning towards the question, replied, “And now who might be asking?”
Dugal stepped back, bowed slightly, “I say. Do beg your pardon. ‘Most forgot myself. Silly of me. The name’s Dugal; of the Blackthorn-Badgers of fair Glenfinnan. Up north of Loch Eil,”
He reached out his hand, “....and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I welcome you to our domicile. First Dragon Dragoons and The Pig Irregulars over there.” He said with a wide sweep of his knobby walking stick in their general direction. The Queen’s Own Pig Irregulars all promptly nodded, while the Dragons brushed the air with their wings in the traditional Dragoon welcome.
“The two Peoples here are our friends; Mister Craiglellachie and the lady of the house, Ms. NíChaomhaigh. To be sure it was herself who ransomed you from that decidedly common retail outlet.”
Zita interrupted, “In spite of all the Colonel’s hopes, I am really not that formal, and I’d be pleased if you would call me Zita, or Mrs. Taylor if you must.”
She leaned over to Craig and whispered, “When I got to the book store all were gone, except for this one. He was lying just under the shambles of the Third World Revolutionary Diets section. I guess he was overlooked. To say the least, his condition is a bit rough, but he is cute - in sort of a blocky way. I am afraid that they were only asking $14.29, which is a bit of a disgrace, but I didn’t tell him so. I’m sorry I missed the others.”
Craig went over to their guest and extended his hand, “I’m pleased to meet you, and glad that we could be of help. Naturally any colleague of Dugal’s is welcome here. Everyone, aside from the Colonel, just calls me Craig; I really wish you’d do the same.”
The Rhinosasauris, with some difficulty, undid various knots and removed his helmet. He shook Craig’s hand and bowed to all four corners of the room.
“I would most certainly like to thank you for my rescue. The last several months have all been a terrible bout of confusion, and I must ask for your forgiveness if I have misplaced some of my manners, you see I really don’t know where I am, or actually how I got here.”
Zita was horrified and promptly went off to the kitchen to make him some weak tea, while he continued with his story.
“You see, one foul day, I don’t really know how long ago, while I was tarrying at the Ritz-intercontinental, making my annual visit to the crusader castles in the vicinity of Amman
“Ahhh.... well. I suspect someone unknown put a sleeping drought in my good-morning Coca-Cola float. The next thing I knew I was tied to the top of a huge bookshelf, in a rather grimy book store; where I didn’t know anybody or recognize anything.”
He suddenly placed his hand against the wall to brace himself. Craig said, “Quick, get him some porridge!” Two of the Queen’s Own rushed into the kitchen.
Ten minutes later he was on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, munching on a tremendous mound of cheese Ritz, warming his hands on the cup of tea. (Zita had cancelled the porridge.) He was explaining that throughout this adventure, though he was sometimes very confused and often even quite upset, we should all understand that he was never in the least bit frightened. (He had been brought up properly and Rhinosasaurises were never, ever frightened.)
Zita said she was sure that he was not in the least bit afraid, but perhaps he would like to have a bit more to eat and then a small sleep. We could discuss it all in the morning, giving a pointed glance at Dugal.
“Why yes thank you. That would be really quite nice; as long as it does not put any of you to any trouble.” As he said this, he toppled over quite asleep and was carried upstairs to the den by the two Dragons. One of the better behaved of the Queen’s Own was asked to keep watch over him, just in case he awoke and could not remember where he was.
Zita then asked the TeddyBears to have someone bring down the Safari Jacket so that she could wash and mend it before their guest awoke.
(All Animeaux are very neat and tidy, and since they have never been known to go out visiting in un-pressed clothes or less than perfect socks, they all realized that the new guest would be needlessly agitated if he had to appear for breakfast in the disheveled state he had arrived in. As a small aid The Queen’s Own had left some of their favourite French bath talc, a lint brush, some new red and green argyle socks, a mirror and the Dust Buster - on the floor beside the sofa.)
The Tale of The Rhinosasauri
Downstairs Craig and Dugal were lounging in the living room. The Colonel had put one of his Edgar discs on the stereo and brought out some vintage Tonic Water for Craig. He had poured himself a large dram of his currently favoured layaway. They were about to discuss Rhinosasauri.
“They are a noble nation, The Rhinosasauri. ‘Patently they live somewhere up ‘round Lake Tanganyika; hidden far up the reaches of the Blue Nile . Been there since them Angles painted themselves blue. The family first ran into them when they captured a full brigade of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers - some little time after Victoria was crowned - must have been somewhere round the late 40’s, I would hazard for a guess. Now by the time the Rhinosasauri released them poor buggers, the silly Book-Wallahs in high command had given them all up for lost; but one day, marching down Cairo High Street, comes the whole covey of them - singing what was later to become the Triumphal March from Aida.
It was quite a sight to be sure, albeit just a tad strange. It seems that their Colonel had promised the King of the Rhinosasauri the freedom of the Empire - in the name of the young Queen. What was to be done? Couldn’t let the side down ya’see. So there we were, treaty bound to a Nation who looked like rhinoceroses, spoke like a cold dawn in the Kirk, had more pride then a stew of Highland chefs, and were more stubborn then a bag full of hammers.”
Dugal leaned back and loosened his shoes, “Grandfather used to talk about these happenings all the time - when the distaff side was out opening the summer fêtes. He said that he was damned if they didn’t take to wearing our service pith helmets, and carrying on like so many members of The Lords on bath day. Made a real nuisance of themselves for a while. Great-grand Uncle Austin, who was in command of the Scots Grays at the time, ran off with twin gyppo belly dancers just to have some peace and quiet. Well, as I understand, they finally left Cairo
Can’t ‘member how many times we heard the story ‘bout how they showed up at the very last moment - and with a quick flanking charge, drove off those Zulu fellows, saving all those poor buggers at Rourke’s Drift. Part of their old bargain with the Welsh they said. Never did take any credit for it. That’s the Rhinosasauri for you though; just get on with it, and don’t say it ‘gain.
Took terrible casualties at the Somme and Verdun
At this point Dugal poured some more of his Glenmorangie into his big brass cup, and Craig got a couple more pillows. It always took Dugal a while to tell his stories.
“Years later; in the next war, they ended up bored to tears in Alex. They and some crazy New Zealanders. Now it has often troubled me, how does one really know if an Australian is crazy or is really a New Zealander. Ahhh... we spent many an hour in the Mess over that one. Where was I? Oh yes! ....all of them, and that mad man Bagnold started racing round and round in their little trucks, generally making a prime nuisance of themselves, but I’ll tell you, them Rhinosasauri knew the Libyan Desert as well as any heathen, so they played bloody hell with the Boche supply lines. ‘Named them the Long Range Dessert Group - generally made more trouble for Jerry then for us. Though the Royal Nursing Corps might have argued the point. Ahhh well.... A wee bit later they all up and followed that terrible lunatic fellow Stirling when he ‘cided to form up a bunch of the lads for a spot of danger, cheap thrills, and worse scotch. Y’see I was his 2-I-C at the time. Called us the Special Air Services. ‘Parently some silly bugger in White Hall thought that it might do some good if we were confused with the Scandinavian Airline Services from time to time. From then on the Rhinosasauri have always had a few of their fellows assigned to the regiment. Great success they made of themselves from one end of the big red map to’other.”
Dugal paused and looked around, “To tell the truth, they seem to have got it all mixed up. Always seemed to be off having assignations with Scandinavians. They ‘peared to think it was part of their duties. No matter how often we tried to explain that The S.A.S. and the SAS were completely different organizations, the Rhinosasauri kept showing up at regimental dances draped with tall blonde stewardesses, named Brijit and Sonja or Ingrid. Sort of a tradition with them by then I would think. Ahhh well.
Those were the.... Ahhh…. Away away…. it was at one of these regimental dances, up in Cromarty, where I met my friend the Commander Rhinosasauris and his “friend” - Miss Tanya. Now you see we never could pronounce the Rhinosasauri names, so we called them by rank; Sergeant-Major Rhinosasauris, Commodore Rhinosasauris etc, etc.... Worked fine, never more than a couple of dozen in at a time Y’see. Well we, the Commander and I, were out together - doing some extended sunbathing in The Malay campaign - also in that unpleasantness out in Aden
He hick-upped as he laughed and apologized, “They were very good times don’t you know, me the Commander and - well others - Last time I heard of him he had got himself into a spot of trouble in the near east - doing a bit of liaison work with the Mossad. He was lent to them after that dashed unfortunate episode with his brother-in-law the Crown Prince. I’m sure you heard of it. Was in all the papers. Now I have had word that he has been trapped and interned by some of the scoundrels that seem to thrive over there. ‘Should like to help if we could - ‘know both the Dragon Dragoons and the Queen’s Own are ready to volunteer.”
“Ahh Ha!” thought Craig. Dugal wants permission to rescue his old friend, and has been buttering me up for the last couple of hours.
“Well....” he said, “you don’t know where your friend is at the moment do you?”
“Achhh well - not yet; but if you give me leave, I’ll make some discrete phone calls, and we will find him soon; if it is not already too late.” Dugal said looking sadly off into the distance.
What could he do? The chances of finding this Rhinosasauris were rather small so he might as well give the Colonel permission. It would be easier in the long run he guessed.
“Well Dugal, I’ll write out the orders tonight, and don’t worry about the phone bill. We might as well do it right. If by some mischance you happen to tell Zita, make a point of saying it’s a rescue mission. She is not partial to military endeavours you know, what with all the fuss in the Post Office, not to overlook the guns hidden under her gran’dad’s front hall, The Twelve Apostles and all.”
“Mums The Word” said Dugal as he went to get paper and pen.
Chapter Three
The Rescue Mission
It was a wonderfully sunny Saturday, and the young Rhinosasauris was still half asleep when he arrived downstairs.
Everyone else was spread around the living room, knee deep in bagels, coffee, raspberry jam and several newspapers. The Dragons were over by the window, practicing signing their names by holding a pen in their coiled tails. They were going to apply for American Express cards they said.
Hearing the hubbub the Rhinosasauris slowly stuck his head around the corner and peered into the living room. ArchiBold McOinqle nudged Zita’s leg. She looked up and asked their latest guest if he wanted anything special for breakfast, “A small cup of black coffee would be quite nice, and the bagels look quite scrumptious.” he said.
“Well if you go into the kitchen and pick out a coffee cup for yourself you will find the coffee maker is on the counter the cream is in the fridge, make yourself at home.” said Craig.
He returned with a large mug with a big handle - Rhinosasauris don’t have small dainty hands as you might have guessed. When he was settled and the tray of bagels had been passed round several times, introductions were made all round.
When Dugal was introduced Colonel, The Honourable, Dugal Blackthorn-Badger, late of the 79th Regiment of Foot, the small Rhinosasauris said, “Oh you must be THE Blackthorn-Badger - who single-handedly cleaned out the old bazaar in upper Aden
“Why of course I remember him, big laddie. Quite a nice fellow, a fine sense of humour, could throw a grenade sixty feet while doing his daily practice on The Pipes. Haven’t heard from him in a while. Have you?”
The young Rhinosasauris took a long sip of his coffee and said quite softly, but with certain resolution, “I am very sorry to have to be the one to tell you this - my brother has been held captive for near two years now, by the most despicable sort of Burbary Pyrates. I have tracked down their address, in Algeciras
The Colonel stomped over and tapped the Rhinosasauris’s knee with his walking stick and said softly, “Hardly strangers laddie. Hardly Strangers. I’ve known your big brother near on 50 years and Craiglellachie-liath (The Colonel always called everyone by their Gaelic name, if they were fortunate enough to have one), has already given me permission to mount a rescue mission”
A RESCUE MISSION MISSION MISSION
Oh dear God! thought Craig.
Much fervent discussion and two tubs of Hagan Däs “Swiss Vanilla Burnt-Almond” later they settled on a strategy; the Colonel would call on all his bygone colleagues to get some facts about exactly where his old friend, the Rhinosasauris might be held and what were the chances of changing the situation.
Zita kept muttering about flying columns, Michael Collins, her great uncle Joe, and the Black and Tans, but it was to no avail.
Chapter Four
The Book Store Assault
Two weeks later Dugal carefully strolled into the living room. He looked behind the chairs and under the end tables. He reached up and plucked a small paper note which had been tucked under the brim of his tam and said in his softest voice, “Andreis NicoNikolovitch has given me the code, and we have sent a counterfeit telegram to that address the wee lad gave us. They will soon be transferring him to that grimy bookstore with the trashy novels.”
(If the truth were to be told, for the previous few weeks Colonel Dugal had been very difficult to live with and Craig did not even want to guess who Andreis NicoNikolovitch was, or where he came from; much less why he gave Dugal any codes, much less secret ones.)
A few days later while on the highway, coming home from the Research Centre in Montreal
“My brother has arrived! And he is locked-up in that dreadful bookstore! The staff is getting very suspicious, as they have no record of his being ordered and the seven dollars of duty and the GST on him has yet to be paid!
Now the Colonel and the Queen’s Own Pigs are planning to conduct a cutting-out raid this very evening, after evensong.; while I don’t really want to express my apprehension; some of them really have not had much experience in this sort of work before - though to their great credit, they have studiously watched all your John Wayne movies, and read each of the Hornblower books - twice - to just see how it should be carried out, but I am just a wee bit concerned, the Colonel has been retired for some years now, you know.”
He knew only too well, “Pass on these orders please. Take all The Queen’s Own and establish a forward picket in the upstairs porch. Stock up on the ice cream and cold Tonic Water, better add some Scotch for the Colonel I guess. Boil some water and make bandages—and don’t rip up any of the sheets or it will take more than his friends in the GRU to save Dugal from Zita. Wait for further orders” and he hung up.
Craig lay down the phone. “I should have listened to Zita and contracted all of this foolishness out to her relatives.” he thought to himself. He told the Blue Car to keep a close lookout for the Provincial Police, and wondered why General Motors thought if the speedometer only went up to 140km. you would stop there, after all there was lots of room left on the tachometer - but not for long.
He reached the terrorist’s bookstore ten minutes before closing. His great uncle Austin’s pistol felt suddenly inconsequential in his jacket’s pocket, but it would never have bothered “The Duke” so he mentally re-played the all the important bits from “She Wore A Yellow Ribbon”. Buoyed-up he entered the store. He carried the cardboard box of Esso receipts he kept in the car - at 14 miles to the gallon there were many of them.
Approaching the front counter, with his back to the staff he fired twice into big front windows - as they shattered and crashed to the floor he threw the box of receipts on the counter.
“Oh my God! The despicable capitalist swine are trying to sell all my complimentary tickets to The Kamsack National Ukrainian Folk Dancing Festival and Plenary Rally - for a profit! Help me!”
Their training held true. The staff immediately began to eat the pieces of paper. Craig raced for the Harlequin Romance section. There tethered to a box of publishers clearances was a large, rather bedraggled and bewildered Rhinosasauris. In spite of his condition, he was furiously trying to saw through his shackles with the rough edge of his belt buckle. His pith helmet, was planted precisely four square on his head. (You see Rhinosasauri are all very well brought up, and never have been known to give up hope, or neglect their personal appearance.)
Craig shouted “Colonel Blackthorn-Badger has sent me! Stand back please!” The gun fired twice more; the chains crumbled.
“Jump!” he cried and the Rhinosasauris sort of staggered over the ledge and rather inelegantly fell to the floor. The two raced for the far doors. As they turned down the corner to freedom, three ex-librarian types tried to stop them, but he yelled “Bankers are Xeroxing the dictionary in the back room.”
The hulks screamed “Copyright!”, grabbed fire axes and raced to the rear.
The Blue Car was waiting, exhaust rumbling, transmission in low, door open, and Stan Rogers in the tape deck. Craig helped the stumbling Rhinosasauris through the open roof and scrambled in after him.
The scene behind them was apocalyptic - axe brandishing turncoat bibliophiles marching down the street, advancing on the Royal Bank Headquarters - being met by hoards of grim faced accountants - fresh from evicting Saskatchewan
By the time they reached home, all was quite calm - aside from the roar of the fire engines and the noise the RCMP’s Musical Ride made as they rushed to quell the riot downtown.
They pulled into the back yard, to be greeted by the entire Animeaux population, carrying “Welcome To The Royal Ottawa Winter Fair” and “God Save Good King George” banners. (It was all they could find on such short notice.) There was a babble of conversation, in English, Gaelic, and Rhini.
Profuse thanks were delivered and not a few tears shed. Dugal and his old comrade stood apart and fondly shook hands. Two glasses of the Colonel’s “Special Reserve Stock” appeared, and a toast to “True Friends and Far Places” was drunk. (The glasses were not thrown into the fireplace. Dugal being a Scot, and the glasses were his great-uncle Angus’s after all.)
(The two Rhinosasaurises phoned home – collect - to tell their parents that the rescue had come off without a hitch, and to request that their Stately Security Service should be informed and should take the appropriate measures against the cowardly fiends who had initiated the shabby scheme - and by the way if they wouldn’t mind just giving a quick call to inform the Second Cultural Attaché at the Israeli embassy of their safe return.)
The Dragons and the Queen’s Own, and the entire company of TeddyBears were all introduced, and hands shaken all around. There was a fair amount of stammering and “Might you like a fresh dish of ice cream? or, Would you like to borrow my nearly best tartan dressing gown?” going on.
Obviously there had never been a real knock-em-down, shoot-em-up rescue conducted by the household before, and there was no real precedent for either Craig or the Animeaux to fall back on. So they decided to celebrate the glorious occasion by the issuing of Honours. Craig called for order (many times), and presided over the handing out of Courageous Campaign Commendations and the dishing out of more ice cream. Everyone got medals, even more got ice cream.
When Zita arrived home she was introduced to the new Rhinosasauris, while the TeddyBears and the Queen’s Own tried in vain to clean up the living room.
Later while sitting around the living room they all decided to order out to Mrs. Mitzi’s for Chinese food, except for the Queen’s Own who wanted to go to McDonalds for triple McHagis Burgers. Zita stopped the argument in its tracks. She closed the kitchen door behind her, removed the thermos of tea from under her arm, “No one is leaving the house until I know what is going on - or I run out of tea....” (If this had been a soap opera - a commercial would have now have begun.)
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