Osa and the Food Gods

The food gods were called Juan and Kimberly Rodriguez. They were benevolent gods. At least Osa thought so. Osa was a mutt. A mid-sized dog, with a face like a lab and the brown and black coloring of a German shepherd. Her large feet suggested that she still had some growing to do. She had only been in the house of the gods a day and was still learning the way of things.

There were other animals in the house of the gods. Two guinea pigs called Ginger and Nutmeg, a scarlet macaw named Tango, and a tabby cat named Duchess. 

Tango explained that he was the prophet of the gods-the only animal who could speak to them in their own tongue. He relayed their messages to the other animals. 

Tango told Osa all kinds of things that first day. He explained that the guinea pigs were in charge of the sacred food chants. Whenever they sang, the gods would rain vegetables upon them. 

Osa liked looking at the guinea pigs; they were cute and fluffy, fat and juicy. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to lick them affectionately or eat them. Tango explained that eating the guinea pigs would be a sin. He went on to warn her about several other sins, including overturning the sacred kitchen bin and eating from the gods’ table. Osa thought all of it sounded difficult, but agreed to try her best. 

The parrot then warned her very sternly never to listen to the cat. The cat was an atheist. She did not believe that Juan and Kimberly were gods. Sometimes she acted as if they existed to serve her. She committed all kinds of sins and somehow got away with it. She would even sin in the presence of the gods, looking them right in the eyes as she knocked their water glasses off the table. 

Osa found all of this difficult to process. If the gods didn’t want her to turn over the sacred kitchen bin, then why did they fill it with wonderful things? Why was the cat immune to their wrath? 

That very day, she committed dozens of sins. She ate a slipper, snatched a cookie from the counter top, and even overturned the forbidden bin. The god Juan caught her in the act and made her do penance in the kennel. Luckily, Juan and Kimberly were merciful and soon she was set free and allowed to sit between them as they stared into the sacred light box that evening. 

Their mercy only made her love them more. 

The next day was paradise. They threw sticks for her in the yard, gave her treats, and scratched the sweet spot at the base of her tail. She became their shadow, following them all through the house. She didn’t want to let them out of her site for a minute. 

Then the following day, something horrible happened. She was eating her kibbles when she heard the door slam. Her head shot up. She looked all around the kitchen. Then galloped to the front door. She listened to Juan and Kimberly’s footsteps moving away down the walk. Her heart pounded. The gods were gone. 

She let out a long and mournful howl, ate the nearest shoe, then galloped around the house in circles crying: “The gods are gone! The gods are gone! They’ve abandoned us!” 

She was so anxious that she knocked over the sacred bin and ate everything inside. When she was finished, she sat in the carnage, howling: “the gods are gone!” 

“Who cares?” Came the voice of the cat. She was lying on her side next to her empty food dish. “They don’t care about us, why should we care about them?” 

“They do care! They do!” Osa protested. “They are good gods!” 

“No,” Dutchess replied. “If they were good, they would have fed me this morning. They did not.” 

“Yes they did,” Osa countered. “I remember because I tried to share with you and you scratched me.” 

“Lies,” the cat answered. “I am too frail for such violence. Do you see how my ribs protrude from my withering body? They do not feed me. They never have. If they don’t come back, I won’t care. I can do just fine without their warm laps and soft caresses.” She let out a long despondent sigh. “I’m better off alone.”

The dog was horrified. She needed advice. She galloped out of the kitchen and found the guinea pigs in their cage in the den. 

“Fluffs! Fluffs!” The dog pleaded. “The gods have left and the cat says they’re never coming back! He says we are going to starve.” 

A pink nose protruded from a wooden house in the corner. Then Ginger appeared followed by Nutmeg. 

“Let us see if our sacred food chant brings them back,” Nutmeg suggested. 

The guinea pigs both placed their fore-paws on their food dish and lifted their heads in song. But no matter how they wheeked, the gods did not appear and food was not added to their bowl. 

“Well,” Ginger said after a moment. “The cat’s right. We are all going to starve.” 

Osa went into a fit. She tore a corner of the rug to pieces and then ate a throw pillow. What did it matter if she sinned against the gods? All was lost!

Then, she remembered the parrot. He alone could understand their speech, maybe he knew something the others didn’t. 

Tango stood on his perch in the dining room, looking suspiciously into the magic portal. The magic portal was an oval shaped window that dangled on the wall right next to his branch. It was framed by a cheap yellow piece of plastic. Strings, beads, and jingle bells dangled from the frame. Another bird looked out of the magic portal at Tango. The other bird was identical. He mimicked Tango’s every move. Tango turned his head sideways and regarded the duplicate with one suspicious eye. 

Osa barreled into the room accidentally overshooting the perch. She stopped running all at once and skidded several paces across the wood floor.

“Tango!” The dog exclaimed. 

“Have I warned you about this infidel yet?” The parrot interrupted, his eye still set upon the bird in the magic portal.

“Tango, the gods–” 

“He may look like me,” Tango interrupted. “He may speak like me, but he is a false prophet. He is full of lies and deception.” 

Osa did not hesitate. She leapt up, grabbing the magic portal in her teeth and ripped it from the wall. It fell to the ground, shiny side down, and the false prophet was gone. 

Tango stumbled backward in alarm, his wings extended. 

“You have killed the false prophet!” Tango exclaimed. “I knew the gods brought you here for a reason!”

“But Tango, the gods are gone! The cat said they are never coming back!” 

“I told you not to listen to the cat,” the bird replied. “Yes, the gods are gone, but they will return.” 

“How do you know!” Osa whined. 

“Because the god Juan gave me this message before departing.” The parrot fluffed his head up as he translated Juan’s words from English to Doggish. “Bye bye, Tango. Gotta go to work.”

“What does it mean?” Osa asked.

“Work is the realm of the gods,” Tango explained. “They ascend to Work five days each week leaving after breakfast and returning before dinner. Then for two days, they stay home. Five and two and five and two, the pattern repeats.”

“Why?” Osa asked. 

“The gods’ ways are mysterious,” Tango answered. 

Osa didn’t feel like that was an answer at all. Then she realized to her horror that the gods would come back and see all the sins she had committed. What would happen then? Would they want her to stay? Would they smite her? Would they send her back to Shelter? She did not want to go back to Shelter. Shelter was loud, and cold, and lonely. 

Maybe, if she begged their forgiveness they would be merciful to her again. After all, despite what the cat said, they seemed like good gods.

When they returned, she was standing among the wreckage in the kitchen looking up at them with sorrowful brown eyes. She tried to wag her tail, but she could see they were upset and her tail could only make one half-hearted thump. She spent some time doing penance in the kennel while they put things back in order. Then, to her delight, they released her. 

They rubbed her ears, and said nice things. She didn’t understand them, but their voices made her feel warm and happy. They let her sit between them while they stared into the sacred light box that evening. 

She heard them talking to each other and wondered what they were saying. As if reading her mind, Tango flew down onto the back of the couch and said: “You have found favor with the gods. They are rewarding you for killing the false prophet by sending you to a place called Obedience School.”

Osa wagged her tail happily. She didn’t care what the cat said. She liked these gods and wanted them to stay. 

The Octopus

An octopus scurried over the sandy sea bottom. She was deep in thought, wondering if such a thing as free will exists or if all behavior has a cause outside of individual control. As she contemplated the possible answers, a diver approached. He stopped right above her and dropped a jar in her path. 

When she saw that the jar contained a shrimp, she realized her pondering was making her hungry. She wrapped her tentacles around the container and spent a few moments working at the lid while the diver observed. It was secured fast and after only a few moments, the octopus gave up and continued on her way. 

Her eight legs swirled beneath her as they carried her home to her cave in the reef. She thought about the diver, wondering what kind of a stupid creature would keep a shrimp in a container that was impossible to open. She had several crabs waiting for her back home and they were easily accessible. 

As she hurried along, she decided to shift her thinking away from the question of free will for a while. She considered herself more of a mathematician than an ethical philosopher and wanted to ponder the many practical applications of the Pythagorean theorem. 

 The diver, meanwhile, returned to his boat and met with his waiting companions. He reported that the octopus was unable to remove the screw top from the jar. He went on to suggest that octopuses were not as intelligent as originally suspected. 

So what’s the moral of this story? 

If you measured my intelligence by my ability to open pickle jars, you would think I am completely stupid (especially since I have opposable thumbs, unlike your average octopus).

However, if you took me out to coffee and spent some time speaking with me, you’d find me just as intelligent as anyone else. 

The moral of this story is that scientists should spend time talking to their octopuses before judging them. Have you ever seen a scientist asking an octopus what she’s read lately? I haven’t. It’s infuriating. 

I would also like to note that reading an octopus’s tweets is no substitute for a face-to-face conversation. Tweets should never be used to measure anyone’s intelligence.

Toads and Diamonds and Fairytale Cliches

There are three things every fairy needs to remember when trying to help a human: 

  1. Stepmothers are always evil. 
  2. Marriage to a prince or princess is the best way to reward a virtuous soul. 
  3. Any time a family has three children, the elder two are evil and the youngest is good.

At least, this is what the fairy Dara taught Eda, her young apprentice. Eda was somewhat skeptical of these rules. When she mentioned her skepticism to anyone, they told her not to question Dara. After all, Dara had at least a millennia of experience showing humans the error of their ways and probably knew what she was talking about. 

Eda spent many years watching Dara work and was surprised to see that these rules held true. They met many evil stepmothers, many virtuous but abused third children, and usually they could solve a person’s problems by marrying them off to a prince or princess. 

Eda did wonder if it was the marriage that was rewarding, or if it was the wealth that came with it. She found that most princes and princesses were shallow, dull, and unmotivated. She often wondered if there was a way to reward the virtuous with wealth alone, thereby leaving them free to marry someone more interesting later. 

When Eda was finally ready to undergo the final trial that would deem her worthy of being an independant fairy, she decided to diverge from Dara’s advice and test her theory. She did not mention her plan to Dara, as she did not think she would approve of such an unorthodox approach until she saw how effective it could be. 

When the time for the trial came, Dara took Eda to a cottage in the countryside and explained the plight of its most vulnerable occupant. 

“A girl by the name of Rose lives here, a maiden whose physical beauty reflects the purity of her soul,” Dara explained. “With her father, stepmother, and two elder stepsisters.” 

“Well, that’s not good,” Eda commented. “Let me guess, her stepmother and elder stepsisters are vain, self-centered, and abusive?”

“Correct,” Dara answered. “While Rose’s father is away at the mill, they dress Rose in rags, call her vile names, and force her to do all the chores.” 

“And her father is completely oblivious?” Eda interjected. 

“Completely,” Dara confirmed. 

“Typical,” Eda nodded. “So you want me to save the long suffering Rose, while showing her cruel mother and sisters the error of their ways?” 

“Indeed,” Dara confirmed. “I will be observing you but if at any point I have to intervene, you will fail and remain under my tutelage until I deem you ready to be tested again.” 

“Understood,” Eda answered. She wasn’t worried, not even slightly. 

She spent the next several days observing the family, taking in their relationships and interactions. The elder daughters spent most of their days in the village squandering the miller’s money on vanities. When they came home, they would mock poor Rose. When Eda heard their awful words, she knew exactly how to curse them.

Eda took the form of an old beggar woman and sat by the village gate where she knew the elder sisters would pass. When she saw them approaching, she called out: 

“Could you spare a crust of moldy bread for Grandmother?” 

The sisters responded by mocking her ugliness, and swearing at her, and kicking her in the shins. 

So Eda took her true form, looking like a goddess in the eyes of the cruel sisters. Having immense respect for attractive people, the sisters fell on their knees and begged for mercy.

“Your hearts are cruel, and only vile words pass your lips,” Eda reprimanded. “Because of this, whenever you speak a slimy creature will drop from your mouth.”

“Please!” One of the daughters began, but as she spoke a toad hopped out of her mouth and dropped onto the ground. The sisters looked in horror at the creature and tried again to beg for mercy, but with every word they spoke, a frog, or lizard, or insect would fall from their lips and scurry away. 

It was awful. It was horrifying. Dara loved it. After the evil stepsisters ran home to their mother, she materialized behind Eda and praised her for coming up with such a fitting curse. 

Now, when the stepmother saw how her daughters had been cursed, she sent Rose to the village at once, expecting her to be punished in the same way. Eda saw her approaching and again took the form of the old beggar woman, calling out:

“Could you spare a crust of moldy bread for Grandmother?” 

Rose took pity on the old lady and replied. “Allas, I have only a single coin, but here you take it and get yourself something in the village.” 

At once, Eda took her true form and Rose having equal respect for both attractive and unattractive people was unphased. 

“You are kind in both your actions and your words, and so from this day forward you will want for nothing. With every word you speak, something precious will drop from your lips.”

“What do—” the girl started, she paused abruptly and spit a diamond into her hand. She tried again to question Eda, but everytime she tried to speak another jewel passed through her lips. Eda was puzzled when the girl started to cry. 

“I can’t—” she started and then spit two more jewels into her hand. This continued until her lips were cut and bloody and she ran home crying. 

Dara appeared beside Eda with her hands on her hips. “What was that?” 

“A fitting reward for someone who speaks kindly?” Eda answered.

“I thought you were going to give her a nice dress and an invitation to the ball,” Dara scolded. 

Eda was turning red with indignation. Dara was going to have to set things right now, meaning Eda had failed her test, meaning that there wasn’t any harm in her expressing her true feelings.

“Why? So she can marry the prince?” Eda argued. “I’d sooner marry a fence post than that prince, why should I inflict him on anyone else?” 

Eda was fully expecting further retribution, but Dara just paused thoughtfully. “You make a fair point,” she replied. “I wish you’d told me you felt that way, there are other ways of rewarding good behavior you know.” 

Eda stared at her blankly for a moment. “I have never seen you reward anyone in any other way!” 

“Royal marriage is usually sufficient,” Dara explained. “Besides, you never asked.”

Dara proceeded to find the girl and remove the curse that Eda accidentally inflicted. She got to keep all the jewels she’d coughed up to that point and additionally Dara gave her a magic cooking pot that would perpetually refill itself with porridge.

Rose used these items to become independent. She moved to the city, opened a restaurant, and made a very good life for herself. 

When Dara had finally set things right, she said to Eda: “I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson—” 

Eda sighed and rolled her eyes. Being the recipient of a moral is about the most humiliating thing that can happen to a fairy. However, she begrudgingly took the lesson to heart. When she was finally ready to be tried again, she discussed her plan openly with Dara. No mortals were harmed (except those who brought misfortune upon themselves by their own careless actions).

Thursday Limerick: The Skeleton

I asked my four year old what to write a limerick about today. She said: “Pumpkin eating skeletons.” Here you go: 

They say skeletons are scary,
And when passing one, you should be wary,
But a skeleton's only goal,
Is to eat pumpkins whole.
They seldom leave the cemetery.

*Correction: I read this to my four-year-old and she told me skeletons actually eat pumpkins one bite at a time, rendering this completely unrealistic. I have failed you all.

The Fairy Tale Food Chain

Everyone knows that witches like to eat children. Hazel and Thistle were no different. They were sisters who lived together in a house that stood on chicken feet. It wasn’t that they couldn’t eat other things. Sometimes they would eat bunnies, or chipmunks, or stroganoff, but children were their preference. 

Their home was in the forest, adjacent to the road that led to the local village. Sometimes, when they were especially hungry, they would peek out the window to see if any children were passing by. Their long, warty, green noses were visible sticking through the curtains as they watched the road.

It happened one day, that they saw a little girl skipping past, singing a tune: 

 “Down the lane I tread! 
To borrow a needle and thread!

The witches felt their hearts pounding with delight as she came into their yard. They started whispering to each other about which recipe to use and what herbs.

The little girl paused just inside the gate, observing the bones that lay scattered everywhere. There were also cauldrons, brooms, and rotten pumpkin shells. Bats circled the eves and rats scurried on the ground.

The little girl shook her head.

“Nope!” She declared before turning tail and running back the way she came.

The witches yelled and swore and jumped up and down before deciding they should clean their yard. They removed all the filth and the bones, planted flowers and shrubs, and repainted the fence. 

When they were finished, the house looked quite charming—like it wasn’t inhabited by witches. (Though the chicken feet were still visible behind one of the rhododendrons.)

One rainy evening, they saw a little boy running along the road holding his coat over his head. They opened their door.  

“Hurry, deary!” Thistle called. “Come and warm yourself in the oven—” 

Hazel elbowed her. 

“I mean, by the oven!” Thistle corrected. 

But the boy had been warned about child-eating witches and when he observed their green skin, and hooked, warty, noses, he quickened his pace and passed by without stopping.

The witches uttered all manner of foul words and when they had vented their frustration, they sat down together to discuss the issue. 

“Children just aren’t as gullible as they used to be,” Hazel complained. 

“Then we must set a trap no child can resist!” Thistle interjected, before telling Hazel of her evil plan. Hazel snickered with delight as she listened. It was perfect. 

The next morning, the witch’s house left the wood and walked on its little chicken feet to a flowery field at the base of the mountains. It was exactly the kind of spot that would attract children.

Then the witches withdrew their magic wands and turned their chicken footed house into a house of gingerbread. It was covered in gumdrops and sugary frosting and surrounded by a fence of candy canes. They hid inside the house, chuckling and whispering to each other about how clever they were. 

Before long, a little boy and a little girl wandered into the field. They regarded the house curiously. The witches could hardly contain their excitement as the children approached. They snickered and whispered to each other, trading ideas about sides to make and whether to fatten the children first, or just eat them as they were. Then suddenly, they noticed that the boy and girl had stopped. 

“Gross!” The girl grimaced. “It’s covered in ants!”

What the witches failed to realize was that, while sugar attracts children, it also attracts insects. The outside of the house was not only crawling with ants, but also encircled in a swarm of bees. The children turned around and ran home leaving it untouched. 

In a fury, the witches started yelling and swearing and smashing their brooms against the walls. In their frustration, they forgot that witches are only at the center of the fairy tale food chain. They didn’t hear the booming of massive footsteps approaching nor did they notice when the footsteps stopped right outside the house. 

Giants are considerably less hygienic than humans and completely unfazed by ants on their food. At once, the new arrival picked up the house and ate it—ants and witches and all. Incidentally, both the ants and the witches were an excellent source of protein.