The Three Bears


		Part III of the Redfeather Chronicles The Three Bears [Editor’s note: Just as the presses were rolling out last month’s issue of The Chicken Scratch, who should scuttle in, huffing and puffing and going on faster than the ear can hear about getting her article in just in time, but Mrs. Redfeather. I told her that the presses were already banging out the print, but that she had already supplied not only the feature article, but also the the housekeeping tips column and the travelogue as well – for which we were quite grateful, as Rick, our travel editor had gone off to the Slobovian Alps and forgot to keep enough for his return fare, and Helen, our housekeeping columnist had quit over a disagreement as to whether nests should be covered with a flowery cloth or with a wooden cover on a hinge as suggested by Alan, our DIY editor. Alan had already written his piece with the accompanying diagram for the wooden nest covers, so he was just as hot under the collar as she, and if she hadn’t stomped out in a huff, he would have. As I had just read Mrs. Redfeather’s suggestions on cave maintenance and the keeping of eggs, I put my weight in with Alan, so it was Helen who stomped out, swearing never to return. Helen’s back now, of course, and you can read her rebuttal to Alan’s suggestion of last month on page 63. As usual, Mrs. Redfeather’s feature drew in bags and bags of letters – one very long letter from a Rev. Bray. I must confess I don’t have the attention span to for such long letters, but I’m sure he strongly sympathised with whatever Mrs. Redfeather was going on about (I actually haven’t read it all myself) because I noticed the words ‘preposterous’, ‘imbecile’ and ‘heretic’ were doubly underlined, and in several places the tip of his pen went right through the paper. Wee Willy, the chick-scout has reported that he now has enough from the proceeds of the scrap paper collection to go to chick-scout camp, and popped by to thank us warmly. I also wanted to forward his thanks to all our readers who wrote in, supplying him with the paper. The rooster at the chip shop is also quite happy. In fact, several of his diners, after reading their worm ’n chip wrappers, went off and bought issues of The Chicken Scratch. Mrs. Redfeather had a bit of material left over on her second week of adventures for another article, so here it is:] Where shall I begin? Alan and Helen are at it again, and Mr. Cocksure is now in there trying to resolve their most recent spat (I think Alan strongly objected to Helen comparing his nest covers, in her column, to toilet seat covers). Anyway, I’ll try to get as much of this written as I can before Mr. Cocksure comes in and starts interrupting with his footnotes. Looking at his intro, I see he didn’t even read my Wednesday dairy entry!? Typical! The only things he does read are what he catches while looking over our shoulders, and then he can’t resist inserting footnotes right then and there. Oh! By the way, I’ve come up with a new suggestion on how to write a whole article on a single subject. First, you write the title at the top of the page, and just keep looking at that. If you get another subject in your head that just won’t go away, then start writing about that on a separate sheet of paper. That way, you end up with, not one, but two, or three, or four articles. That worked on some of my diary entries. Well, let’s see how the idea works on this: I went straight from the station to Adulam cave, carrying my carpetbag, and there was Baaa Baaa Black Sheep. We decided we wouldn’t loose time, so we set off into the woods to find the Three Bears. We bumped into them before we reached their house, and they greeted us loudly: ‘Brother Black Sheep! Glad to see you! Won’t you join us on our stroll? Who’s your friend?’ ‘This is Mrs. Redfeather,’ said Baaa Baaa. “Mrs. Redfeather, allow me to introduce Samuel, or simply “Papa Bear”, and his wife, “Momma Bear”, and over here, “Baby Bear”.’ ‘Ahem – I have a name, I do!’ snapped the small bear. ‘Teddy!’ chided Momma Bear. ‘Oh! I’m terribly sorry!’ said Baaa Baaa. ‘How could I have forgotten? It’s Teddy!’ ‘Won’t you join us on our stroll,’ invited Papa Bear, ‘then, you must stop by the house.’ ‘You see,’ added Momma Bear, ‘I just cooked some porridge, and as it’s yet too hot to eat, we went for a stroll. It should be cool enough to eat when we get back. You will join us won’t you?’ Mr. Black Sheep said, ‘In fact, I was bringing Mrs. Redfeather to see you. She’s doing a piece for The Chicken Scratch.’ I held my breath. The last time he introduced me like this I lost my interview. ‘Oh! How wonderful!’ said Momma Bear. ‘All I say is she’d better get my name right,’ said Teddy. ‘TEDDY! Be nice to the guest!’ Papa Bear added, ‘Teddy, if you don’t straighten our attitude, there won’t be any porridge for you when we get home.’ ‘Okay, Papa ... I’m sorry Mrs. Redfeather,’ said Teddy weakly. Papa Bear offered to carry my carpet bag, and Momma Bear asked where I was staying. I told them I had planned to check into the Holiday Chickencoop, but they wouldn’t hear of it. We would both stay the night with them. They had a spare perch upstairs especially for pheasants and owls who were always stopping in. I accepted the invitation.* [Editor’s Footnote: Well, there, that’s solved. Helen’s refused to remove the bit about the toilet seats, so Alan has stomped out, swearing never to return. I’m sure we can come up with something to put in the DIY column. So, where are we? Ooops! I’ll be right back...] Apparently Alan stuck his head back in the door for one last word at Helen, and now they’re at it again, with Mr. Cocksure trying to pry them apart. So now, where were we? Soon, we approached a homely little cottage with a spacious looking attic, and a thick thatch roof. ‘I say,’ said Papa Bear, ‘did we forget to close the door before we left?’ ‘I’m sure I shut it, Papa,’ said Teddy. ‘I saw him shut it,’ said Momma. ‘Hmmm!’ said Papa. We went inside, and there we saw a table set with three bowls and spoons. ‘I say!’ said Papa, ‘someone’s been at my porridge! I’m sure they must have found it too hot!’ ‘Well!’ said Momma, ‘someone’s been at my porridge. As usual, they must have found it too cold!’ ‘Papa! Papa!’ wept Teddy. ‘There’s no porridge in my bowl! Didn’t I straighten my attitude?’ ‘Of course you did, son. I’m sure there’s plenty more porridge on the stove. Let’s look in the lounge.’ We followed Papa Bear into the lounge, where we saw two armchairs and the remains of a third. ‘Whoever our unexpected guest is, no doubt found my chair too hard,’ said Papa Bear, sniffing at a large straight wooden armchair. ‘And mine, too soft,’ said Momma Bear, noticing the ruffles in her over-stuffed chair. ‘Papa! Papa! Look at my chair!’ cried Teddy. ‘Oh dear!’ said Papa. ‘The glue wasn’t even dry yet from our last visitor, and someone’s gone and sat in it again!’ Momma Bear said, ‘Well, let’s show these guests upstairs anyway.’ ‘By the looks of things, we may already have a guest upstairs,’ said Papa. Baaa Baaa and I followed Papa and Momma Bear into their bedroom. ‘Hah!’ said Papa Bear, ‘As usual, my bed’s too hard. I have to have it hard because of my back.’ ‘And mine’s too soft as usual,’ giggled Momma Bear. ‘Papa! Momma!’ screamed Teddy from the other room. We flocked into Teddy’s bedroom, and there, sitting up in the smallest bed in the house was a terrified looking golden retriever. ‘Oh! Teddy! You woke her up!’ chided Momma Bear. ‘But why does everybody always have to sleep in my bed, and break my chair, and eat out of my bowl?’ bawled Teddy ‘Because, Son, your Papa and Momma are so large, yours is the only size anyone can find to fit,’ said Papa Bear. ‘I’m not* large? I’m a bear too, I am!’ Momma Bear had gone over to the bedside, and taken the newcomer by the paw, and was saying, ‘Everything will be all right dear.’ As soon as the dog’s nerves had settled down, we led her down the stairs into the lounge. Momma Bear helped her into the overstuffed armchair. ‘What’s your name, dear?’ she asked. ‘Goldie Lox,’ was the answer. ‘We’re glad to have you, Goldie,’ said Pappa Bear. ‘Let me start by introducing everyone. This is Mr. Baaa Baaa Black Sheep, over here is Mrs. Redfeather, and we’re the Three Bears...’ ‘You’re the Three Bears?’ interrupted Goldie. ‘I’ve heard of you! You’re Papa Bear...’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘... you’re Momma Bear...’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘... and you must be Baby Bear!’ ‘I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY!’ Teddy was jumping up and down while Goldie was mumbling, ‘Oh dear!’ ‘TEDDY!’ yelled Papa Bear. ‘Do you want a spanking?’ ‘Er – no Papa –’ A remarkable change had come over him. ‘...and – er – I’m sorry Goldlie Lox.’ ‘Oh, that’s all right. Of course you’re not a baby! Here, let me give you a huggie-wuggie.’ Goldie Lox proceed to hug Teddy and kiss him on the cheek while Teddy winced and went cross-eyed. ‘But what brings you out so deep into the forest, Goldie?’ asked Papa Bear. ‘You look like a civilised breed of dog, not one we would have expected out here.’ ‘Oh...!’ Goldie suddenly put her paws over her eyes, and began sobbing. ‘That’s okay, Goldie,’ said Momma bear. Why don’t you have something to eat first, and we can talk about it later on.’ ‘But – I just ate.’ ‘I’ll say you just ate,’ muttered Teddy. ‘Perhaps you’d like something hot while I dish something up for our other two guests. How about a mug of cocoa?’ Goldie nodded. ‘Come everyone, there’s plenty of porridge for all – oh dear! How silly of me! Sheep and chickens don’t eat porridge! Teddy, go out into the garden and pull up some grass and herbs for Uncle Baaa Baaa, and dig up some earthworms for Auntie Redfeather. I’ll get some raw corn meal. Do you like corn meal, Mrs. Redfeather?...’* [* Editor’s Footnote: Alan is back. He’s now threatened to write his whole column on how deal with silly impractical hens, and now Helen has left, utterly refusing to be persuaded to think it over again. Well, I guess that’s over and done with. At least we have her column for this month, and Alan can still write his (I hope he picks a DIY subject). That gives us a bit of time to look for a new homemaker for the housekeeping section. Now let’s see where Mrs. Redfeather has got to now – oh dear! Is that them again? Excuse me...] – Sigh! – Soon, I was perched on the back of a dining room chair with a plate of delicious corn meal and live earthworms in front of me while Baaa Baaa sat behind a basket of grass and edible leaves. The Three Bears had their porridge, and Goldie had a mug of cocoa. ‘Where do you come from, Goldie?’ began Papa Bear again. Being a more general question than the previous, Goldie seemed more at ease about answering. ‘From, over near County Mullen, a town called Dogbury,’ she began. ‘My father was a shepherd, as was his father before him. Since my parents never had any male puppies, they didn’t have anyone they felt could follow in my dad’s footsteps. I always wanted to be a shepherd, but my father was of the strong opinion that females can’t be leaders of the flock. Most of the people in town, and the elders of the pasture were of the same opinion. They refused to send me to seminary, so I earned my own way. When I got out, I found a pasture over near Catsbridge that would accept me and things seemed okay for awhile. I associated with a number of other shepherds and leaders who held similar opinions as myself, and we seemed to be a powerful force for our point of view. I broke in at this point. ‘Did you once grant an interview for The Chicken Scratch?’ ‘Oh, yes, I did. I know your editor, Mr. Cocksure, quite well. That was when things were especially looking up for us. The future certainly looked bright then.’ ‘What happened to change that?’ I asked. She paused, and thought awhile. ‘I think it must have been a change in the general climate. There was also a spiritual movement that began in the northern city of Pronto. As I had studied some of the mystical movements of the past, I took an interest in some of what was coming out of that – the “Pronto Blessing” they were calling it. And then, there was the movement in the southern coastal city of Pepsicola. ‘At first, it seemed that this was adding fire to our cause. Females were released to do things they had never been allowed to do before, there was more involvement of the laity, and a few sheep actually got positions as shepherds. Some arch-conservatives were touched by the movements and ceased to be so reactionary about things, and for a while, that seemed to diffuse a lot of the controversy. However, all of this also unleashed a new set of variables. Some of those who had always fought for progressive issues suddenly began opposing what they saw as subjective mysticism. A few of them even joined forces with the conservative types who had opposed it all along. And that’s when ...’ she paused, and gulped, ‘...that’s when things started getting out of hand ...’ She was sobbing now, ‘... the back stabbing ... the bitting ...’ then she broke down altogether. Since we were all finished our food, Momma Bear helped Goldie into the other room and sat her down in her own overstuffed armchair. Papa Bear and Teddy brought three dining room chairs along, and we all sat down. I perched on one arm of the big wooden chair, which Baaa Baaa sat in, while Papa and Momma Bear sat in dining room chairs on either side of Goldie and comforted her for a while. Soon she was talking again: ‘Oh! I’ve been such a terrible terrible shepherd! I just couldn’t handle the fighting and I lost all sense of direction just began biting everyone, and ruining lives...’ – more sobbing and wailing – ‘... finally I just couldn’t handle it anymore, and just ran, and ran, and ran until I found this place – I was so tired I just came in, ate the food, broke that chair over there, and – oh! I’m so sorry...’ ‘That’s okay dear,’ said Momma Bear. ‘That’s what we built this house for. You’re not the first to enter here and find refuge.’ ‘Let’s begin by committing this to the Good Shepherd,’ said Papa Bear. ‘Oh! I can’t,’ wept Goldie. ‘I’ve failed him so miserably, I’ve destroyed too many innocent lives, I’ve betrayed Him, there’s no forgiveness for me, I just know it ...’ For a while, it seemed like nothing anyone could say could convince Goldie she hadn’t committed the unforgivable sin. It seemed there was no hope for her, only death and perdition. Now, even her being a female, and a canine were marks against her ever serving God again. Finally, Papa Bear went to the tea stand, and took a silver hand mirror out of the drawer. ‘Goldie,’ he said. ‘This is a special mirror. It will show you your true self, and how God sees you. It’s the mirror of Truth.’ ‘Take a look at yourself,’ invited Momma Bear. Goldie looked a bit nervous, so Papa Bear suggested we all pass it around and look. Teddy looked into it first. After gazing for awhile, he suddenly broke into tears. ‘Oh o-o-oh I’ve been such a naughty rude unloving wee bear. I’m sorry...’ Then, he went around to us all and hugged us all and apologised to us personally. He told Baaa Baaa and Goldie, ‘You can call me “Baby Bear” if you want.’ After that, he looked again, and now, began smiling broadly and laughing. Finally, he passed it to me. I looked briefly, and passed it on to Baaa Baaa. What did I see? Wouldn’t my readers just love to know? Do you think I’m going to say? No hen in her right mind would tell what I saw in that mirror. No way! Baaa Baaa looked for a long while. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve allowed a bit of pride to slip in haven’t I – I’ve been proud of the fact I’ve led a movement, of being written up in The Chicken Scratch, and of my independence – there’s such a fine line between independence and rebellion – yes, and I’ve been a bit slothful, I could be doing more than I am, I must be bolder and not look at myself but at You – forgive me Lord...’ He looked awhile longer in silence, and then said with awe, ‘Wow! Look at those horns! Thank you for those horns Lord.’ Now, Goldie seemed ready to take it. She began doing so apprehensively. ‘Oh – there’s me as a puppy – Oh! I’m like a wolf – but there’s the Good Shepherd looking at me – Oh Lord – you look so sad! Did I make you sad? Yes I did, didn’t I! Oh look! That’s me as a little wolf, biting my father – Oh! Look at how let-down my father looks, and I just keep biting him! Forgive me Lord – forgive me dad – I’ll visit you in Dogbury and apologise in person I will –’ This went on and on, as though her whole life story were being played before her. Always, it seemed that it was the sight of the Good Shepherd that put everything in perspective. Things were only bad because they made Him sad, but never did they constitute the ‘unforgivable sin’. Some painful scenes were made bearable by the sight of the Lamb, also saddened by the same things that caused her pain at the time. ‘Oh – I see it now! I’ve been a wolf because I left You out! I was trying to do things myself – on my own strength – I never let You in on anything! Oh! I don’t care if I ever work in the ministry again – I just want to be close to you –’ Now she went into uncontrollable weeping, as Papa and Momma Bear sat on either side, patting her back. Up ’til now, all of her howling sounded like a typical dog’s howl, but suddenly I heard a new sound emitting from her mouth: ‘Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a’ I looked up, not believing what my eyes saw – she was transforming into a sheep! It was all I could do to keep from squawking and flapping all over the room. I, Redfeather, affirm to you that I saw a dog transform into a sheep before my very eyes. I must admit, I had doubted Baaa Baaa when he told me that Rev. Bray was actually a sheep before, but now I believe it. That evening, around tea, Goldie asked where she could obtain a Mirror of Truth. Papa Bear said, ‘You already have one.’ ‘You mean –’ ‘Oh, no, this one stays in the drawer. What I mean is that everyone who’s been touched by the Lamb has a mirror. It’s in your heart, and you should look into it every day. But just make sure you’re a doer, not just a hearer, because if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror, for he observes himself, goes away, and immediately forgets what kind of man he was. But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, this one will be blessed in what he does. Also: We all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord. It’s right here in your heart, and also up there in that old leather book you see there on the shelf.’ I must admit it’s powerful stuff, that. It’s just that what I saw – well okay, I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw a haughty proud chicken, wearing too much beak wax, who looked like she had nothing to be proud of. It reminded me a bit of Helen, but it wasn’t her. It was me! At that point I abruptly passed the mirror on, but now that I mention it, I can still see the mirror – and now I see a Lamb looking sadly over my shoulder at me. Well, I’d better run... [Editor’s Note: I didn’t realise until just now Mrs. Redfeather had actually completed her article and had simply left it sitting here on her desk. It’s been a week now. There I was, with my head spinning with Helen saying this and Alan saying that, and here comes Redfeather going on about going to visit the ‘three bears’, whoever that could be, and she just breezes out the door. She hasn’t been back since. Now, there’s a strange rumour flitting around that she’s turned into a sheep! As any astute reader of The Chicken Scratch knows, that’s preposterous! Even if it were possible, how could a hen with such a fine intellectual mind as hers even want to? If it were true, you can be sure there will be no more articles by here here, as we only accept articles from chickens, or those of near intellectual capacity. So, there you are. I’m sure you’re already looking forward to next month.] The End Return to Redfeather page Return to Tishbyte page

Part III of the Redfeather Chronicles

The Three Bears

[Editor’s note: Just as the presses were rolling out last month’s issue of The Chicken Scratch, who should scuttle in, huffing and puffing and going on faster than the ear can hear about getting her article in just in time, but Mrs. Redfeather. I told her that the presses were already banging out the print, but that she had already supplied not only the feature article, but also the the housekeeping tips column and the travelogue as well – for which we were quite grateful, as Rick, our travel editor had gone off to the Slobovian Alps and forgot to keep enough for his return fare, and Helen, our housekeeping columnist had quit over a disagreement as to whether nests should be covered with a flowery cloth or with a wooden cover on a hinge as suggested by Alan, our DIY editor. Alan had already written his piece with the accompanying diagram for the wooden nest covers, so he was just as hot under the collar as she, and if she hadn’t stomped out in a huff, he would have. As I had just read Mrs. Redfeather’s suggestions on cave maintenance and the keeping of eggs, I put my weight in with Alan, so it was Helen who stomped out, swearing never to return.

Helen’s back now, of course, and you can read her rebuttal to Alan’s suggestion of last month on page 63.

As usual, Mrs. Redfeather’s feature drew in bags and bags of letters – one very long letter from a Rev. Bray. I must confess I don’t have the attention span to for such long letters, but I’m sure he strongly sympathised with whatever Mrs. Redfeather was going on about (I actually haven’t read it all myself) because I noticed the words ‘preposterous’, ‘imbecile’ and ‘heretic’ were doubly underlined, and in several places the tip of his pen went right through the paper.

Wee Willy, the chick-scout has reported that he now has enough from the proceeds of the scrap paper collection to go to chick-scout camp, and popped by to thank us warmly. I also wanted to forward his thanks to all our readers who wrote in, supplying him with the paper. The rooster at the chip shop is also quite happy. In fact, several of his diners, after reading their worm ’n chip wrappers, went off and bought issues of The Chicken Scratch.

Mrs. Redfeather had a bit of material left over on her second week of adventures for another article, so here it is:]

Where shall I begin? Alan and Helen are at it again, and Mr. Cocksure is now in there trying to resolve their most recent spat (I think Alan strongly objected to Helen comparing his nest covers, in her column, to toilet seat covers). Anyway, I’ll try to get as much of this written as I can before Mr. Cocksure comes in and starts interrupting with his footnotes.

Looking at his intro, I see he didn’t even read my Wednesday dairy entry!? Typical! The only things he does read are what he catches while looking over our shoulders, and then he can’t resist inserting footnotes right then and there.

Oh! By the way, I’ve come up with a new suggestion on how to write a whole article on a single subject. First, you write the title at the top of the page, and just keep looking at that. If you get another subject in your head that just won’t go away, then start writing about that on a separate sheet of paper. That way, you end up with, not one, but two, or three, or four articles. That worked on some of my diary entries.

Well, let’s see how the idea works on this:

I went straight from the station to Adulam cave, carrying my carpetbag, and there was Baaa Baaa Black Sheep. We decided we wouldn’t loose time, so we set off into the woods to find the Three Bears.

We bumped into them before we reached their house, and they greeted us loudly:

‘Brother Black Sheep! Glad to see you! Won’t you join us on our stroll? Who’s your friend?’

‘This is Mrs. Redfeather,’ said Baaa Baaa. “Mrs. Redfeather, allow me to introduce Samuel, or simply “Papa Bear”, and his wife, “Momma Bear”, and over here, “Baby Bear”.’

‘Ahem – I have a name, I do!’ snapped the small bear.

‘Teddy!’ chided Momma Bear.

‘Oh! I’m terribly sorry!’ said Baaa Baaa. ‘How could I have forgotten? It’s Teddy!’

‘Won’t you join us on our stroll,’ invited Papa Bear, ‘then, you must stop by the house.’

‘You see,’ added Momma Bear, ‘I just cooked some porridge, and as it’s yet too hot to eat, we went for a stroll. It should be cool enough to eat when we get back. You will join us won’t you?’

Mr. Black Sheep said, ‘In fact, I was bringing Mrs. Redfeather to see you. She’s doing a piece for The Chicken Scratch.’

I held my breath. The last time he introduced me like this I lost my interview.

‘Oh! How wonderful!’ said Momma Bear.

‘All I say is she’d better get my name right,’ said Teddy.

‘TEDDY! Be nice to the guest!’

Papa Bear added, ‘Teddy, if you don’t straighten our attitude, there won’t be any porridge for you when we get home.’

‘Okay, Papa ... I’m sorry Mrs. Redfeather,’ said Teddy weakly.

Papa Bear offered to carry my carpet bag, and Momma Bear asked where I was staying. I told them I had planned to check into the Holiday Chickencoop, but they wouldn’t hear of it. We would both stay the night with them. They had a spare perch upstairs especially for pheasants and owls who were always stopping in. I accepted the invitation.*

[*Editor’s Footnote: Well, there, that’s solved. Helen’s refused to remove the bit about the toilet seats, so Alan has stomped out, swearing never to return. I’m sure we can come up with something to put in the DIY column. So, where are we? Ooops! I’ll be right back...]

Apparently Alan stuck his head back in the door for one last word at Helen, and now they’re at it again, with Mr. Cocksure trying to pry them apart. So now, where were we?

Soon, we approached a homely little cottage with a spacious looking attic, and a thick thatch roof.

‘I say,’ said Papa Bear, ‘did we forget to close the door before we left?’

‘I’m sure I shut it, Papa,’ said Teddy.

‘I saw him shut it,’ said Momma.

‘Hmmm!’ said Papa.

We went inside, and there we saw a table set with three bowls and spoons.

‘I say!’ said Papa, ‘someone’s been at my porridge! I’m sure they must have found it too hot!’

‘Well!’ said Momma, ‘someone’s been at my porridge. As usual, they must have found it too cold!’

‘Papa! Papa!’ wept Teddy. ‘There’s no porridge in my bowl! Didn’t I straighten my attitude?’

‘Of course you did, son. I’m sure there’s plenty more porridge on the stove. Let’s look in the lounge.’

We followed Papa Bear into the lounge, where we saw two armchairs and the remains of a third.

‘Whoever our unexpected guest is, no doubt found my chair too hard,’ said Papa Bear, sniffing at a large straight wooden armchair.

‘And mine, too soft,’ said Momma Bear, noticing the ruffles in her over-stuffed chair.

‘Papa! Papa! Look at my chair!’ cried Teddy.

‘Oh dear!’ said Papa. ‘The glue wasn’t even dry yet from our last visitor, and someone’s gone and sat in it again!’

Momma Bear said, ‘Well, let’s show these guests upstairs anyway.’

‘By the looks of things, we may already have a guest upstairs,’ said Papa.

Baaa Baaa and I followed Papa and Momma Bear into their bedroom.

‘Hah!’ said Papa Bear, ‘As usual, my bed’s too hard. I have to have it hard because of my back.’

‘And mine’s too soft as usual,’ giggled Momma Bear.

‘Papa! Momma!’ screamed Teddy from the other room.

We flocked into Teddy’s bedroom, and there, sitting up in the smallest bed in the house was a terrified looking golden retriever.

‘Oh! Teddy! You woke her up!’ chided Momma Bear.

‘But why does everybody always have to sleep in my bed, and break my chair, and eat out of my bowl?’ bawled Teddy

‘Because, Son, your Papa and Momma are so large, yours is the only size anyone can find to fit,’ said Papa Bear.

‘I’m not large? I’m a bear too, I am!’

Momma Bear had gone over to the bedside, and taken the newcomer by the paw, and was saying, ‘Everything will be all right dear.’

As soon as the dog’s nerves had settled down, we led her down the stairs into the lounge. Momma Bear helped her into the overstuffed armchair.

‘What’s your name, dear?’ she asked.

‘Goldie Lox,’ was the answer.

‘We’re glad to have you, Goldie,’ said Pappa Bear. ‘Let me start by introducing everyone. This is Mr. Baaa Baaa Black Sheep, over here is Mrs. Redfeather, and we’re the Three Bears...’

‘You’re the Three Bears?’ interrupted Goldie. ‘I’ve heard of you! You’re Papa Bear...’

‘That’s right.’

‘... you’re Momma Bear...’

‘That’s right.’

‘... and you must be Baby Bear!’

‘I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY!’ Teddy was jumping up and down while Goldie was mumbling, ‘Oh dear!’

‘TEDDY!’ yelled Papa Bear. ‘Do you want a spanking?’

‘Er – no Papa –’ A remarkable change had come over him. ‘...and – er – I’m sorry Goldlie Lox.’

‘Oh, that’s all right. Of course you’re not a baby! Here, let me give you a huggie-wuggie.’

Goldie Lox proceed to hug Teddy and kiss him on the cheek while Teddy winced and went cross-eyed.

‘But what brings you out so deep into the forest, Goldie?’ asked Papa Bear. ‘You look like a civilised breed of dog, not one we would have expected out here.’

‘Oh...!’ Goldie suddenly put her paws over her eyes, and began sobbing.

‘That’s okay, Goldie,’ said Momma bear. Why don’t you have something to eat first, and we can talk about it later on.’

‘But – I just ate.’

‘I’ll say you just ate,’ muttered Teddy.

‘Perhaps you’d like something hot while I dish something up for our other two guests. How about a mug of cocoa?’

Goldie nodded.

‘Come everyone, there’s plenty of porridge for all – oh dear! How silly of me! Sheep and chickens don’t eat porridge! Teddy, go out into the garden and pull up some grass and herbs for Uncle Baaa Baaa, and dig up some earthworms for Auntie Redfeather. I’ll get some raw corn meal. Do you like corn meal, Mrs. Redfeather?...’*

[* Editor’s Footnote: Alan is back. He’s now threatened to write his whole column on how deal with silly impractical hens, and now Helen has left, utterly refusing to be persuaded to think it over again. Well, I guess that’s over and done with. At least we have her column for this month, and Alan can still write his (I hope he picks a DIY subject). That gives us a bit of time to look for a new homemaker for the housekeeping section. Now let’s see where Mrs. Redfeather has got to now – oh dear! Is that them again? Excuse me...]

– Sigh! –

Soon, I was perched on the back of a dining room chair with a plate of delicious corn meal and live earthworms in front of me while Baaa Baaa sat behind a basket of grass and edible leaves. The Three Bears had their porridge, and Goldie had a mug of cocoa.

‘Where do you come from, Goldie?’ began Papa Bear again. Being a more general question than the previous, Goldie seemed more at ease about answering.

‘From, over near County Mullen, a town called Dogbury,’ she began. ‘My father was a shepherd, as was his father before him. Since my parents never had any male puppies, they didn’t have anyone they felt could follow in my dad’s footsteps. I always wanted to be a shepherd, but my father was of the strong opinion that females can’t be leaders of the flock. Most of the people in town, and the elders of the pasture were of the same opinion. They refused to send me to seminary, so I earned my own way. When I got out, I found a pasture over near Catsbridge that would accept me and things seemed okay for awhile. I associated with a number of other shepherds and leaders who held similar opinions as myself, and we seemed to be a powerful force for our point of view.

I broke in at this point. ‘Did you once grant an interview for The Chicken Scratch?’

‘Oh, yes, I did. I know your editor, Mr. Cocksure, quite well. That was when things were especially looking up for us. The future certainly looked bright then.’

‘What happened to change that?’ I asked.

She paused, and thought awhile. ‘I think it must have been a change in the general climate. There was also a spiritual movement that began in the northern city of Pronto. As I had studied some of the mystical movements of the past, I took an interest in some of what was coming out of that – the “Pronto Blessing” they were calling it. And then, there was the movement in the southern coastal city of Pepsicola.

‘At first, it seemed that this was adding fire to our cause. Females were released to do things they had never been allowed to do before, there was more involvement of the laity, and a few sheep actually got positions as shepherds. Some arch-conservatives were touched by the movements and ceased to be so reactionary about things, and for a while, that seemed to diffuse a lot of the controversy. However, all of this also unleashed a new set of variables. Some of those who had always fought for progressive issues suddenly began opposing what they saw as subjective mysticism. A few of them even joined forces with the conservative types who had opposed it all along. And that’s when ...’ she paused, and gulped, ‘...that’s when things started getting out of hand ...’

She was sobbing now, ‘... the back stabbing ... the bitting ...’ then she broke down altogether.

Since we were all finished our food, Momma Bear helped Goldie into the other room and sat her down in her own overstuffed armchair. Papa Bear and Teddy brought three dining room chairs along, and we all sat down. I perched on one arm of the big wooden chair, which Baaa Baaa sat in, while Papa and Momma Bear sat in dining room chairs on either side of Goldie and comforted her for a while. Soon she was talking again:

‘Oh! I’ve been such a terrible terrible shepherd! I just couldn’t handle the fighting and I lost all sense of direction just began biting everyone, and ruining lives...’

– more sobbing and wailing –

‘... finally I just couldn’t handle it anymore, and just ran, and ran, and ran until I found this place – I was so tired I just came in, ate the food, broke that chair over there, and – oh! I’m so sorry...’

‘That’s okay dear,’ said Momma Bear. ‘That’s what we built this house for. You’re not the first to enter here and find refuge.’

‘Let’s begin by committing this to the Good Shepherd,’ said Papa Bear.

‘Oh! I can’t,’ wept Goldie. ‘I’ve failed him so miserably, I’ve destroyed too many innocent lives, I’ve betrayed Him, there’s no forgiveness for me, I just know it ...’

For a while, it seemed like nothing anyone could say could convince Goldie she hadn’t committed the unforgivable sin. It seemed there was no hope for her, only death and perdition. Now, even her being a female, and a canine were marks against her ever serving God again.

Finally, Papa Bear went to the tea stand, and took a silver hand mirror out of the drawer.

‘Goldie,’ he said. ‘This is a special mirror. It will show you your true self, and how God sees you. It’s the mirror of Truth.’

‘Take a look at yourself,’ invited Momma Bear.

Goldie looked a bit nervous, so Papa Bear suggested we all pass it around and look.

Teddy looked into it first. After gazing for awhile, he suddenly broke into tears. ‘Oh o-o-oh I’ve been such a naughty rude unloving wee bear. I’m sorry...’ Then, he went around to us all and hugged us all and apologised to us personally. He told Baaa Baaa and Goldie, ‘You can call me “Baby Bear” if you want.’ After that, he looked again, and now, began smiling broadly and laughing.

Finally, he passed it to me. I looked briefly, and passed it on to Baaa Baaa.

What did I see? Wouldn’t my readers just love to know? Do you think I’m going to say? No hen in her right mind would tell what I saw in that mirror. No way!

Baaa Baaa looked for a long while.

‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve allowed a bit of pride to slip in haven’t I – I’ve been proud of the fact I’ve led a movement, of being written up in The Chicken Scratch, and of my independence – there’s such a fine line between independence and rebellion – yes, and I’ve been a bit slothful, I could be doing more than I am, I must be bolder and not look at myself but at You – forgive me Lord...’ He looked awhile longer in silence, and then said with awe, ‘Wow! Look at those horns! Thank you for those horns Lord.’

Now, Goldie seemed ready to take it. She began doing so apprehensively.

‘Oh – there’s me as a puppy – Oh! I’m like a wolf – but there’s the Good Shepherd looking at me – Oh Lord – you look so sad! Did I make you sad? Yes I did, didn’t I! Oh look! That’s me as a little wolf, biting my father – Oh! Look at how let-down my father looks, and I just keep biting him! Forgive me Lord – forgive me dad – I’ll visit you in Dogbury and apologise in person I will –’

This went on and on, as though her whole life story were being played before her. Always, it seemed that it was the sight of the Good Shepherd that put everything in perspective. Things were only bad because they made Him sad, but never did they constitute the ‘unforgivable sin’. Some painful scenes were made bearable by the sight of the Lamb, also saddened by the same things that caused her pain at the time.

‘Oh – I see it now! I’ve been a wolf because I left You out! I was trying to do things myself – on my own strength – I never let You in on anything! Oh! I don’t care if I ever work in the ministry again – I just want to be close to you –’ Now she went into uncontrollable weeping, as Papa and Momma Bear sat on either side, patting her back.

Up ’til now, all of her howling sounded like a typical dog’s howl, but suddenly I heard a new sound emitting from her mouth:

‘Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a’

I looked up, not believing what my eyes saw – she was transforming into a sheep! It was all I could do to keep from squawking and flapping all over the room.

I, Redfeather, affirm to you that I saw a dog transform into a sheep before my very eyes. I must admit, I had doubted Baaa Baaa when he told me that Rev. Bray was actually a sheep before, but now I believe it.

That evening, around tea, Goldie asked where she could obtain a Mirror of Truth.

Papa Bear said, ‘You already have one.’

‘You mean –’

‘Oh, no, this one stays in the drawer. What I mean is that everyone who’s been touched by the Lamb has a mirror. It’s in your heart, and you should look into it every day. But just make sure you’re a doer, not just a hearer, because if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror, for he observes himself, goes away, and immediately forgets what kind of man he was. But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, this one will be blessed in what he does. Also: We all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord. It’s right here in your heart, and also up there in that old leather book you see there on the shelf.’

I must admit it’s powerful stuff, that. It’s just that what I saw – well okay, I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw a haughty proud chicken, wearing too much beak wax, who looked like she had nothing to be proud of. It reminded me a bit of Helen, but it wasn’t her. It was me! At that point I abruptly passed the mirror on, but now that I mention it, I can still see the mirror – and now I see a Lamb looking sadly over my shoulder at me.

Well, I’d better run...

[Editor’s Note: I didn’t realise until just now Mrs. Redfeather had actually completed her article and had simply left it sitting here on her desk. It’s been a week now. There I was, with my head spinning with Helen saying this and Alan saying that, and here comes Redfeather going on about going to visit the ‘three bears’, whoever that could be, and she just breezes out the door. She hasn’t been back since. Now, there’s a strange rumour flitting around that she’s turned into a sheep! As any astute reader of The Chicken Scratch knows, that’s preposterous! Even if it were possible, how could a hen with such a fine intellectual mind as hers even want to? If it were true, you can be sure there will be no more articles by here here, as we only accept articles from chickens, or those of near intellectual capacity. So, there you are. I’m sure you’re already looking forward to next month.]

The End

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