If the hunters heard them, it meant they would be cooking deer-burgers on the campfire, their Dad had told them Monday morning. Hunters were much worse than that time Farmer Fields shot at you when you cut through his pumpkin patch, Dad promised.
Raymie, Dosey, and Brett begged and pleaded, but their Mom wouldn’t let them skip school. The boys found their white shirts, green ties, and plaid pants hanging in their closets just where Mom always hung them. You must do your best to keep normal lives no matter what, Mom had said.
Walking to school, the Doe Brothers crept along the main Lumbering Woods path, quiet as chipmunks. They sneaked their way over branches, under fir trees, and through berry brambles. Dosey stopped to nibble on one, but Raymie smacked his snout away.
“You already ate the wall out of my bedroom last night, and you’re still hungry?” Raymie shouted in a whisper.
“I haven’t had but one apple all day.” Dosey kept chewing.
“Ssh. Stop fighting. You’ll get us shot,” Brett said.
A horrible sucking noise sounded overhead, like a leaf-blower.
“Uh-oh,” Dosey said, looking up.
Way up in a tree, high in the pine, they saw a platform attached to the tree’s trunk. On the platform sat a bright orange lump with a moustache peeking out near the top.
Brett’s eyelids rose. “What is that?”
The orange mound let out a huge noise, a cross between a grunt and a cough.
“Is that lumpy orange thing snoring?” Raymie tiptoed over, as close as he dared. “He sounds like Uncle Buck after a lodge meeting.” He waved his hoof above his antlers, signaling for Brett and Dosey to follow.
“Or Aunt Lottie at the Thatchers’ Guild,” Brett said.
The boys huddled, staring at the lump.
“Do you think it’s an animal?” Dosey asked.
“Nah, looks more like a pumpkin,” Brett said.
Raymie waved his hooves in the air. “Are you two on salt? That’s a hunter.”
“A hunter?” Brett and Dosey yelled.
“Ssh!” Raymie clamped his front hooves over his brothers’ snouts.
Rustling noises came from the hunter sleeping on a platform. He rolled over. The snoring became louder.
“Wait a minute,” Dosey said. “Why do we have to be so quiet if he’s sound asleep?”
“Don’t you remember what Dad said?” Raymie said. “Where there’s one hunter, there are usually more.”
“And their guns, too,” Brett said. “That’s what Uncle Buck told me.”
Dosey looked around. “Oh, I forgot about that.”
“Ssh!” Raymie smacked his brothers on their snouts to quiet them, but he smacked them way harder than he meant to.
“Aarrgghh!” Dosey and Brett yelled, holding their snouts.
The hunter jolted awake. Down, down, down the tall tree his rifle fell. The rifle hit the ground and BAM, out rang a shot.
Dosey jumped into Brett’s front legs. Brett jumped into Raymie’s front legs. Raymie fell back into the tree.
Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk went the hunter’s platform as it broke loose and careened down the tree trunk. It chomped down the branches like a bear eating after coming out of hibernation. The cables tore off little branches as it hit the ground with a horrible thunk. Raymie, Brett, and Dosey jumped away just in time.
“What the—?” The hunter rubbed his eyes and looked right at them.
“How hard did I hit my head?” he asked himself. “Why are there a bunch of deer dressed like schoolboys?”
Dosey hid behind a log. “Agh, he’s awake.”
The hunter shook his head. “Talking deer dressed like schoolboys.”
Raymie nudged both of his brothers. “Let’s have some fun.”
“The guys would never believe me.” The hunter smacked his arms and legs, and then felt his face. “My brain musta fell out.”
All three deer tiptoed toward the hunter.
“You won’t be needing this, Pumpkin,” Brett said as he pulled off the hunter’s hat and used it to cover Dosey’s spikes.
Raymie pulled a bag out of Pumpkin’s pocket, holding it as far away from himself as he could get it. It was full of things that looked like pieces of tree bark that smelled like salty meat and pepper.
“Is that what I think it is?” Dosey asked.
“Probably Mrs. Mount.” Raymie’s voice became loud and crackly. Then he shook the bag in Pumpkin’s face. “How could you make our old science teacher into jerky? She was so much better than Mr. Scat.”
“Yeah,” said Brett. “Mrs. Spotter let us be excused if we didn’t want to dissect humans.”
Pumpkin’s eyes grew huge. “I have a fever. That’s it.” He felt his forehead. “I must be burning up.”
“Let us help you cool off,” Brett removed Pumpkin’s coat, boots, and pants, and threw them to Dosey. “Where did you get these crazy clothes, anyway? Who would match fluorescent orange and camouflage?”
“Yeah, call the fashion ranger,” Raymie said.
Dosey turned toward the hunter and clamped his suspenders between his hooves. “Mind if I take these for myself? I always wanted myself a hammock.”
Brett picked up a bottle that had fallen on the ground. “Deer urine. Really? You paid $14.95 for this, Pumpkin?”
“I think we found ourselves a job we’ll be good at for as soon as we graduate,” Dosey said. “A real cottage industry.”
“Don’t shoot, and don’t take me prisoner,” pleaded the hunter, arms raised high above his head. “I’ll leave your woods quietly.”
“Take you prisoner?” Raymie laughed “Mom doesn’t like it when we bring lizards home. I don’t know how we would explain bringing you in the door.”
“Let’s dissect him,” Brett said.
“Aaauuugghhh!” The hunter grabbed his boots. He looked like a frog on a pogo stick trying to put them on and lace them as he jumped away.
Dosey skipped after him, singing and chanting, “I see London. I see France. I see Pumpkin’s underpants.”
Brett caught the end of his coat and pulled him back.
“Those were some baggy drawers, weren’t they?” Dosey asked, laughing. “How do humans keep warm with only those tiny patches of hair?”
“I couldn’t get past the stains,” Raymie said, making a face that looked like he had his tongue stuck to a frozen street lamp.
“Let’s not think about how the stains got there,” Dosey said, adjusting his new suspenders. “Let’s just be glad he didn’t stick with the fever theory. He would have stripped past his union suit.”
Holding the hunter’s jerky and his gun, Brett joined his brothers. “Now what?”
Dosey stared at his brother’s hooves a long time. “Let’s go home.”
“Yeah,” Brett said. “Meeting our first hunter could have easily gone a lot differently.”
“I think we need to do something. Something big,” Raymie huffed through his snout. “Or we’ll be tiptoeing around for the rest of our days.”
“Hunting season is only once a year,” Brett said. “We won’t have to tiptoe all the time.”
“Nah, Brett, you’re missing the point,” Raymie said. “I want to show those hunters who’s in charge. Lumbering Woods is our home. They come here once a year and put fear into all our parents and our teachers. They rearrange all the dead leaves and fallen branches, and stick their stinky feet into our streams. That’s our drinking water.”
“They stick their bare feet in there?” Dosey clutched at his throat.
In the distance, the brothers heard “Aaauuugghhh!” followed by a splash.
“That was most definitely more than two feet flinging themselves into Cornpop Creek,” Brett said. “Eeww.”
“I have an idea and a plan,” Raymie said, flinging the deer jerky away in disgust. “Let’s call it ‘Operation Pumpkin Patch.’”
Five hours later, the Doe brothers snuck past Mom and Dad’s cottage, pushing past the branches and through the win
dow cut in the thatch. First Raymie and then Brett. Dosey followed along later, meeting his brothers behind Farmer Fields’s haystacks.
“Sorry I’m late,” Dosey said. “Did Brett go in yet?”
Raymie clicked his hoof against his watch. “So much for synchronizing watches.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Dosey asked, leaning his wristwatch toward Raymie.
“It means your watch and my watch and Brett’s watch are all supposed to match exactly.” Raymie pulled Dosey’s watch off and rattled it against his ear.
“Oh.” Dosey pulled away. “Well, I didn’t know that.”
Raymie rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”
“Whatever,” Dosey said, peering around a haystack. “So did Brett make it to the front line?”
“Ssh, here he comes.”
Whoosh! Brett whizzed past the haystack, zinging so fast that he almost smacked into the tractor.
“Oh, dear,” Dosey scratched his eyelids with his hoof. “That costume’s almost enough to fool me.”
“Yeah, brother, you look like a real live pumpkin,” Raymie said, spinning him around to show Dosey. “I do good work, if I do say so myself.”
“Maybe you should quit school to become a makeup artist,” Dosey said, kicking at a tractor tire.
“Don’t be simple, Dosey” Raymie said.
“Aaaaanyway,” Dosey pushed his way in between Raymie and Brett. His back faced Raymie, shutting him out of the conversation. “Did it work? Did you tell our story? Did they buy it?”
“As my friend Pumpkin would say, ‘Yep.’” Brett laughed, taking off his bright orange coat, his camouflage hat, and his black boots. “Nothing like a campfire for making a tall tale seem believable. I couldn’t believe some of their names. Jedidiah, Malachai, Marvin, Bob? I mean, really, what kind of name is ‘Bob’?”
“What did they call you?” Raymie asked.
“Amos,” said Brett, fishing his binoculars out of his backpack.
“This hunting gear is itchy,” Dosey said, trying on the hat. “How do the woolcoats stand it? I don’t see how they think they can sneak up on a deer dressed like this. This has got to weigh a ton.”
“Farmer Fields’s sheep don’t seem to mind.” Raymie swiped the hat off his brother’s head and put it onto his own. Then he threw all the clothes underneath the tractor and pulled a clipboard from off the ground. Lastly, he stuffed a stub of a stick into his mouth, chomping it like a wartime general. “We’re onto Phase Two of Operation Pumpkin Patch. Dosey, did you get the honey?”
“Why do you think I was late?”
Brett focused his binoculars toward the campsite. “Didn’t you synchronize your watch?”
“Um, yeah,” Dosey muttered, watching his own hoof poke at the hay on the ground.
“I heard that,” Raymie said. “You lie like a bearskin rug.”
“Ha ha, very funny.” Dosey slung a bearskin rug over his shoulder and put a fluorescent orange hat on his head.
“If you thought that coat was itchy, I’ll bet that rug is un-bear-able.” Raymie laughed, high-fiving himself.
Brett rubbed his toes. “Where did those boots come from, anyway? They were mighty tighty.”
“I borrowed them out of Farmer Fields’s barn,” Dosey said. “I’ll give ‘em back after our mission. Don’t worry.”
Brett lowered the binoculars. “Let’s get ready. They’re going into their tents.”
“Shouldn’t we talk in code?” Dosey asked. “Shouldn’t we say something like, “’The pumpkins are going into their pies?’”
Raymie took Brett’s binoculars and had a look for himself. “That would be a good idea if we were using our walkie-talkies, but we’re standing so close we can smell each other.”
“Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask you, Dosey.” Brett lowered his voice. “Did you spill that deer urine on yourself?”
“My brothers are a coupla comedians,” Dosey said, pulling the bearskin over his head. “Are we ready?”
The Doe brothers formed a circle. In unison, they said, “Operation Pumpkin Patch,” and clicked hooves, just like in Mr. Spotter’s gym class.
Dosey Doe walked into the hunters’ campsite with the bearskin over his shoulder. “Look what I found... um... Marvin.”
“That you, Jedidiah? I thought you and Bill went to sleep,” said Marvin.
“What kind of name is ‘Bill?’” Dosey muttered to himself.
Dosey smiled when he heard a faint hum coming from the bushes.
“Yeah, I can’t sleep, either,” Marvin said.
“Um, well, I went walking and found this neat old bearskin. Wanna see?” Dosey backed into Marvin to let him have a look.
“That’s a nice one,” Marvin said, pulling on the bear’s fangs.
While the faint hum grew just a little louder, Dosey stifled a giggle.
“Wait a minute here,” Marvin said, pulling harder on the fangs. “What’s this in the bear’s mouth?”
Just then, Raymie ran through the campsite from tent to tent. “We got bear-bees! Get outta your tents! Bear-bees! Hide your skin, fellas, and run before their honey turns you!”
“Bear-bees? Honey? That’s just like that story Amos told us tonight.” Marvin gulped. “I thought that was just a campfire story.”
I can assure you the bear-bees are quite real.” Dosey turned around to look Marvin right in the eyes. “I got stung by a bear-bee, and look at me. I don’t look like Jedidiah anymore. I look like a deer. Run. Save yourself.”
“Sweet holy gravy!” Marvin backed away. “Bob was right about the talking animals.”
“I told ya I wasn’t lying,” Bob clanged a tin pot with a stick. “Up, everybody, get up! We got bear-bees! Let’s get outta here!”
Zippers unzipped and canvasses collapsed as the hunters struggled out of their tents. With jerking arms and legs, hunters in their underwear ran everywhere.
“This way, fellas.” Marvin ran toward Farmer Fields’s pumpkin patch.
Then the brothers followed behind, stopping short to hide behind Farmer Fields’s tractor.
Like a swarm of bear-bees, the hunters tromped through the pumpkin patch, tripping and landing on prickly vines. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
“Mah trapdoor keeps flying open,” Bob whined. “What if the bear-bees got in there?”
“Eew, the stains,” Raymie whispered to his brothers.
Just then, the porch light at Farmer Fields’s house clicked on, and a shot rang out.
“I toldja to get outta my pumpkin patch.” Farmer Fields fired his rifle again.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” pleaded Marvin, still running.
“We’ll never bother you again, sir,” Bob said. “We’re running from a hybrid breed of bear-bees.”
“Ma, it’s them talkin’ deer again. I’m gonna get ’em once and for all.” He aimed his rifle. “Hold still so’s I can see ya.”
Thump, thump, grunt. The hunters ran and ran. There must’ve been twenty sets of arms and legs flailing through the pumpkin patch, crunching through pumpkin shells and tripping through the dim moonlight. When the boys heard faint splashing sounds coming from Cornpop Creek, they sputtered their laughter into their hooves.
“I hope them dang burned hunters getcha,” Farmer Fields said, pumping his fist toward the field. Then he slammed the squeaky screen door and flicked off the light.
Raymie, Brett, and Dosey tiptoed back to the campsite. Bottles, wrappers, and cigar butts lay littered around smoldering logs.
“Are the pumpkins in the pie?” Raymie’s walkie-talkie crackled.
Raymie brought his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Pumpkin pies are in the oven and baking.”
Three bears poked their heads through the dense thicket behind one of the tents. The smallest bear handed Raymie the other walkie-talkie.
Brett handed a big cooler to the bears. “Thanks for your help.”
“Yes, you certainly sounded like believable bear-bees,” Raymie said.
“You saved our hides,” Dosey said. “Literally.”
And no hunters ever came to Lumbering Woods again.
Gina Napoli has published over 100 articles and stories in various print and electronic media. Her writings for children have appeared in Highlights for Children, Pockets, Humpty Dumpty, and Guardian Angel Kids. Gina lives in Harrisburg with husband George, stepsons Richard and Brandon, daughter Samantha, and spoiled dog Stella.
A Cautious Life
By
Larry C. Kerr
“Did you hear about Artie?”
“No. What happened?”
“He found out his wife was having an affair.”
“You’re kidding!”
William Bradley listened—he couldn’t avoid having the conversation inflicted upon him—as the two women babbled on in the cubicle next to his. He recognized the voice of the cubicle’s occupant, Dorothy Travis, but not that of the other woman. He tried to focus on what he was doing, but found it impossible as they chattered on like a couple of magpies. William could just imagine them sitting on a wire strung between two utility poles happily squawking away and crapping on anyone beneath them.
“I swear it’s true. Celeste told me this morning when we were getting coffee. She heard it from Gary who got it from Nadine. See, Nadine sits outside Artie’s office and she heard him on the phone before he closed the door. She said Artie looked like he was crying,” the other woman said.
“Celeste saw Artie crying?” Dorothy asked.
“No, Nadine did. It was Nadine who told Gary and he told Celeste and she whispered it to me today.”
“Oh, my God. If it came from those guys it must be true.”
“That’s what I thought. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t think it was reliable.”
William thought people should have more courtesy than to annoy him with gossip when he was trying to work. He stared at the faded gray fabric wall of the cubicle, which was high enough to block his view, but not so high as to prevent the sound of their inane talk from creeping up and over. His cube was one of many in the jungle of cubicles that filled the large room.
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