Big City by Scot Sothern

Author:Scot Sothern
Format: epub

KeroseneRow Woods

FuzzyWuzzy is lounging, stomach to egg-yolk moon, like a fluffy recumbent snowman, licking grub-worm and berry residue from his lips. Behind Slab Pettibone’s house a miniforest sighs in the quiet. The dark sky is fish-belly silver. FuzzyWuzzy says, Uhmppp uhmppp and smacks his lips.

He rolls to his paws and walks to a young tree, thin and twenty-feet up. He stands on his hind-legs and attacks the tree with his upper-body, shadow boxing. His claws gouge the skin and take hold, going up. He climbs five feet and hugs the trunk like a dear friend then decides to shake it up. He rocks his four-hundred-sixty-seven pounds back and forth. He moans happy, mmmmmyaammmmm. He flaps the tree, whipping its tip like a fishing rod, and then continues his climb.

At fifteen feet, the tree resembles a catapult. FuzzyWuzzy puffs out vowels, aaaaooouu, rips off a limb and brushes his teeth. He points his puppy-dog profile to the tippy treetop, wondering how it might taste. Onward he treks as the treetop bows under his weight. With his claws in a secure grove, FuzzyWuzzy begins to spin. The tree thawks around like a loaded spring.

FuzzyWuzzy hits the brakes when he hears the crunchy cracks of the trunk below, Timmmberrr! Perplexity replaces the playful glee across his buttermilk babyface. The tree snaps, crackles and breaks. FuzzyWuzzy vocalizes the ursine equivalent of Oops. He falls to the ground and bounces like a bag of clay. The foliage shutters.

FuzzyWuzzy rolls around in horseplay, wrestling limbs and branches. He freezes when he hears an unwoodsy noise, goes to all fours and takes a radar sniff. FuzzyWuzzy is practiced in staying out of sight when not with Slab Pettibone. People carry guns and don’t think twice when it comes to shooting bears and minorities. FuzzyWuzzy is cautious. He relaxes when he determines the scent of a friend. He smells Bitch Bantam but cannot see her in the spectral lunar light. It is a little spooky for FuzzyWuzzy.

Bitch Bantam jumps suddenly from the bushes and yells, “BOO,” then leapfrogs over FuzzyWuzzy, spinning and landing, facing him. FuzzyWuzzy shits three pounds of recycled berries, grubs, termites, and greens. He huffs a startled sentence, Hhhuuugggg!

Bitch Bantam is laughing through guilty feelings. FuzzyWuzzy looks faint like an old woman with the vapors. “I dint mean ta asceer ya so much. I was jus playin.” She goes to FuzzyWuzzy, snuggles in under his legs and hugs him. She dances him away from the pile of scat then rolls them both to the ground. She sits astraddle his belly and gives him leg-fibrillating scratches.

“I like nighttime bettern day,” Bitch tells FuzzyWuzzy, “It’s quiet here. Mister Pettibone and Fritter are kissing and stuff. I looked in the winder. Men are even more ugly when they doan wear clothes. Fritter says she thinks Mister Slab is handsome. If handsome is being nice then I think he’s handsome too. But I doan think that’s what it means. I can do things now. I’m gonna learn how to read books.

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