Tag Archives: Copyright © 2013 Mitchell Geller

Little Lindsay Chapters 13 & 14 (end)

Rated G

Chapter 13


Millie Tilly Dilly, the filly from Philly with a sister Lilly who called their brother Willy Nilly Billy, stood fast asleep on her hooves. A small jungle leaf hung from her saggy lips. One Son the Belcher Monkey lay flat on his back, also asleep. He dreamed of bananas in secret sauces—whole hot tubs filled with them while he lay on his back, floating in squishy comfort, shoving one after the other into his mouth and chewing. Ahhh, chewing. In his sleep, his mouth began to move.

Little Lindsay emerged from the center of the tree. Amber followed, carrying a wide-awake Lucky, wide-eyed and curious, by his neck in her mouth. “Wake up, you two! It’s time to go.”

One Son twitched once, scratched his armpit, turned on his side and let out a long, slow belch. It was not an unpleasant sound, perhaps similar to a medium sized tuba submerged in water, with the tremolo of a flugelhorn, except it didn’t come from his mouth.

“Oh! Cheese whiz, One Son!”

Millie awoke with a snort. “Oh, whew! Is somebody making popcorn?”

“One Son! Wake up! We have to go!”

One Son stirred grumpily, not wishing to leave his dreamy hot tub filled with bananas and secret sauce, but opened his eyes and leaned forward anyway. “You’ve ruined me for regular bananas, I hope you know that.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “BRA-A-A-AP! Where am I? How did I get down here?” He looked around, then straight up. “Uh-oh—”

“Cougher Monkeys,” Amber said to Little Lindsay. “We’d better get moving.”

“You mean the ones who get high in the trees?”

“That’s them, Little One. And they’ll be looking for munchies soon,” One Son said. “Amber’s correct, we should go. Which way?”

Little Lindsay composed herself and grew calm. Which way? Silence prevailed for a moment, then, “That way,” she pronounced firmly, pointing west.

One Son jumped up into the thick trees. “I’ll keep lookout from up here. If I tell you to run you’d better get your horse in gear and fly! Vamos!” He shot forward with great leaps, straight through the foliage, and disappeared.

Little Lindsay led the way, with Amber carrying Lucky behind her and Millie protecting her flank. “It’s not far, but we have to hurry. Mommy and Daddy are worried.”

They set a steady pace. Little Lindsay brushed aside branches easily, with no fear of what might lie beneath them, or on top. Young saplings were stepped past gingerly, like a ninja bypassing her own shadow, and left unharmed. They walked for minutes, then more minutes, and more followed by more and more until roughly thirty-eight of them passed before…

“What was that?” Little Lindsay said. “Did something fall from the tree?”

“Moofey fuffas!” Amber tried to say with the puppy in her mouth.

“I don’t mean to be an alarmist right out of the gate,” Millie said from behind, somewhat uneasily, “but there’s a lot of movement going on high in the trees. And… Ouch! That kind of stung!”

“Moofey fuffas!” Amber tried to say again. Finally she stopped (which caused Millie to stand on two legs for a moment with her rump in the air) and spit Lucky out of her mouth. “Monkey pellets! Little Lindsay, get on Millie’s back! Millie, run like you’ve never run before!” She grabbed Lucky by the neck and threw him onto her back. “Hold on tight, Lucky! We’re going to afterburners! Move over, Little Lindsay, coming through! See you at home!” With that, Amber turned on the nitro and bolted forward with great, long strides—Lucky flapping on her back like a small cape—and swerved in and out of the trees, dodging an increasing number of monkey pellets, until she and Lucky were out of sight.

“That’s gotta hurt,” Millie winced. “Come on, girl, jump up!”

“BRA-A-A-AP! It’s Coughers, and they’re a little testy. Fly, you two! I’ll try to slow them down.”

“One Son! One Son! Don’t be a hero, run!” Little Lindsay called into the trees. A monkey pellet landed in her open mouth. “Ew, pah!” She spit it out. “Disgusting!”

“Millie!” his voice came from above, fading as he spoke, “Run, you silly filly from Philly! Run like your lives depend…” but she could hear no more.

While Little Lindsay struggled to climb on her back, Millie had a momentary flashback. She had a distant relative in the country back home, long since passed away but a legend in the family. His name was Hidalgo. He was small, like Millie. He was strong, also like Millie. And he won a three-thousand mile long race in a desert called Arabia where he was a long-shot to even survive. Hidalgo was not a horse who shied away from long odds and danger. He was a proud Mustang who spent his youth running freely on open plains. Running, always running… Millie’s face was stern with resolve.

Little Lindsay finally made it onto Millie’s back. “Millie, are you okay?” she asked.

“Hang on tight to my mane, long-legged Little Lindsay. It’s time to fly!”

Before she knew what was going to happen, Little Lindsay was doing all she could to hang on tight.


Chapter 14

And run they did. Man did they run! They were flying! A toucan got whiplash watching them go by. A squirrel dropped his nuts. A sloth, two miles back, was still turning his head. “What th—?” he said. Monkey pellets rained from the sky. Little Lindsay squeezed Millie with all her might as they zipped through the jungle, never slowing down even a little for even an instant. Looking ahead, she saw Amber with Lucky flapping on her back. Millie was gaining on them. They were so close, but the pellets were coming in greater numbers and it was hard to see very far in the distance. Still, through all of that, Little Lindsay knew she was close to Mommy and Daddy. If they could only just push on a little more, a little faster…

Just at that moment, at that precise point in time, there came a loud sound. It was the biggest sound of its kind ever to shake the jungle. It was mighty. It was all-enveloping. It was…


…disgusting, but effective. Everything, with the exceptions of Amber and Millie, stopped in its tracks. Cougher monkeys close to the initial blast fainted and fell to the ground, some of them hanging off branches like limp towels. Or spaghetti. Or perhaps an old sock, if you prefer. One Son was nowhere to be seen. The kickback from his eruption had sent him soaring into the canopy, where he was last seen tumbling end over end out of sight. Millie and Amber kept up the pace while the remaining Coughers held their noses and re-grouped.

“There!” Little Lindsay yelled, pointing to a small clearing not far in the distance. “There they are!” The moment was at hand. The payoff. The cards were about to be shown and the winner announced. The curtain was going up. It was showtime. With one final push, one final stretch of their bodies, one final use of their juice and kick of the hind legs, Amber and Millie quite literally and unilaterally, summarily and undoubtedly, even unforgettably, soared through the air with the greatest of ease like those flying young men without a trapeze.

“Look out everybody!” Little Lindsay screamed with joy, “Hang on to your limones, this train is coming into Pura Vita-Veedaville! Yeee-hawwww!”

That’s when, clearly belabored readers, according to Little Lindsay’s account some non-exact time later, time stopped. All four of our unlikely set of travelers floated like a mist in the tropics toward their final destination. Experts refuse to even attempt to calculate the group’s alleged rate of speed during what they refer to as “This Floating Nonsense” stage.

What have you learned, Little Lindsay? It was Lemu-eel’s voice coming to her from she knew not where.

Being still inside is pleasant.


And magic is no more than pure intention.




Who won the poker game?

There are no losers, Little Lindsay.

This suspension of time, unfortunately, allowed the Cougher Monkeys to gather more pellets.

“Ouch! Daddy, did you throw something at me?” Mommy stopped hanging clothes and opened her umbrella, which she always kept nearby.

“Huh?” Daddy said, then “Ouch!” after a pellet hit him on the forehead. He picked it up to examine. “Smells like— Holy Cow!”

Soaring over Amber and Lucky, Millie hit the clearing first. She came down with her hind legs in front, sliding like a baseball player stealing home, and stopped in front of Daddy. Amber and Lucky followed, skidding to a stop barely inches from Millie’s midsection. Daddy could have sworn he heard the little pup laughing. It must have been a chipmunk, though. Or a cricket on laughing gas.

“Amber! Good girl. What’s going on here?” Daddy demanded an answer. Amber looked at Millie, who was still lying on her side, safe at home.

Suddenly a hand came from behind the small but swift filly, and a head popped up. “Thank you, Millie. I love you!”

“Little Lindsay!” Mommy rushed over and scooped Little Lindsay into her arms.

“We were so worried about you!” Daddy said, with immense relief. The pellets were getting more plentiful so he raised his umbrella, too.

Little Lindsay turned to Millie and Amber, both of whom were staring at something in the sky. Amber whispered to Millie, “Do you smell what I smell?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We’d better make room.” Millie got off the ground and moved to the side a little bit.

“What’s the matter, Millie?”

Millie looked up. Little Lindsay followed. “What’s tha—?”

One Son hit the ground with a SLAP! heard ‘round the world. What little breath left in him puffed out of his mouth like a tiny mushroom cloud. Monkey pellets bounced off his face but he neither flinched nor belched (nor anything else) as a result.

“One Son!” Little Lindsay jumped from Mommy and Daddy’s arms and ran to his side. “Speak to me! Belch at me, please!”

Daddy looked at Mommy with concern all over his face. “Belch at me?”

“Quickly! We have to move him inside. Everybody has to get inside!”

“Even the horse?” Daddy seemed confused.

“Of course, the horse! Mommy, grab Lucky.”


“Lucky, the puppy. Hurry!”

Pellets landed everywhere. Daddy picked up One Son, brought him inside, and laid him gently on the couch. When he turned around, there was no place to go. Millie shuffled uncomfortably on the hard floor right next to him. The pellet storm got louder on the tin roof.

“What the heck is going on out there?”

“It’s Cougher Monkeys, Daddy. They get high in the trees and then throw pellets at you when they get the munchies. What are we to do?” An avocado pit landed on the roof with a loud bang.

Daddy sat on the couch next to the sprawled One Son, crossed his legs, and rested his chin on his hand. His other arm hung limp on his knee. He was The Thinker of the family. Everyone held their breath to hear what he would say next.

“Well,” he said, “we could throw potato chips at them, but I don’t think we have enough. Besides, I like them with a sandwich and a cold beer some times. But, I think I have an idea…” He jumped up from the couch. “Uh, excuse me, horse.”

“That’s Millie from Philly, Daddy.”

Daddy gave Mommy that same look of concern. “From Philly?” He spoke to Millie, “How nice. You must be having a lovely time. Why the long face? Ha-ha! Get it?”

Millie got it, again, but didn’t want any part of it.

“I’ll be right back.” Daddy went into his study and closed the door.

“If I hear that joke one more time…”

“What did you say, Little Lindsay?” Mommy asked. “Are you sick? You sound hoarse.”

“No, Mommy. I’m fine. I’m so happy you and Daddy are okay. It’s so good to—”

The study door flew open as if it were Kramer on Seinfeld, the TeeVee show, except it was Daddy, and he was holding a plastic bag filled with…

“Magic Mist!” he exclaimed with glee. “This’ll slow ’em down!” He moved toward the door. “Excuse me, uh, Millie from Philly. Ouch, banged my knee…” When he opened the front door he held the bag high and squeezed it. “Take that, Coffee Munchers, or whatever you are! And that! And that!” he said, squeezing more and more puffs of Magic Mist into the air. He even swallowed one himself and blew it into a hail of raining pellets. Daddy was so brave!

Little by little the pellets became less, until there were no more. The Coughers were draped peacefully on the highest branches. They seemed to have forgotten what their purpose was, and began making their way back from whence they came.

“Yay, Daddy!” both Mommy and Little Lindsay cheered. Amber barked. Even Lucky felt the excitement and tried to bark like Amber but it came out like a mouse squeak and he fell over. Millie, along with everyone, smiled with relief and couldn’t help but chuckle at the little brown puppy.

Little Lindsay looked to the couch. One Son was still unconscious. “Daddy,” she said, “can your Magic Mist save One Son? Ple-e-e-ase?”

Daddy looked at the little bit left in the bag, and at One Son. “I don’t know, but we can try. I have an idea.”

Millie turned herself around and walked out the front door, then poked her head in the open window to watch.

“Smart horse,” Daddy said. He grabbed a dish rag and went to the couch, where he put the rag over One Son’s mouth and slowly fed Magic Mist into the Belcher’s nostrils. Everyone watched and waited for some sign of consciousness, some clue, some movement…

“Oh! There!” Daddy said, and he pulled the rag off. “His mouth is moving a little. It looks like… If I’m not mistaken, I think he’s chewing.”

“One Son! Quick! Mommy, can you make some secret sauce and banana? He loves that.”

Mommy laughed on her way to the kitchen. “Of course he does, honey. I have a nice, sweet banana, too.”

“That’ll work,” Millie said from the window.

Both Mommy and Daddy thought the other said that. “Are you getting a cold, hon? You sound hoarse,” Daddy asked.

“Oh, and can you make me some french toast, Mommy?”

“Yes, dear. Here’s the secret sauce. I have some already made in the refrigerator.” Mommy looked inside the fridge. “Oh Daddy, the power is out.”

Daddy groaned. “Again?”

“I know, I know,” Mommy said. “Here, Little Lindsay, take this to Daddy. Let him do it.”

“Oh he won’t hurt us, Mommy.” Little Lindsay handed her father the secret sauce and banana. “Just wave it under his nose and he’ll get religious.”

Daddy looked at Mommy again. “Religious?”

“Do it, Daddy!”

Daddy did as Daddy was commanded—on the double! He dipped the banana in the secret sauce and placed the sweetest end into One Son’s open mouth. It only took a second before his chewing movements increased in scope. Then his tongue slid the rest of the banana into his mouth. He chewed, then swallowed.

“Wa-a-a-it for it,” Little Lindsay said, and held her nose. One Son’s eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright.


“One Son!” Little Lindsay, unable to contain herself, ran to him and wrapped her arms around him.

“Oh! Cheesy nachos! I’ll go get the ozone machine.” Daddy ran to the bodega.

“Oh thank you, One Son! Thank you thank you thank you…”

A lone parrot circled high above. No one knew he was there. Just as suddenly as he had risen from the near-dead, One Son fell back onto the couch in a semi-conscious state, but this time with a bliss-ninny expression. “He’s fine,” Little Lindsay said. “He’s just being religious right now.”

Everyone laughed.


And so it was in Expert eyes, Little Lindsay’s tale was all lies. “Balderdash and poppycock!” was what they offered. “Malarkey and baloney,” they also proffered. “Oh come all ye faithful, listen to Us. We will let you know what you must! This is ballyhoo, and too much to Tweet. If you don’t mind, Little Lindsay, please take a seat!”

Let it be noted this tale is now told. A lesson was learned for both young and old. Mind your intentions and let them be pure. The universe is magic, that’s for sure.

This Narrator now asks you, dearly beleaguered reader, to be the Expert.


Copyright © October 31, 2012, Mitchell Geller.


Little Lindsay Chapters 11 & 12

Rated G

Chapter 11

“Lemu-eel,” Little Lindsay said, “can you tell me where Pura Vita-Veedaville is?”

“Yes,” she who is known as Manasa and, to some, Ananta—the endless snake who circles the world—replied.

Long pause. Little Lindsay cleared her throat. “Where?”

“It’s here, all around you. Pura Vita-Veedaville is everywhere.”

“But where are my Mommy and Daddy?”

“They are where they should be, as you are.”

“But I’m lost and afraid, Lemu-eel.”

“To have fear is to make fear, Little Angel. She who is unafraid will not bite, or be bitten. At this moment you are safe, but not sound.”

“How do I find my home, Lemu-eel?”

“For that you must be quiet—serenely, divinely at peace. Once there, pay attention to your intention. With that, you will find yourself. With that, you will no longer feel lost.”

Little Lindsay, remembering to ask the right questions, tried to frame her words perfectly. “Lemu-eel, can you show me the way home?”

Lemu-eel swayed back and forth. “No, Little Lindsay. I can only tell you where the path begins.”

Little Lindsay was frustrated. Her mind bounced about like a busy bee in a bucket, wondering What to do? What to do?

Lemu-eel sensed Little Lindsay’s discomfort and said, “To do is what not to do. To not do is what to do. Now go. Go and be still—all at once and both together.” The Mother of all snakes lay her head back down and hummed a nearly silent vibration.

Little Lindsay hung her head in thought for a long time—frozen, it seemed, in a timeless state. Her breath became shallow. Her heart slowed to a tiny blip. Her mind was sinking, sinking, sinking… to where? Nowhere. To Pura Vita-Veedaville.

“Jeepers,” Pepe the peeved pizote whispered to Amber. “It’s like a wax museum in here.”


Chapter 12

“Mister Swift! Mister Swift! How did I get up here again?”

“Not how, Little Lindsay. Why?”

“Shouldn’t I be in a hole in a tree?”

“Is a hole in a tree any different than a hole in the sky? All This is That, Little Lindsay.”

Little Lindsay swayed slowly in the light wind way above the jungle called Earth—or, as some of her inhabitants call her, Pura Vita-Veedaville. Her mind was blank but for the sweet sensation of bliss. All was as it should be. There were no questions, so no answers were required.

Mister Swift spoke inside her head. Little Lindsay, what is your intention?

Mommy. Daddy. I have to make sure they’re safe.

Mister Swift did a dance in thin air. Yes! When your intention is sincere and worthy, it will find support in Nature. When it is for the good of others, it is also good for you. When Nature and intention come together everything is knowable. That which was fear is replaced by charity. The need to give is greater than the need to receive until, finally, there are no needs at all. To want is to lack. There is no better state than a lack of want. For when you want everything you have nothing, and when you need nothing you have everything. Open your eyes.

Little Lindsay did as she was instructed and opened her eyes. Pura Vita-Veedaville lay sprawled at her feet under a glowing sunrise. Morning mist drifted lazily in patches below, causing shafts of sunlight to splinter and highlight trees with golden, sparkling light-ornaments. Some of Nature’s children were waking up, while others began to rest. And some were hungry.

What is your intention?

Mommy. Daddy… where? There! A donut hole opened in the mist way, way below. Within it, Little Lindsay saw Mommy. She was hanging clothes to dry on a line. But wait, was Mommy crying? And where was Daddy? There! But he was pacing back and forth, obviously agitated. I must go.

“Yes, Little Lindsay,” Lemu-eel said. “Go with the grace of your deepest self.”

Little Lindsay shook herself awake, back to the tiny discomfort of a hole deep in the heart of an old tree. Lemu-eel was coiled comfortably on her warm rock. Sleepy Sally was still poised to turn her cards over, but hadn’t. A slow breath followed by a light snore oozed from her slightly parted, thin lips. Her eyes were still closed.

“Thank you, Lemu-eel. Good luck with the poker game.”

“I need luck like I need a pair of suspenders. You are always welcome, little long-legged one.”

Little Lindsay turned to face Amber. “Grab Lucky, Amber. It’s time to go.”


Little Lindsay Chapters 9 & 10

Rated G

Chapter 9


They moved ahead into the obsidian jungle, One Son leading the way from above. The moon refused to rise. Branches slapped long-legged Little Lindsay’s face, now an exact amount tall at so many feet and inches. (Do the math. Forty-eight inches plus seventy-nine inches plus sixteen inches equals how many feet?)

They walked in silence. Little Lindsay heard noises coming from way up in the tree canopy. “What’s that hacking sound?” she asked One Son.

“It’s time for the Cougher Monkeys to get high in the trees. They’ll be hungry soon. If you have any popcorn in your backpack you’d better hide it well.”

Little Lindsay didn’t think she had any popcorn in her backpack but was nervous all the same. It was warm, damp and dark. She thought she saw eyes piercing the night, following her every movement. Or were they hallucinations? She wasn’t sure.

Horse-sensing Little Lindsay’s uneasiness, “How much further, Belcher?” Millie wanted to know.

“We’re almost there. This is a sacred place. I have to ask you both to close your eyes and keep walking. Put your hand on Millie’s rump, Little Lindsay, and follow her. Ready?”

Millie and Little Lindsay closed their eyes and made their way forward one small step at a time.

“That’s it, keep going. You’re getting closer… closer… closer… and…”

BONK! Millie walked into a giant tree. “Ow! Stupid monkey, you did that on purpose!”

One Son laughed heartily. “Ha-ha-ha! Hey horse, why the long face?” and laughed at his own joke.

Little Lindsay tried to be serious, but it was hard. “Are you alright, Millie? That wasn’t very nice, One Son,” but she started to giggle in spite of herself.

“Stupid monkey,” Millie said, then she started to giggle. Laughter being contagious, soon all three were laughing out loud.

“Did you hear that? BONK!” One Son said through tears of mirth. “You sound like a ripe watermelon! BRA-A-A-AP!”

“Ew. Ugh.” More laughter.

“Excuse me!” came a voice from the tree. “Uh, excuse me! What’s going on here?”

“Oh, hello Pepe!” One Son said. “Sorry, we were just testing this horse’s head against the tree.”

“I thought I heard someone knock. You’re a little late for the game, though. It’s almost over.” Pepe the pizote looked at Millie, then scanned Little Lindsay from the bottom up. “Wow, you’re a long one. What are you, roughly eleven point nine one six six six feet tall?”

“Uh…” Little Lindsay said.

One Son hopped down to the ground. “Hey Pepe, who’s left in the game?”

“That would be Sleepy Sally,” he said. “I was done after Aaaron but stayed to watch. I think Sally may be wearing old Ma out!”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. That is, if I had anything to wager. BRA-A-A-AP!”

“Jeepers, Belcher.” Pepe the pizote looked peeved. “Haven’t you ever heard of breath mints?”

“No. Got one?”

“Of course not, I—”

“Then BRA-A-A-AP! Serves you right for not bringing enough for everybody. Is there room inside for us? The girl has to speak with Lemu-eel.”

Pepe the peeved pizote rubbed his proboscis with both paws. “Hmm, let me see. A horse, a twelve-foot human, and a Belcher with horrific halitosis in an area about as big as ten pineapples, five small invertebrates and a large zucchini. Should work out fine!” he said. “Go right ahead!”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about the horse and ‘stretchy’ over here.” One Son rubbed his jaw.

“Please don’t—”



“Thanks for reminding me.”

“No hay problema.”

“Perhaps,” Pepe went on to say, “if we could get the dog to come out we’d have enough room.”

Little Lindsay straightened up so fast her head hit a tree branch. “Ouch. Amber?” she asked.

“I’d say more on the beige side of the spectrum, but she keeps telling us she’s amber. Whatever rolls your log, I say.”

“Amber!” Little Lindsay cried out again, and immediately shrunk to her normal size of forty-seven and three-quarter inches.

“What th—?”

Little Lindsay threw her tiara that had two, long antennae—each sporting a pink, fuzzy thing unknown to this Narrator—away and charged the opening of the tree trunk.

“Hey wait!” Pepe yelled after her, but to ears that wouldn’t listen.

“Little Lindsay!” Millie called through the opening.


Chapter 10


Sleepy Sally was a sloth.
The more she played the more she lost.
She thought she had old Ma beat,
That is, until, she fell asleep.

It was dark and creepy inside the giant tree with the long branches and sky-high canopy. Little Lindsay had to slow down and feel her way forward through the roots and vines criss-crossing her way. Water dripped from above, while puddles surrounded her feet. “Amber?” she asked, quietly. “Where are you?” There was a glimmer of light not far ahead. She made her way closer until she could see the back of a hairy animal and stopped. Nothing moved. No sound could be heard except the beating of Little Lindsay’s heart. “Amber?”

“Little Lindsay, is that you?”

“Amber!” Little Lindsay rushed forward into the small opening. There, lying on the ground, was Amber. Within her two paws was a small, brown puppy who was fast asleep. It was a tiny thing, no bigger than an average papaya, and it had some scratches in places where his fur was missing. All in all he looked pretty beat up, but was resting comfortably now in the embrace of his savior.

“Lemu-eel told me you were on your way here with Millie and One Son,” Amber said to Little Lindsay. She looked at the pup. “Isn’t he cute? I simply had to save him from that callous cat.”

Little Lindsay looked at the puppy adoringly. “Now I know why you ran away. I understand.”

“Yes. I saw you were in good company, Little Lindsay. And you’re not as little a Lindsay as you used to be, when you were littler.”


“You’re growing up.”

“That’s for sure. Up and down and up and down… I get nauseous thinking about it.”

“No, I mean you’re getting too fast for me. I’m an old lady, almost ready to retire. You need someone who can look after you during the next stage of your life. And I need to get out more! I love this place! It gives me happy feet that won’t hold still! So much to smell, so little time…”

“But… but… Amber!”

“Don’t worry, not-so-little Little Lindsay. We’ll find Mommy and Daddy together. They’ll make junior healthy again and all will be perfect.”

Little Lindsay and Amber couldn’t take their eyes off of the sleeping puppy—curled in a tight ball and snug between Amber’s warm, dry paws. “He’s Lucky,” they both said at the same time, then laughed.

“What is this, Improv night? Don’t forget the buffet! Can’t you see there’s an important game going on?” Pepe the peeved pizote stood in the entrance to the tiny alcove hidden underground. All eyes turned to the players. Lemu-eel lay coiled on a rock, her head down. Sleepy Sally had her back to Little Lindsay and was motionless. One could say the scene was more like a painting than real life, for all the movement it lacked. With cigars and a poster of Dogs Playing Poker the imagery would have been staggeringly, breathtakingly, bizarrely, redundantly boring.

“What’s happening?” Little Lindsay whispered.

“Sally’s all in. Everything, including the sun crystal she found—though who knows why Lemu-eel is interested in the shiny object, maybe because she’s vain—is on the table. Ma called and Sally went to turn her cards over.”

Little Lindsay waited patiently.

Drip-ploink. Drip-ploink, the water said.


“And promptly fell asleep.”

Drip-ploink. Drip-ploink.

“Asleep? She fell asleep? Right now?”

“Yep. Been that way since sunset.”

“So what happens next?”

“We wait, maybe till sunrise.”

“What?” Little Lindsay moved to get a better look at Sleepy Sally the sloth. Sally had two playing cards between her three toes, face down. Her arm hovered over the flat root that was their playing table but didn’t move. If Sally wasn’t a sloth she’d be a good marionette, for she sat as still as wood. To say that she looked like a statue would be cliché, but apt. Her eyes were closed and her thin mouth seemed to be smiling. Or was it? To ride the fine art metaphors to death, one might even think Sleepy Sally was the narcoleptic equivalent of Leonardo’s Mona Lisa. (Or not.) “We have to wait until she wakes up?”

“I do.” It was Lemu-eel who spoke.

Little Lindsay bumped her head again. “Ouch!”

“But you don’t, Little Lindsay.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I read lips. I’m happy that you have arrived safely. Please make yourself comfortable, if that’s possible. What a pain it is having all those extremities, what?”


“What what? Never mind.”

Little Lindsay realized she was holding her breath tight in her chest.

“Breathe,” Lemu-eel exhaled the word.

Little Lindsay remembered the moment with Mister Swift when time disappeared. It made her feel calm.

“That’s it. Yes-s-s-s-s.” Lemu-eel’s voice was soothing. They sat in silence for a while, with only an occasional drip-ploink to mark the passage of time. “It’s difficult to read an opponent who is asleep,” Lemu-eel said of Sally, “but not impossible.” She emitted a low, pleasant vibration in Sally’s direction. “Leave her be. The new mother needs her rest.”


Tropical Cancer—Dog Owner’s Misnomer

Rated PG

Dog Owner’s Misnomer

(Note: If you’re here to read about Costa Rica it might be wise to move on, for this is not about that. It’s about dog poop—something I felt needed to be said. As a consequence of and befitting the subject the language may be, in some cases, offensive to the squeamish. I figure if you’re curious enough to read about dog poop you’re okay with certain “colorful” descriptors, but if that’s not the case you can choose a replacement word for s**t from the following list:

Bowel movement
A dump
Bruised dinkleberries

Additionally, if you don’t like the verbiage “…take a s**t,” please consider using in your mind one of the following substitutes:

…squeeze cheese
…pinch a loaf
…drop a log

Thanks for your participation, though you may have regrets. (Author not responsible for lasting trauma in the form of recurring visuals.))

Babe and I have had, all together, five cats over a span of 22 years. In all that time I think I’ve seen one take a shit maybe twice. I’ve watched them go in the box, but its obscured such that I don’t have to see the actual excrement coming out of… you know. All I see is their head, and how they flatten their ears when they push—seemingly annoyed with the process. And the little “ah” look when the deed is done. It’s all very civilized. Not so with dogs.

Our friends (John and Brando) have gone to Europe for three weeks and we’re staying in their villa, minding the two dogs (Toby and Chloe). For Babe and me, this is a chance to live indoors for a while—where there’s a tile shower, a real kitchen with an oven, and a toilet that isn’t a bucket over a shithole crawling with… whatever the fuck they are. You know, a “real” place that’s not a “dump.” That was the motivating factor when we agreed to watch the dogs.

“Yeah sure, whatever,” I think we said about the dogs. “No hay problema! We love dogs!” And for the record, we do. We just prefer cats. They’re less trouble in every regard—including repair and operating costs. They require less maintenance, generally. Plus, you don’t have to “take them for a walk.” Therein lies the dog owner’s misnomer. We’re not taking them for a walk. We’re actually going to make sure shit comes out of them some place other than the upstairs bedroom.

“Someone pooped all over the floor upstairs,” Babe told me one sunny morning.

I responded quickly. “It wasn’t me,” I said, backing out the front door.

And later, “Someone pooped all over the upstairs again.”

Babe knows I never touch warm bodily ejections. If a hairball lands on the floor I leave it there until it’s room temp before picking it up.

“I guess we have to walk them more,” I decided.

“Ya think?” she said (not really a question), as she headed upstairs with a roll of flimsy paper towels.


So this is how it goes approximately every four hours:

“Hey, you guys wanna go for a walk?” What I’m really asking here is: “Hey, you guys wanna take a shit someplace other than upstairs?” but they don’t get that. To them it’s just a walk.

Attach leashes. “Okay, vamos!” They’re all smiles and wiggles as they fly out the door, yanking me behind them. “Please don’t pee on my tires,” I beg.

They pull, they stop and sniff, they pee a little, and I’m obligated to watch all of it. I have to make sure they shit, see, so I’m forced to look directly at that scrunched up brown hole. And they can’t shit on the leash, so I have to watch out for that, too. The young Chloe is what Babe calls a “leash dufus,” since the thing is mostly lodged between her legs like a thong. If the pup walks a little bowl-legged, that’s probably why.

Eventually, after repeated false alarms of stop and go inspections for no apparent reason, they arch their back and assume the squat position. I have to quickly move the leash, but not so as to disturb the procedure, and I have to watch in order to make sure the shit looks normal and is a healthy size, shape and color. At night I shine a spotlight on the whole production, giving it a showcase sense of importance and a theatrical flavor. It’s all very dramatic and more than slightly disturbing.

Then, of course, it’s time for the unveiling of the matter. Lump after lump, the stuff is squeezed out of the tube we call “dog” like Tootsie Rolls coming out of a meat grinder. I’ve noticed there are varying speeds to this evacuation, but that’s not important. What’s important to realize is that I’ve noted the varying rates. I can tell the difference between a “casual” shit and a hurried one. What does that say about me? It says I’m an experienced shit-watcher, that’s what. The point is, I could care less about how they walk but I’m intimate with the gushy details of their bodily ejections. In other words, I’m not taking them for a walk, I’m inspecting the shit process. “Walking the dog” is only a polite euphemism for “watching the shit.”

All that being said, I’d like to fess up and offer my apology to my neighbors for not picking up either Toby or Chloe’s steaming piles. (As noted above, I don’t touch the warm stuff.) But I can assure you this practice will cease as of this Thursday, when John and Brando retake possession of their dogs. In the meantime, watch your step.*

*(I know what some of you may be thinking: Why not carry a shovel and bury it where it lies, you disgusting excuse for a neighbor? To which I say, you’re talking about a hand trowel, right? There’s no way I’m supporting a full-blown shovel along with the leash, an umbrella and a travel cup of Irish coffee on the shit inspection (let’s call it what it is). How could I smoke? And if you think I’m walking by a dozen Tico workers with a little white dog and a hand shovel you don’t know that I’m a cat person, and that these are not my dogs. The derision, however good-natured, would be unbearable! So I’m sorry, but no. You’ll have to mind your step until it rains.)

Little Lindsay Chapters 7 & 8

Rated G

Chapter 7

One Son the Belcher Monkey moved from to tree to tree, making his way above the slowly traveling coterie of Amber, Millie and Little Lindsay. What’s the big deal about having a house to live in, he thought to himself, when you have the entire jungle? He would never understand the human need for four walls, a TeeVee and washing machines, but whatever. Live and let others live how they wish, his mother said. Here, have a banana.

“Uh-oh,” One Son said to the others. “You’d better give a wide BURP!, I mean berth!, to Aaaron the armadillo. He’s mad. I’d wager he was the first to lose to Lemu-eel tonight. Let’s find out.” One Son dropped a banana peel on Aaaron the armadillo’s head. “Hey Aaaron, how much did you lose tonight?”

Aaaron trudged along like a little tank wearing a banana peel hat. “Don’t talk to me, monster-mouth. I’m an angry armadillo right now.” He was approaching Amber, who stopped immediately and raised her snout. “Outta my way, pooch. I’m in a bad mood. A bad mood.” Amber and the others moved to the side to let him pass. “A week’s worth of grubs gone just like that.”

“Like what?” Millie asked.

The armadillo stopped. “Like that,” he repeated. “What am I going to tell my wife? ‘Oh but honey, a full house beats a straight!?’ Stupid snake even winked at me!”

“BRA-A-A-AP? How patronizing!”

“I know, huh. That snake’s mother was overly proud. Hey, what’s this?” Aaaron crawled closer to Little Lindsay and sniffed her feet. Little Lindsay, as a result, grew seventy-nine inches of new leg. “Whoa! A human! A tall one, too!”

“Amber! Where’s Amber?”

“No worries, little tall one. She seeks the lost one. She’ll be back, with luck. And where, might I ask, is this unlikely trio going, One Son?”

“BRA-A-A-AP! I’m taking Little Lindsay to see Lemu-eel. That snake knows everything. She may know how to find Little Lindsay’s Mommy and Daddy.”

“Hmm? Maybe so. Maybe so.” Aaaron nodded his head, causing the banana peel hat to slide jauntily to the side. “They say snakes absorb the wisdom of the earth because their whole body is in contact with Her. I think the serpent cheats, personally, but it’s hard to prove someone has something up their sleeve when they don’t have any arms.” The banana peel slipped to the ground. “Well, gotta go! Good luck, little tall one. Hey One Son, how much you wanna bet Pepe is right behind me? Stupid pizote.” Aaaron pushed his tank-like little body further into the trees. They could hear him muttering to himself as he waddled away, the darkening jungle swallowing him up like a tough, exotic appetizer. “But honey, I flopped a straight! What could I do? What could I do? What would you do? What would you do? Ow! Stop hitting me! Ow! Oh, I’m in so much trouble!”

“Whoa,” Millie said, shaking her head, “I’d hate to be wearing his underwear right now.”

One Son and Little Lindsay looked at each other.


“Ew? Ugh, yucky. Can you back up, One Son?”

“Hey, you’re the one who came up here, chiquita grande. Mmm! Chiquita bananas!” He shoved another down his throat without chewing. “Ahhhh…”

“Amber!” Little Lindsay called out. “Amber! Where are you? Come back!” But there was no answer. “Now what?”

“I say we carry on,” Millie said. “Don’t worry, Little Lindsay. Amber seems like a very smart canine, though a bit pushy at times. And a little too frisky for my tastes, but hey, that’s what dogs do. Plus she snores, and that’s okay but… Do you think she has ticks? I hate those things. One time—”

“Millie, please. Can we move on?”

“Oh! Yes, sure. All I’m saying is that Amber didn’t just walk off without a good reason.”

“That dog has a good nose. BRA-A-A-AP! She’ll find us.”

“Hmm.” Little Lindsay decided they had no choice but to do what Millie suggested, which was to carry on, further into the dark and scary jungle. Further into the unknown. She had to confront her biggest fear head-on. She had to look the serpent in her eyes and, what was it Mister Swift had said? She had to “ask the right questions for the right answers.”


Chapter 8

It’s been said of Lemu-eel that each time she sheds her skin she is born anew, and has thus become immortal. She has been called by many names over the years. Some call her Infinite, and some have referred to her as Manasha, the Mother, but Lemu-eel prefers to drop the ‘nasha and go by Ma.


“My mother brought me to Lemu-eel when I was a baby,” One Son was saying as he picked through the tree branches on their way to the poker game. “She said the snake would teach me all about the wind, and other worlds that shine in the night sky, and the dawn. She said Ma knew all about humans and their arts, and about what they knew and didn’t know, and what they wanted to know but hadn’t quite gotten to figuring out yet. She could teach me all of that.”

“So how did that work out, belcher-breath? You know everything there is to know now?” Millie asked, not without sarcasm.

“I know enough, silly-Millie-Willy-Nilly-sing-song-name, to feed my face and stay out of trouble, which is more than I can say for you two wandering whatevers.”

“Wait, can we stop please?” Little Lindsay asked. “I’m hungry. I think Mommy packed a lunch in my backpack.” Sure enough, there was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a banana with a note attached to it that read: Little Lindsay, I hope you enjoy this sandwich I made with love in my heart. When you eat the banana, drizzle some of the secret sauce (in the tupperware) on it first. And don’t forget to share! Love you, Mommy. Little Lindsay took a bite of the sandwich and held back tears. Millie grazed on small tufts of vegetation growing on the jungle floor.

One Son peered over Little Lindsay’s shoulder into her backpack. At the banana, specifically, while monkey juice puddled in his mouth.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yes. But you can have a piece if you like. Here, let me get it for you.” Little Lindsay peeled the banana and dipped one end into Mommy’s secret sauce. Handing it to One Son, she said, “But you have to chew it. That way you can enjoy the flavor. It’s much better when you chew.”

“Huh? What? Chew?”

“Yes, like this.” Lindsay took a bite of her sandwich and showed him how to chew.

“Oh, that. I can do that. See?”

Millie, her mouth stuffed with leaves, looked up to watch as One Son delicately placed the banana part in his mouth and started to chew, with his mouth open. The two watched in fascination at the faces he made—first surprise, then delight, then ecstasy—followed by a slow fall forward, a tumbling through the air, and a resounding SLAP! as he landed on his back on the ground. His face was blank and mouth open wide, with bits of strained banana covering his big, yellow teeth, and his breath was shallow.

“One Son! Are you alright?”

A lone cricket chuckled in the still, warm night. Off to the side, under a low branch, Margeaux the margay licked her paw. Nothing else moved.

“I can hear you, Margeaux,” One Son said. “BRA-A-A-A-P!”

(Chorus of Oh! Ugh! and Phew! from Millie and Little Lindsay.) “One Son, you’re alive!” Little Lindsay exclaimed with obvious relief.

One Son leaned onto one elbow. “Wow. That was a religious experience! Open your eyes, Margeaux, so I can see you,” he said aloud to somewhere, anywhere, in the black foliage.

Millie emitted a low growl and stamped her front hoof. “I have a D battery ready to throw,” she warned.

A tiny laugh tinkled back. “And I can smell you, Belcher, from three point four kilometers away…”

Little Lindsay jumped. In the process, she grew another sixteen inches, mas o menos.

“…in the rain, after the osas defecate in the deepest part of the woods. Every day and twice on—”

“Okay we get the point, Margie. How much did you lose tonight?”

“Everything, of course.” Margeaux said. “It’s okay. I think of it as an offering to Ma.”

“No pay, no game. Is that it?”

“Something like that. Although it didn’t pay off tonight. That’s why I’m licking my wounds. Some overweight dog with a rude attitude took my dinner away.”

“Amber?” Little Lindsay immediately asked.

“I’d say more blonde than amber, but what do I know? I’m color blind.”

“No, that’s her name. Amber.”

“Oh. Look, all I know is that she came flying after me like someone threw her from a train and ran around in circles shouting about how lucky she was. Oy. I can tell you it was most annoying. I had to give up my dinner just to shut her up.”

“That’s Amber, alright,” Millie said.

“Amber!” Little Lindsay called. “Come!”

Only the cricket replied.

“Don’t worry, Little Lindsay,” Millie comforted her. “She’ll find us. Let’s move ahead.”

“A head? Whose head? Where? BRA-A-A-AP!”


Little Lindsay Chapters 5 & 6

Rated G

Little Lindsay Chapters 5 & 6


Chapter 5

It was at this point in our tale, the Experts calculated, when Little Lindsay reached the apex of her height at an exact mile from the floor of a small, sandy area in the middle of the jungle where she and a seemingly miniature but slightly less than normal-sized filly transported from Philly named Millie Tilly Dilly with a brother Willy Nilly (her sister Lilly called Billy) stood—factoring in an average for sand-sink depression, of course.

Further, the Experts agreed that it would therefore not be unreasonable of them to reason that at that height it would be both reasonably cold, and unreasonably hard to breathe. It’s accepted practice that Experts require two reasons for every one reason in order for something to be truly scientifically verifiable, or not, so such a conclusion is reasonable since there’s more than enough proof to extrapolate the above from the story below.


“Ama-a-a-a-zing!” Little Lindsay wavered in the gentle tropical breezes. Not knowing what might be underfoot, she did a little dance to keep moving. But she hardly noticed that once she looked at the beautiful sky with its swirling clouds and floating mists. The evergreen jungle sprawled below, streaked with flashing water runways and flush with distant sounds of far-away birds, animals, reptiles and insects going about their busy business of daily life. “Brrr, but it’s cold up here and hard to breathe,” she said.

Time slowed to a crawl, curled up, and went to sleep. Even though Little Lindsay’s life was far from acceptable in its current state, somehow everything seemed just and correct. All of life was what it should, would and could be at that frozen moment. Conflict was replaced by comfort. Fear was vanquished to the realm of ignorance far, far away. Patience trumped worry and serenity prevailed—as it should.

“Hello Little Lindsay. I see that you have reached the pure air. How do you feel?”

“Oh hello, Mister Swift. Yes, it’s rather pleasant up here. Why is that?”

“Because you are outside the realm of time. Look at your timepiece.”

Lindsay checked her watch. “It’s not counting,” she said. “Why?”

“Because there’s nothing to count. Moments are empty, like the inside of a seed. Only humans line them up one next to the other, but inside a moment there’s nothing at all. Add them all up and what have you got? A long line of the same thing, which is nothing. All the numbers add up to zero, Little Lindsay. Everything ends where it starts, and starts all over again. All this, Little Lindsay,” Mister Swift indicated his body as well as Little Lindsay’s, “…is that which you see above, below and beside you. There’s no difference.” The pretty parrot, Mister Swift, hung effortlessly in front of Little Lindsay’s face. “Life is within, Little One. Once you see that all moments add up to no moments you no longer have the need to change anything. All is as it should be. All is contained within the moment of Now.”

Little Lindsay became one with the silence of the moment—a place where there are no words, thoughts, or actions—and it was good.


Leg Experts scratched their collective jaw and proclaimed:

“We know nothing about the nothingness of moments. We have mountains of facts about all manner of things both big and small, but there’s no information for Nothing at all.”

And so the concept of Nothing was deferred to the Time Experts, who said:

“You can’t prove Nothing, so there’s nothing to prove. For this or that matter we can’t approve, or disapprove.”

The factual secret of the subject of Nothing is clearly revealed with the actual feeling.


“Little Lindsay?”


“It’s time to find your home. Mommy and Daddy are worried about you.”

Little Lindsay didn’t wish to move. She loved the feeling of all the different moments coming to rest as One Moment. She had no need to do anything, or go anywhere, or be any different than she now was at that One, quintessential, primordial Moment when Time ceased to count. But she had to nudge herself to action now. She had to step back into the cycle of counting moments and find her new home.

“Mister Swift, can you show me the way to Pura Vita-Veedaville?”

“Never heard of it. But I can tell you where to start.”

“Oh? Where?”

“The answer lies at your feet. Find Lemu-eel, the serpent. She knows everything there is to know. Not all at once, of course. What an overload! Ask the right questions for the right answers.”

“Wait, this Lemu-eel is a… a… snake?”

Mister Swift stood to flying attention and with a crisp salute said, “Buh-bye!” before veering into a spiral dive toward the ground.

“Wait, Mister Swift! Wait for me!”


Chapter 6

Poor Little Lindsay was under a lot of stress, as you, dear reader, can clearly see. What with all the hidden terrors of a jungle in an unknown land, the falling out of a plane and such, the rapid leg growth and being alone, it’s no wonder she wasn’t a nervous wreck. Experts were not in total agreement as to how to characterize what may have, or not, been Little Lindsay’s state of mind, so they agreed to the list of descriptors below. Little Lindsay may, or may not, have been (in alphabetical order, as opposed to their order of importance, which is a whole other question), according to the Experts: agitated, antsy, anxious, apprehensive, beside herself, a bundle of nerves, hyper, impatient, jerky, jittery, jumpy, spooked, twitchy, uneasy and/or worried. (The word calm was never discussed, since it was considered the “normal” state of mind—which, obviously, Little Lindsay lacked.)

If there was ever a time in a fable or a story for something good to happen, this will be the place in Long-Legged Little Lindsay’s (slightly) long-winded tale where it starts.


Little Lindsay concentrated on what Mister Swift had told her. “The answer lies at your feet,” he had said. She looked downward. Clouds and tropical mist swirled around her knees. “I can’t even see my feet,” she groaned. “For all I know, I may not even have any feet! I can’t—” She stopped herself. Mister Swift had also said there was no can’t, only Do. Do, so she closed her eyes and became very still, willing her legs to shrink back to normal, eight-year-old size.

At first, nothing changed. Concentrate. After awhile, still nothing. Try harder! Followed by nothing. Repeat. Zero. Nada. Harder! Nix. No results. Quiet now… mind wandering… thoughts of Mommy and Daddy and Amber. Poor old lady (Amber, not Mommy) alone in the jungle. Followed by no thoughts about anything big or small or here or there or back or forth or then or later. No up or down or inside or out. Just is. Not a single thought about a place or a time. Nothing. Nothing, that is, but intention.

“Ooh!” Little Lindsay jumped. “What was that?” Instinctively, she reached down to touch her foot and opened her eyes. To her surprise…

“Amber!” Amber lay curled at her feet, protecting her. Actually, she was asleep. And snoring. Drool rolled off her tongue onto Little Lindsay’s foot. “Amber! Amber! I’m so happy to see you! Hey wait, I’m normal sized! Amber! Amber! Wake up girl!”

Amber opened her eyes sleepily and said, “Huh?” Once she saw Little Lindsay’s face she jumped up like a spry puppy and began running in circles around her. “Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay!”

“Good girl, Amber. Yes I’m happy to see you, too.”

“Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay!”

“Alright already!”

“Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay!”

“Doesn’t she know how to say anything other than Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay!?” a somewhat irritated filly from Philly asked.

“Hi Millie! Look, I’m back to my normal size!”

“Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay!”

“Yes, Amber! Okay! Can you shut up a little bit for now, please?” Little Lindsay asked nicely. “That’s better. Now, how do you like the jungle?”

Amber tilted her head and smiled. “You’re kidding, right? This place is a doggie paradise! Oh, if you could only smell what I smelled today! Did you know every plant has a unique olfactory signature? Each tree is different from every flower and vine and plant and bush and root and—”

“Amber!” Little Lindsay interrupted. “Do you know where Mommy and Daddy are?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I don’t. Do you think they’re okay? Should we look for them? Wanna take a walk? Wanna take a walk? Huh? A walk, huh? Sound like a good idea? Huh?”

Millie sighed out loud. “Dogs are so predictable. You don’t want to take a walk, you want to take a—”

“Millie! I think it’s a good idea. Mister Swift told me to look for Lemu-eel the serpent. She knows everything. She can tell us where Pura Vita-Veedaville is.” Little Lindsay turned to her faithful nanny-dog, “Amber, can you smell serpents?”

Amber thought about that. “I don’t know. Their butts are very tiny.”

“Ew?” both Millie and Little Lindsay said together.

“Hey, that’s how dogs work. There’s more to go by down there. It’s not like I’m addicted to crack or anything.”

“As much as I am not in the mood to go smelling serpent butts,” Millie said, “it makes horse sense to me to have you take the point. Lead on, Amber. We’re with you!”

“Yes! We’re right behind you, Amber,” Little Lindsay added.


All three jumped. “Oy, One Son, do you have to be so abrupt?” Little Lindsay asked, looking up into the trees.

“Don’t you mean: A-BRA-A-A-A-PT? Ha-ha, get it?”

“Oh yuck. Could you climb a little higher, please? Phew!”

One Son jumped up a branch. “What’s all the hubbub, Bub? What’s the plan, Stan? What’s the poop, Scoop? Gimme the skinny, Ninny. What’s the blurb—”

“Okay I’ve had enough,” Millie said. “Who invited Bugs Banana-breath?”

“Bark!” Amber commanded complete silence. All eyes turned to her.

“Did you just bark?”

“Yes! Poor Little Lindsay is lost. And so am I, I might add. We must come together and find our way, so let’s get on with it, shall we? You, monkey.” One Son straightened up immediately and gulped a whole banana without chewing. “Where might I find a serpentess named Lemu-eel in these parts?”

“Lemu-eel? I know Lemu-eel, alright. She never loses in poker. Why is that? I don’t trust her.”

Amber was all business. “Which way, monkey?”

“Nobody always wins, it’s just not normal. And not very polite, either, in my opinion. BRA-A-A-A-AP! Ahhhh.”

Collective “Ugh.”

Millie stamped her foot. “I’ll follow Amber and clear a path for Lindsay. One Son is your name? You stay in the trees and make sure we’re going the right direction as well as look out for any wild boars or pigs, or boring pigs, or whatever’s out there who might be hungry and not discriminating about what they eat. Little Lindsay, you watch our flanks. Where do we find Lemu-eel, Belcher-breath?”

“She sleeps over that way.” Everyone faced east, where One Son pointed. “But she travels way over here,” he said, pointing west. Everyone turned around. “And everywhere in between.” Everyone looked left and right. “That is, until dark, when she sometimes heads south.” Everyone turned south. “When there’s no moon she likes to go north.” Everyone turned north. “But when there’s no moon it’s almost impossible to see anything as small as a skinny serpent butt.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Millie said, dizzy after looking this way and that.

Little Lindsay sighed with frustration. “What are we to do, One Son?”

“That’s easy. Tonight’s the first full moon of the spring season.”

“I thought you said there was no moon tonight.”

“Read the minutes, honey. I didn’t say that. I know exactly where to find her.”

“Where?” all three asked at once.

“At the poker game.”

Little Lindsay Chapters 3 & 4

Un-retouched photo of Dicey the cricket with cigar and shades.

Rated G







Chapter 3


Some of Las Lolitas’ least liked Experts disbelieve Long-legged Little Lindsay’s tale altogether—even suggesting she’s “looney as a tune.” (Parenthetically, The Narrator has no opinion. They never do. Everyone gets a “personhood,” if you will, except the Narrator. While we have First, Second and Third Persons, the Narrator is a hidden, ethereal voice, disenfranchised, whose mind is a blank sheet of paper represented by a body of words. A Narrator may argue that they are an articulation of that which hasn’t been said before, if they could argue, which they can’t, by definition, so it would have to be argued by a First, Second or Third person on the Narrator’s behalf. While “technically” a Third Person, the Narrator, quite simply put, just Is. Leave your opinions for the Experts, if you please. But all of this has nothing whatsoever to do with the tale of Long-legged Little Lindsay.)

“For instance…” the incredulous, disbelieving, and somewhat cynical Experts voiced, “…isn’t it all too coincidental that Little Lindsay landed in the lone clearing of the entire jungle—an unusually sandy area only big enough to accommodate one eight-year-old girl and a filly from Philly named Millie Tilly Dilly?” This Narrator (speaking Italic) might say Yes, one might think so. However, as Little Lindsay wisely says: “Seriously, you can’t argue with the truth.”

The Narrator will now articulate that which hasn’t been said before.

“Oh, my head…” Little Lindsay said out loud (to whom she didn’t know), while pressing her hands against her temples. She didn’t wish to open her eyes but didn’t like lying on the ground, so she moved her legs under her and started slowly, hesitatingly, cautiously (and a host of other —ly words), rising to her feet. Except this seemed different somehow. It felt like she had a long way to go. Was she still falling through the sky with the greatest unease? Was it a lingering woozy-dizziness? Or worse, a permanent dizzy-wooziness? Had gravity gone upside-down, or downside-up, or what? “Stupid gravity,” Little Lindsay moaned. “That ride was a dilly!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The voice, clear and strong, came from behind and below Little Lindsay and made her jump up another three feet in height. She looked down at her long, long legs, at the bottom of which stood a short horse. “Did you just say something?” she asked.

“If you’re referring to having taken a ride on me, well, I must confess I remember no such event.”

“But… but… You’re a talking horse!”

“Well I wouldn’t say that if I couldn’t say that, but since I can, I won’t, Little long-legged girl. I’ll let my talking speak for itself, or my speaking talk for itself if that’s what it takes—even if I have to talk to myself, which I’ve been at for some time now already. And what’s your name?”

“I’m Little Lindsay from Las Lolitas and I’m lost.”

“Well, Long-legged lost Little Lindsay from Las Lolitas, I’m Millie Tilly Dilly from Philly and the last thing I remember is being harnessed with a parachute and summarily chucked from a plane. I think I pissed off my owner when I told him his mother was a car. Did you know Mister Ed? He was my grandfather and—”

“My legs!” Little Lindsay interrupted. “They’re so long! What—?” Little Lindsay, feeling scared and lost and oh so incredibly tall, began to cry.

“Now, now, Long-legged Little Lindsay, don’t cry. I’ll help you find your way. Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Pura Vita-HICKA-Veedaville. Oh no! Now I have the HICK-ICK-ups!”

“Pura Vita-Hicka-Veedaville? Never heard of it.” Millie Tilly Dilly looked at the dense jungle surrounding them. “But then, I’ve never heard of anything around here. My brother would know how to find it, if he were here.”

“You have a HIC brother?”

“Oh yes, but Willy Nilly is back in Philly.”

Little Lindsay couldn’t help herself and had to giggle a little between hiccups. “What a random name.”

“You think Willy Nilly is silly? My sister Lilly calls him Billy.”

“Rilly? I mean HIC really?

“Yes. Lilly calls Willy Nilly Billy.”

At this, Little Lindsay began laughing and hiccuping and laughing and hiccuping until all of a sudden—


“What was that, Millie?” Little Lindsay asked, frightened by the loud sound coming from above.

“It’s one of those disgusting Belcher Monkeys,” Millie said with a twitch of her tail. “You can hear them for miles. Sometimes it sounds like they’re throwing up. It’s gross—”


“Oh HIC my! What should we do, Millie? Should we HIC run?”

“No, they’re—”







“Look, when you guys are done—”

“Who-who-who is making all that racket in my backyard? Can’t a monkey swing his banana in peace around here? What’s with all the ‘HIC! HIC! HIC!?’”

Little Lindsay held her breath, which caused her hiccups to go away, and tried to still her rapidly beating heart. She wanted to run like the proverbial wind but didn’t know where. At her current height, estimated by Experts as not quite precisely twenty-six feet and eight inches, she was trapped by the thick trees around her. She needed to be taller.


Chapter 4

“Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Where in the forest art thou?” Millie Tilly’s voice grew fainter as Little Lindsay’s legs thrust the rest of her body up through the tree tops and into the canopy. As she pulled and pushed at the branches in her face, Little Lindsay didn’t notice the Belcher Monkey sitting on a limb no more than eleven inches from her right ear.


While the belch itself was abrupt and disturbing, it was the accompanying breath which nearly sent Little Lindsay back on her knees. “Ew?” she said, trying to brush the halitosis away. “Didn’t you brush your teeth this morning?”

“BRA-A-A-A-AP! Ahhhh… If you think I’m bad, don’t ever pull the finger of one of my southern cousins. Yucky doodle dandy!” Belcher Monkey stuck an entire banana in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “BRA-A-A-A-AP! What’s your name, blondie?”

“I’m Little Lindsay. What’s yours?”

Belcher cast a long look down, way down to where Little Lindsay’s feet ought to have been visible but looked more like two bananas to him. “You’re not standing on two bananas by any chance, are you?”


“Listen, Little Lindsay. If I might make a suggestion? When you’re as tall as you are, never wear a pink Princess/Ballerina outfit with a sparkly tiara that has two long antennae. It makes you look taller.”


“Yeah. Besides, most folk around here want to blend in. It’s safer. Pink is not the answer.”

Little Lindsay gulped. “Safer from wh—”


“Oh, gee-whiz, wow, yuck….”

“Honey, there’s much to be cautious of in the jungle.” The monkey with no name counted them off on his fingers. “Number six: You got wild cats sitting in trees with their arms crossed that don’t often look happy. They eat anything.” He stared into her eyes and paused for impact before proceeding. “Number three: You got pisottis with names like Bubba and Billy-Bob running around looking for a tattoo artist. Know of any?”

“Which, pisottis or—”

“I thought not. Number nine: You got batty bats. There’s all kinda crazy things flying around here. They’re everywhere and none of them have eyes. I get the feeling that even if they did they’d fly into your face anyway. They’re grumpy. Always keep your mouth closed. Number seven—”

Little Lindsay was confused. “Wait, you’re counting all wrong.”

“Whatever. Do I look like I care? I can belch the ABCs for you if you like?” Belcher smiled, showing banana-yellow teeth the size of small toucans.

“NO! Thanks I’d rather you—”

“Fine. Number seven, or is it five? You got beastly beetles, scary scorpions and kinky kinkajous.”

“That’s three things.”

“Exactly my point, grasshopper. You catch on quickly for an extremely tall little girl. Now where was I?”

“I have no—”


“Oh! Ugh. Phew!”

“Speaking of grasshoppers, there’s a little guy wearing shades down there—usually chomping on a cigar. We call him Dicey. If you see him, tell him One Son wants to chat a little about that rolling crap game he has going.”

“One Son is your name?”

“That’s me, though I have seven twin brothers with the same name. There’s a Two Son, but he’s in Arizona.”

“Oh, brother,” Milly called up from below. “The last time I heard that I fell off my dinosaur and broke my stone harness. It’s about as funny as a submarine with screen doors. A porcupine in a balloon factory, a ventriloquist on the radio, a—”

“Don’t listen to her. If there is another number to be wary of it’d be the sneaky snakes. Watch out for them. How many numbers was that?”

“Oh One Son, what am I to do?” Little Lindsay wrung her hands with worry. “I’m lost and scared and…” Growing again.

“Whoa!” One Son backed up further into the tree. “Where ya going? I was gonna dry some banana peels for us!”

“One Son, you have to help me find Pura Vita-Veedaville! I have to get home! Please help me!” Little Lindsay grew and grew, extending ever toward the heavens in a wild fit of uncontrollable, personal hyper-growth. Never before in recorded or unrecorded history has there been such an exhibition of stretching one’s boundaries as there was during those moments Little Lindsay got her legs under her.

One Son felt sorry for our helpless, lost heroine. “Okay I’ll try, but it’s gonna cost you!” he called after Little Lindsay’s receding head. “And not just chimp change, either!” he added, shaking a banana in her direction. “We’ll do bunch! BRA-A-A-A-AP!”

While the Experts in La-Lo Land remain divided as to the cause of Little Lindsay’s colossal leg growth, they collectively guffawed at her account of One Son the talking Belcher Monkey—declaring that there’s no such thing as Primate Change. It was a ridiculous notion that was, at best, impossibly, implausibly, and even likely to be unlikely. It’s perhaps interesting to note (or not) that Millie Tilly Dilly the talking filly from Philly was taken into stride as an articulating equine anomaly as descended from the famous Mister Ed personality on TeeVee. Since TeeVee is Gospel in Las Lolitas, the phenomenon of a horse who speaks English is widely accepted.

It’s also common knowledge that parrots can talk. Whether they think in metaphysical terms is an altogether different question posed by, frankly, not many Experts. But then, the Experts don’t know Swift.


Little Lindsay Chapters 1 & 2

G Rated

The Long-winded but Light-hearted Tale of  Little Long-legged Lindsay’s Lesson  (A Fable of the Utmost Importance)

Chapter 1

Experts come and Experts go,
They tell you what you ought to know.

Narrator: “Once upon a fairy tale in a galaxy near you there lived a young girl named Little Lindsay who— Hang on, it’s my phone. Yes?”

(Narrator and heroine consult.)

Narrator clears throat. “Ahem. Although somewhat unclear about why Little Lindsay called me on the phone while standing next to me, she has nonetheless reminded us that this near-true story is hers to tell. Therefore I acquiesce to, and otherwise introduce to you, Little Lindsay.”

Little Lindsay pushed her silky blonde hair behind her ears, straightened her pretty pink dress with the blue polka dots that match her eyes, held an air-microphone up to her lips and said in a loud and clear eight year-old voice, “Hi. First my parents moved me and our dog-Amber to the jungle and there were lots of monkeys and toucans and sloths’s’s and beetles and bugs and snakes and creatures that scared me so I jumped a lot and guess what my legs grew!” (Takes a breath, brushed an errant strand of hair from her face and—) “Yeah! I grew to be eight miles high but my feet were regular size so I couldn’t see the little creatures of the jungle—the anteaters and biscottis and kinkajous and howler monkeys and butterflies and toads—so what happened was I went up and down and up and down until my legs got regular sized again. See?” Little Lindsay pirouetted three times and curtsied once.

Big smile The End.

Narrator sighs and waits. Twiddles thumbs. Stirs coffee (which is difficult while twiddling) and wishes he had a biscotti.

“Okay you tell them. Do you want to take a picture of me?” Little Lindsay wanted to know but before Narrator can open his iPhone camera she ran to her room to play. Sing-song melodies could be heard through the door.

Narrator picks up the thread. “And there you have it, in summary. Allow me to elaborate. Once upon a… sorry, I already said that.” As the Narrator fumbles through his notes, the tale has already unfolded in the pages of time and floats faithfully in the ethereal record of unwritten history for all who have the vision to see it. Look it up.

Little Lindsay lived in Las Lolitas near LA (not Louisiana). Las Lolitas was a lazy little town of about six billion, nine hundred and seventy-three million seven hundred and thirty-eight thousand four hundred and thirty-three smallish if not downright diminutive people where many such little girls skipped down perfectly constructed sidewalks lined with evenly spaced “Lm” trees while singing “La-la-la-la-la” etcetera. Everyone agreed “La-Lo Land” was fun and patted each other on the back in a friendly, semi-conscious habitual manner.

It all began on a Tuesday.

“Honey,” Mommy said, “we’re going to move to Pura Vita-Veedaville and have a vivacious, vital life in the jungle.”

“What?” Little Lindsay asked. “Where’s the L in that?”

“Huh? Oh never mind. We’ll have so much fun! Right Amber?”

Amber cocked her canine head and wondered, “Woof? What’s a jungle?”

Little Lindsay looked pensive for a long time, maybe even 11.2 seconds, taking it all in—digesting what it means to move to another place far from everything she knows and ever knew. Sidewalks would be replaced by jungle. Even the language was different there. She would have to be a brave, rather grown-up girl in a hurry! Knowing this, she asked Mommy “Will I have to go to school tomorrow?”

Mommy laughed. “No, Little Lindsay. It’s time to start packing because we leave on the morrow.”

“What’s a morrow?” Little Lindsay asked.

“An archaic word for tomorrow. But it’s elegant, don’t you think?”

“Can I have some ar-cake? What is ar-cake anyway?”

Mommy took the next 91 seconds to explain how “morrow” came to be “tomorrow” and that “archaic” was an old word hardly used anymore—not an old cake—then ushered Little Lindsay into her room to help pack her clothes, books and toy friends so they’d be ready to leave early in the morning. Little Lindsay wondered why Mommy used ar-cakey words all of a sudden but didn’t ask why. Mommy sung a happy tune and that was very important to Little Lindsay. She noticed Daddy standing by the door but he wasn’t doing anything—he just stood there watching his two girls with a great big smile on his face.

In his mind, Daddy was thinking one thing: Pura Vita-Veedaville here we come! “I’m so happy,” he said, “I could eat a bruschetta.”

The next morning, Little Lindsay stood near Mommy and Daddy’s bed fully dressed in her pink Princess/Ballerina outfit with the sparkly tiara that had two, long antennae—each sporting a pink, fuzzy… thing unknown to this Narrator. She tapped Mommy on the shoulder with her star-shaped and predominantly ineffective but still fun Magic Wand while repeating, “Is it time to go yet?” until Mommy mumbled herself awake and slipped sleepily toward the coffee maker. Little Lindsay waited patiently until the first sip passed Mommy’s lips, whereupon she could now speak.

“Yes, Little Lindsay. It’s time to leave Las Lolitas. Are you ready for the biggest adventure of your life?” Mommy asked.

Pushing aside tears and a slight case of melancholy about leaving her friends, Little Lindsay was nonetheless aware of the fact that she was going to learn new things, see new places and meet all kinds of new monkeys and butterflies she had only seen on the pages of her book friends. An excitement grew so large in her tummy that she could hardly eat two pieces of french toast for breakfast. She was as ready as she could be.


Chapter 2

No one knows for certain the exact instant Little Lindsay’s legs began to grow large. There is much discussion between leg Experts from all over the world as to what, exactly, caused Little Lindsay’s legs to extend to what is approximated at five-thousand two-hundred and eighty feet high. Rather than risk being accused of a knee-jerk reaction to that which was a mystery to an otherwise (moderately) respected body of leg specialists, they could only commit to referring  to Little Lindsay’s condition as a “mile case of extended legs.” To give it a more scientific name, they agreed, would require sticking their professional necks out. They would have to go out on a limb, as it were. For the moment, at least, some Experts agree that Little Lindsay’s legs started enlarging the moment she jumped from the plane.

“I didn’t know we had to jump from a plane,” Little Lindsay said to both Mommy and Daddy.

Mommy adjusted her parachute. “Neither did I, Daddy,” she said, looking intently at him.

Daddy cleared his throat and said in a brave voice, “Everyone jumps from a plane when they move to the jungle. That’s just common sense. Besides, we saved a lot of money.”

“So that’s what the airline meant by ‘No frills, but plenty of thrills.’” Mommy didn’t sound pleased.

“Are we common?” Little Lindsay asked her parents.

“Actually, no,” Daddy replied.

“Then how would I know common sense?”

Daddy considered her seriously, almost. “Like anything, Little Lindsay, you have to learn it.”

“Will I learn common sense in the jungle?”

“Yes, Little Lindsay. Now will you please jump out of the plane?”

Little Lindsay mustered her courage, pulled her goggles over her eyes, leapt from the plane without looking down and said in a very loud voice what can only be transcribed as “YA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A…!” for the ensuing nine seconds.

Some Experts decided that it was during those precise nine seconds while free-falling in the air when Little Lindsay first began to become Long-legged Little Lindsay—and that it was the direct result of having a hugely sincere and deep desire to grow legs that were roughly five-thousand two-hundred and eighty feet long. (Conclusions drawn by Experts are not necessarily the opinion of the Narrator but in this case they are. Back to the tale…)

Little Lindsay hurtled through the sky at a death-defying speed with her hair standing straight up. She wore the same face as when she went on a roller-coaster at Six Flags amusement park, just after it went over the steepest part, but this ride was much longer. And it wasn’t really a ride because she jumped from a plane. She tumbled and turned and twisted and flailed as she fell. Plunging in panic, she passed a pretty parrot who paused at her predicament and said, “Little Lindsay! Little Lindsay! Pull the ripcord! Pull the ripcord! It’ll open your parachute! Open your parachute!”

Little Lindsay struggled to find the string at her chest and yanked it, which opened the parachute and slowed her descent to an easy glide. The wind stopped pounding against her ears and all was silent as she flew through the air with the greatest unease. The pretty parrot soared next to her, making sure Little Lindsay was steady. “Thank you pretty parrot, but how did you know my name?”

The pretty parrot cocked its head as if that was a dumb question and said, “Every form has a name, Little Lindsay. It’s written above the sky for anyone to see. I can’t swim, but I think it’s written below the bottom of the sea, too. My name is Mister Swift. How do you do? How do you do?”

“Not very well, Mister Swift. I’m scared! What shall I do?”

“Hmm, yes, I see. Let me think for a moment. Let’s see, um…. I have a modest proposal. You can make your legs grow longer!”

“I don’t know, Mister Swift. Is that even possible?”

Mister Swift did a somersault in the air, followed by a triple toe-loop and a flying butt-rest. Coming to rest next to Little Lindsay in thin air, his wings behind his head and little legs crossed as if sitting in an easy chair, he winked at her and said, “Oh yes, Little Lindsay. Oh yes. You can do anything and know everything if you believe you can. But you must believe. You must believe.” With a tilt of his wing in salute, he veered off to the west.

“I can’t!” Little Lindsay called after him.

“There is no ‘can’t,’ Little Lindsay,” his voice growing fainter as he flew faster and further afar, “Only Do. Do.” The breeze stopped and all was silent. Even the air held its breath. In the faintest way possible she heard, or at least thought she heard, one final thing Mister Swift had to say, “Pay attention to your intention, Little Lindsay.”

Little Lindsay looked toward land. Although hers was an easy glide, it was beginning to make her dizzy, then woozy. The breezes blew her to and fro, then fro and to, then here and there, there and here and even hither and yon. And back again. It’s making the Narrator sick right now, in fact. Her mind filled with thoughts of “Do. Do,” Little Lindsay tried with all her human might, as well as her potential might, to Believe. And, some hold to be true, may have succeeded.

Copyright © 2013 Mitchell Geller