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Prince Albert Voice

Tatiana Schatten

Far and Near

Not based on true events

Why my companions never ventured far from the shore was well known to me, for all youthful California Gulls were told the tale of the Old Gull. He had come one day from the wilderness of the endless sea in a deplorable condition, and told of his many woes, which all, unfortunately, were true and by ill-luck occurred to a single gull. From then on none of my fellow roosters had dared lose sight of the safety of the shore ledges. But I, by sheer accident, and by the aid of a impetuous storm, came to know better, and made my way back to my home with slightly bedraggled feathers to tell of my adventures. None believed me, but stuck up their red-spotted bills to display the fact. Then they began to go over my condition with a fine-tooth comb, and did not fail to criticize a single rumpled feather. “No,” said the leader of the party decisively, “He could not have braved the wide ocean without encountering even one of the perils for which it is known!” And with that, they all turned their tails at me, all but one. This was Minnie, a pale juvenile barely fledged, and with much logic and little courage with which to air it. “ I believe that it is silly for one to expect a thousand misfortunes to occur to one gull in a couple days,” said she in her quiet sway, “so I would be glad to leave the shelf.” And so we did, and a fine time she had of the matter, and not a single woe befell us. When we returned that evening, we returned to, not a flock of gulls, but a flock of eyes as round as moons. As we landed, a chorus of questions surrounded and berated us, and all looked amaze at our prim appearances. Again and again, Minnie told of the wonders and security of our journey, and as she told, a change overcame our colony. This time, they did not tease or peck or stick their bills ridiculously high in the air, for the testimony of a second gull was worth more to them then the that of the first, though the first one  had also told the truth. “ So will you come?” I asked eagerly when Minnie had ended her prose. “ It is beautiful,” said she. But our friends were yet undecided, and set their heads askew in thought, and scratched their napes with their webbed claws in the same unsettled state of mind. For a moment, I believed in despair that they had nayed the suggestion again in their minds, but then I found myself catapulting several inches in the air when one burst out: “ Oh! Why not?” What followed was quite amazing. For, though they had launched from the ledge many times, our flock seemed unusually hesitant and crept inch by inch to the lip of the edge. Meanwhile, Minnie and I were already on the wing, and beckoned loudly to them. Then, finally with a simultaneous leap, they all rose gracefully from the cliff side, spread their silvery wings, and followed as we led them into the sunset, into the realm where fear  was no more, and musings of terror drifted away. 

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Merlin Police Force

Not based on true events

I’m afraid that there were thieves and villains abroad; thieves and villains and evil-doers. And two of these thieves, and villains, and evildoers had a plan; a plan to rob a house in broad daylight. And it was that day that they put the plan into execution with such a precision which few but ghosts can accomplish. All came about with a stunning perfection. A hole in the glass door was cut, the thieves were within and many an odd and wonderful trinket was present in their deep pockets. But that was when their woes began. They were just fingering an immense golden bowl of foreign make when an eerie laugh rose up within the house and echoed maniacally through its corridors. Both immediately froze and a chill crept  up each spine. “ What is that?” whispered the one in sheer terror. But before the second could reply, another haunting call rang dismally in the air, sounding nearer than ever before. The thieves now began to quake and shake, and the second began to wonder why the first had ever chosen such a ghostly house. Again came the cry, and the inside of the house seemed to darken at its ominous wail, and the first thief began to imagine ugly goblin eyes and ghostly faces peeping out at him in all nooks and crannies. It was indeed far too horrible to remain there a moment longer, and, the one clutching the bowl tightly in his arms and against his breast, they both slowly, inch by inch, with cold sweat running down their cheeks, backed to the pocked door. The terrorizing voice now seemed pleased with their retreat and began to chuckle softly to itself as the thieves retreated for dear life. But they did not do so swiftly enough. Suddenly, in an outburst of ire, the spirit rose to shrieking cackle, and both mortals dropped all they bore like hot potatoes, and scrambled madly to the door, pushing and shoving and yelping and whining. Somehow, they managed both to squeeze through its gaping hole, and to hastily replace  the removed pane without it shattering in their trembling hands. Then, eager to escape far and wide, the thieves turned, and crash, bang, boom, bang!, were toppled over by the enraged spirit itself. With that, the cause of their fright rose on long, slender wings, and gazed on as a troop of police vehicles came to a screeching halt before the home, and the thieves, yet dazed from their barrelling, were taken into custody. Finally, satisfied with a task well preformed, it landed lightly upon a spruce, for it had a spirit, but also a body, and was nothing more frightening than a normal, mortal Merlin.

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Whiskers

Based on true events

Whiskers, yes, Whiskers. That was his name, though he bore no “ whiskers.” Indeed, it would have far rather suited a cat than a strict, yet kind father, but that was his name: Elijah Whiskers. He may as well have been a cat, for all the outdoor creatures minded not if they beheld him behind a pane of glass. They would hardly take note of a cat in those barring circumstances, and therefore, though he was not a cat, they barely took note of him. That was, until Samuel came. Now, Samuel, despite his human-sounding name, was not a man, no more than Whiskers was a cat. No, Samuel was a squirrel, an American Red Squirrel, and he had just made the bright, sunny discovery of the plate filled with bird  seed in Whiskers’s  back yard. First, he cautiously sniffed at the ground around it to make sure that no illness-inducing chemicals were present on the grass. Then he slowly crawled claw by claw to the seed, restraining his eagerness to partake of the feast, and proceeded at a snail’s good pace, just as wise squirrel should do in such circumstances. Apprehensively, he poked his twitchy nose over the plate rim, and into its tempting contents. He took one nibble, and waited for any adverse effects. None, of course, presented themselves to Samuel’s fiery and furry body, and so he took another bite and another until he was devouring the seed as boldly as any bird. He was in the midst of feasting upon a heavenly sweet sunflower seed which he held in his little paws when he happened to glance up at the monstrously large house before him. The paws immediately grew senseless, and the seed dropped partially eaten upon the ground. There, in the glazed window, watching the squirrel with laughing eyes, was Whiskers. Samuel needed only a moment to behold the peril before he dashed in a red line to the nearest spruce tree and there, safe at the tip of one of its boughs, and gazing at equal height as Whiskers, Samuel took refuge. Now that he knew he was safe quite another emotion suddenly welled up within his heaving breast other than the timid terror of before. His red fur said it all. He was furious at the disruption of his meal, and without further ado, he confronted his foe savagely, stamping his feet, and squeaking and chattering in a squirrel temper tantrum. This only succeeded to amuse Whiskers further, though Samuel was quite unaware of the fact, and the man decided to humour his feisty little critter. So, he began to stamp. Samuel immediately froze in astonishment. Those stamps  were much bigger than his own. But what mattered it? The man had dared to spy upon him, and he would have to pay. In the reawakened flames of ire, the squirrel renewed his frenzied dance, and so did Whiskers, and there they stood facing each other, one behind the window, the other before, both jigging as if the earth was a smouldering furnace beneath their feet. Never before had Whiskers been so amused as when he stamped with the squirrel; never before had Samuel been so irate as when he had this epic contention with this human. But then Whiskers  did a thing most unwise: he grinned. And you know what the showing of teeth means to the animal world, though it differs greatly in our own. Samuel was  transformed in to stone on the spot, literally petrified by this new and unexpected turn of events. All his courage and pomposity fell from him like his fur in the spring molt, and he stood paralyzed for a mere second. Then, like before, he dashed up the tree like a ruddy lightning bolt, and was not seen again for a long, long time. Whiskers chuckled to himself when the squirrel’s fiery tail and temper vanished from view and thought : “Well! What I tale I have for the family!” And indeed he did. 

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Free

Not based on true events

The Manitoba Maple that once had been on Wicker Street never condescended to be under another’s thumb. She was a proud and haughty tree, with roots more ancient than the city in which she dwelt. So, what was the immense despair of Madame Spring when this very same Manitoba Maple refused to obey her gentle bidding and remained as cold and stark in the warm weather as in the chill. I do not know exactly what purpose this tree had in mind when she remained so lifeless when all other trees were joyfully budding  and the flowers were appearing as green shoots. I do know, though, that she made herself quite ridiculous in her stubborn pride, for what a silly sight it was to behold her so willingly death-like amongst so much life. It did not improve the maple’s reputation at all, but by the contrary, degraded it to a speck of sand. A vine began to trail up her rough side in an attempt to wake her, but she but disdainfully shrugged it to the ground. The violets raised their heads imploringly to her face, but she sent a shower of twigs raining upon them. She was not a very congenial tree, that was for sure. Finally, after a dog had barked itself hoarse at the still figure of the tree in an attempt to awaken her, Spring fell into such a pessimistic state of despair concerning this disobedience of her subject that she forgot to hold tight the rain-giving clouds above. All the previous days she had held them shut so that they could produce often the enlivening water which gave her land its freshness, but now she relaxed her hold and her fingers slipped. Like the swinging open of immense doors, the clouds immediately burst asunder and the jolly sun shone forth in gladness to be free. And yet that tenacious tree remained asleep and unheedful, that is, at first. “What power has he over me?” She thought smugly to herself, “ How could the comfort of his rays succeed where multiple discomforts failed?” But then the sun grew more brilliant, and the Manitoba Maple began to feel the warmth seep into her very pith. She, though, repeated and repeated, “I will not awaken. I will not awaken. Not this year. Not this year.” Suddenly, in praise of the light, a chorus of bird song spilled forth into the clean air and pierced her with its heavenly beauty. She began to tremble and shake, but still restrained her leaves, despite the longing which began to well up into her soul. No, no, she would not obey! She would be victorious in this struggle! Let Spring come herself to chastise her, it would be of no avail, it would be of no a- ,mid-thought, the maple halted and hearkened. What was that? What did she hear? Was it the laughter of cherubs or of children? Was it the lilting of a melody played upon a flute outside by a tender mother for the pleasure of her family? Was it the full, joyous laughter of a father at the new spring breeze? Slowly, the maple shook one branch, thinking that just one would not make a difference. But she was wrong. As soon as the springtime was permitted into her veins, it swiftly spread until every twig shuddered with new energy and vigour. And, without another thought, the Manitoba Maple stretched forth with a cry of freedom and her buds and her leaves and blossoms grew. Spring clapped her hands in sheer delight, the sun smiled in noble victory, the children played happily about the roused tree, the mother gasped at her beauty, the father patted the bark in good comradeship, and the Canada Geese flew high above it like a halo. Yes, Spring was finally here, and the Manitoba Maple was finally free.

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Who’s on the Way

Not based on true events

“Who’s on the way?”one may ask. “I’m on the way,” one may answer! And I am a Red-eyed Vireo in the advent of spring weather. My name Oliva, and last fall I found myself in the Guiana Highlands of South America. But now I longed to return home, to return to the North. I was infinitely wearied of dodging poisonous and inedible Monarch butterflies and ducking anacondas and flying from giant macaws. And so, without further ado , I set off on wing across river and lake, over the Andes, and  out of the tropics until I came to an immense wood. Here, I read a sign, for, pardon me, I am a reading bird, that declared the place as the Victoria , U. S. A.. The words meant nought to me, but the wildlife did, in the most unfortunate manner possible. For even before I had been there a day, a Red-shouldered Hawk swooped at me, an Eastern Grey Squirrel chattered at me and an American Alligator gave me a grin that I will  never forget. To be sure, I left that hostile country as swiftly as I could manage. And so I again found myself in the air, periodically sleeping the one side of my brain and then the other. Yes, I could sleep on wing! So much for the derogative nomenclature of  “bird brain!”  Well, anyways, as I proceeded on my way, the scenery grew more familiar and beloved all the while. Finally, I found myself bursting out of leafy trees and into spine-covered spruce and pines. To my joy, I beheld White-tailed deer raise their antlered heads in welcome of me. Here, I chatted with a chickadee, a Boreal Chickadee, who told me that further north the American Robins were already prepared to greet me. He told me, also, that he happened to be travelling that way, and inquired if he could join me. I readily agreed, and before I knew it, other vireos came to us, and created a wonderful awe-inspiring flock. What fun we had on the trip, chattering away about  our previous adventures, many of which I could not tell in ten volumes of books. Until that time, we had all much to fear, but now we had relatively little. Yes, I am afraid that a few of our flock became causalities due to outdoor cats, and Northern Shrikes, the latter which happened to be migrating the opposite way. But, all in all, there were no lizards to snap at us, no parrots to peck at us, no alligator to smile at us. No, as I made my way east from Hudson Bay and gradually north, I was confronted only by happy bats, cheery Red Foxes, jubilant Yellow Warblers, laughing Ring-billed Gulls, and so many other friendly faces. In the end, I felt accepted  and safe as I landed in the city by the Great River. There was a giant sign informing me of its name and it said : “Welcome to Prince Albert.” Ah, it was good to be home! 

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