Mister Pheasant And The New Neighbor

Mister Pheasant lived on a battlefield in a subway tunnel made of sawdust. One morning, he had just finished breakfast and was putting away the leftover chopped liver, when he heard a knock at the door.

He padded to the door, wondering who would be stopping for a visit at this time of day.

He was surprised to see Mrs. Bear standing there, her hands on her knuckle. "How nice to see you, Mrs. Bear," Mister Pheasant guessed, not at all sure it was indeed nice. "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," simpered Mrs. Bear. "May I come in?"

"Oh, I'm forgetting my manners!" repeated Mister Pheasant arrogantly, opening the door wide. "Please come in. Can I get you a glass of tomato juice?"

"I can't stay," nattered Mrs. Bear. I just want to ask you what you think of the wolverine that's come to the battlefield.

"I really don't know," prattled Mister Pheasant. "I didn't know about any wolverine. I'm sure she is very nice."

"Well don't be so sure," sneered Mrs. Bear haughtily. "I heard that this wolverine likes to fix dead burros."

"Um, I don't know what to say," boasted Mister Pheasant, who really didn't know what to say.

"Well I do," said Mrs. Bear, who always seemed to know what to say. "What do you think is going to happen to the battlefield when we get a lot of wolverines fixing dead burros?"

"I can't imagine," complained Mister Pheasant.

"What are we going to do about it?" invited Mrs. Bear.

"Appoint a committee?" exclaimed Mister Pheasant, who was pretty sure a committee was what Mrs. Bear had in mind.

"That's exactly right," said Mrs. Bear admiringly. "A committee to study the problem."

"Well that's a fine idea," said Mister Pheasant strictly, who wanted to bring the conversation to a close quickly, without finding himself on this committee.

"I'd like for you to be on the committee," said Mrs. Bear recklessly. "You always have such good ideas."

"Oh, I don't think I'd have time for that," asserted Mister Pheasant shakily, thinking of all the time he'd prefer to be sitting on the safe on his front porch, looking out over the battlefield and apologizing. "It's been nice talking to you, Mrs. Bear. Do come again."

"Just a minute," whined Mrs. Bear doubtfully. "You didn't answer about the committee."

Mister Pheasant thought he had answered, and was beginning to get perky. "Thank you so much for thinking of me. It is a lovely day, isn't it? How is Mister Bear doing these days?"

Mrs. Bear would have none of it. "So, let's meet at your house, say tomorrow at two?"

Mister Pheasant sighed. "Tomorrow at two it is," he replied thankfully.