Pension a 365 word story by: Vixyy Fox “The word sounds like a person saying ‘no’ to using a pen.” Claud then demonstrated, “Pen-shun.” This conversation took place between the two pressmen demonstrating the printing press Miss Vixyy had purchased: much against Scanectity Skunk’s advice. As far as anyone remembered, it was as close as the pair ever came to an argument. “Does kinda sound like that, but more to the point, it means a habitual desire to do something,” responded Clem. “The old vixen seems to have a pension for getting under the skin of the old Skunk.” “Nope; it ain’t either. That’s penchant, though it sounds ‘bout the same, given the local dialect.” Claud examined the type face, reading the backwards letters. “Says here, ‘Miss Vixyy Fox has challenged Mr. Scanectity Skunk to a pie eating contest to settle a dispute over her newspaper.’ Are you sure you want to say that on the front page? It’s not true.” “It’s only got one page,” Clem countered, “And it’s just pretend so she can see the ‘power of the press’.” “And it also says, ‘Mr. Skunk claims not to be worried, cuz he’s got the biggest pie hole in the valley.’ I do think you have very much over stepped on your idea of humor.” “Well, I might beg to differ. I already printed out a good sixty pages, folded them neatly, and took them down to Marvin’s Feed & Grain for distribution. He about laughed his pants off. Then, after showing it to some of his customers, they near peed themselves laughing.” BONK! Clem, now laying on the floor, opened his eyes to find an old Fox, and an old Skunk staring down at him. “I think you dented Bella’s frying pan,” Scanectity said softly. “Wasn’t hers, it was Aunt Reba’s. I pinched it from the Inn’s kitchen, after reading what your son brought me.” “That’s the power of the press,” the Skunk chuckled. “And that dent in the pan is the power of the Fox,” she replied without a chuckle. To the two press operators, she said, “Pack it up and take it with you when you leave in the morning. Tell the manufacturer I said, thanks, but no thanks.”

Pension a 365 word story by: Vixyy Fox “The word sounds like a person saying ‘no’ to using a pen.” Claud then demonstrated, “Pen-shun.” This conversation took place between the two pressmen demonstrating the printing press Miss Vixyy had purchased: much against Scanectity Skunk’s advice. As far as anyone remembered, it was as close as the pair ever came to an argument. “Does kinda sound like that, but more to the point, it means a habitual desire to do something,” responded Clem. “The old vixen seems to have a pension for getting under the skin of the old Skunk.” “Nope; it ain’t either. That’s penchant, though it sounds ‘bout the same, given the local dialect.” Claud examined the type face, reading the backwards letters. “Says here, ‘Miss Vixyy Fox has challenged Mr. Scanectity Skunk to a pie eating contest to settle a dispute over her newspaper.’ Are you sure you want to say that on the front page? It’s not true.” “It’s only got one page,” Clem countered, “And it’s just pretend so she can see the ‘power of the press’.” “And it also says, ‘Mr. Skunk claims not to be worried, cuz he’s got the biggest pie hole in the valley.’ I do think you have very much over stepped on your idea of humor.” “Well, I might beg to differ. I already printed out a good sixty pages, folded them neatly, and took them down to Marvin’s Feed & Grain for distribution. He about laughed his pants off. Then, after showing it to some of his customers, they near peed themselves laughing.” BONK! Clem, now laying on the floor, opened his eyes to find an old Fox, and an old Skunk staring down at him. “I think you dented Bella’s frying pan,” Scanectity said softly. “Wasn’t hers, it was Aunt Reba’s. I pinched it from the Inn’s kitchen, after reading what your son brought me.” “That’s the power of the press,” the Skunk chuckled. “And that dent in the pan is the power of the Fox,” she replied without a chuckle. To the two press operators, she said, “Pack it up and take it with you when you leave in the morning. Tell the manufacturer I said, thanks, but no thanks.”

Note from the writer... that would be me. So you know, I like to make people smile. Many of these silly little stories come from a place in my mind called Scanectity's Valley. There in, resides a certain Whackadoodle Inn, with a whole plethora of characters quite easy to fall in love with. I know, because I did. Now smile. Bovus was a nose picker. Well; there you are. Though his name was bullish sounding, he was a smallish Squirrel, with the ability of sinking his finger to never before seen depths of nosedom. This apparently was not so much a random process concerning nose hair tickles, as it was full blown boogers… or rather unblown boogers. Mrs. Kelstrom, the Sunday school teacher, not knowing what else to do, brought the lad to their church janitor, old Ben Nose. Ben was known for his wisdom, and even though the Bloodhound was blind, could find his way around better than most people with eyes. “I think it would be a kindness just to cut his finger off and leave it right where it is,” Ben told the teacher. He was pleased when she and her student both gasped. “You can’t be serious,” the pair said in unison; one voice clear, the other sort of muffled behind a paw stuck solid in a reddening nose. “Well,” Ben drawled, “There might be, another way, but how would I know young Bovus wouldn’t re-stick his finger back into that nose hole?” “I w’unt do that Mr. Nose, sir.” “Not a sir, thank you very much, just the janitor. Tell me what you had for breakfast this morning?” “Booberry muff’n, why?” Old Ben placed a paw on the runt’s head. Wiggling the head back and forth a bit, he ascertained the stuckness of the inserted finger. “And did you have a banana? Don’t lie to me because it smells like you did.” “Yes.” Ben’s other paw snaked around and grabbed Bovus’ stuck hand as his other paw tightened its grip on his head. He then screamed as loud as he could. Mrs. Kelstrom, surprised, screamed in alarm. Bovus screamed out of pure fear. This caused his nostril to enlarge, and the finger came out with a slight pull on his wrist. The screaming stopped abruptly, and both student and teacher found the janitor smiling. “You’re not going to pick yor nose any more, are you Bovus?” “Noooo sirrrrr.” “Good. I really would hate having to cut it off just to leave it in there cuz we couldn’t get it out.”

Message - a 365 word story by Vixyy Fox The blinking light on the horizon stopped flashing. It was midnight and the sky contained no moon. When observed, the lookout called it down to the main deck from his place in the crow’s nest. “What do you think it means?” asked Jeff of his father. Upon the sighting, the pair had been called from sleep. Jeff was the captain of the schooner Mother’s Son, but his father was the master of their business and traveling to consult with their agent in Malport, Spain. “I have seen many flashing lights in my time,” the old Fox replied. “Some meant distress, and some had no answer at all. A sailor must not be afraid of the unknown, but the decision to go there is yours.” Wirewolf paused in the telling to refresh his teacup. Picking up a cookie, (properly called a biscuit by landsmen), he happily munched. “I was the sailor in the crow’s nest that night, and as curious as the captain, so when he turned our schooner into that direction, I was happy. Lighting a signal lamp, Cap’n Jeff closed the shroud and ran it up to me on a small line kept in place for that reason. Light travels a great distance in a darkened sky. Toby’s mind was transported in the telling of this tale, and though on Wire’s porch for tea, his mind was staring into the black abyss that so blended with the sea over which Mother’s Son was sailing. “Though I pulled the lamp to the main top, and opened its blinder, we saw no reply.” The young Bull looked at is friend, a cookie unmoving halfway to his mouth. “What happened?” “We kept on until dawn, but found nothing. I was relieved of my watch, we turned back to our original course, and I retired to my hammock.” He took a sip of his tea, and continued. “I’d like to think of a happy ending to this story, but the only thing I can think to say is; we stood by to help, but the light had disappeared; perhaps a signal too late.” “Disappeared,” Toby whispered, and then ate his cookie. Wirewolf smiled. “Oh aye, kinda like that.”

A 365 word story by Vixyy Fox Favourite “It’s hard to say what my favourite thing is,” Walter said softly. “I suppose it all has to do with the conversation, don’t it?” They, meaning he and Charlene, were sitting in the front pew of the church. This location was chosen because it was considered by both as ‘neutral’ territory. Walter was a Gopher, and a farmer. Charlene was a Pitbull Terrier. In the eyes of anyone looking at this pair, those eyes would have made a snap judgment that both of them were plain ‘butt ugly’. Walter, his hat removed for politeness, and the church, was dressed solely in his coveralls. He wasn’t the richest critter in the valley, but he was steadfast and honest. Charlene, with her flattened nose and small forehead, was hardly what one would call a beauty queen, but in Walter’s eyes, she had more than what it took to be a good wife. Though her figure looked… well… just a tad lumpy, she was a good cook. They’d met purely by chance. The occasion happened in Marvin Mouse’s Feed and Grain store. Walter was there to buy a ten pound blacksmith’s hammer. Charlene was trying to buy material to sew a special dress for the summer solstice social. Two things were happening that caught Walter’s eye. Charlene did not have the required coin to buy her material, and a rather large fellow he’d never before seen was having a laugh at her expense. This considerably bothered Walter, who mosied on up to the offensive party, and accidentally dropped his hammer on the fellow’s foot. Marvin Mouse, who’d been waiting for some sort of reinforcement then kicked the offending party out of his store. Walter apologized for being so slippery fingered, and then bent over, coming up with two bright silver coins, telling Charlene he noticed they’d dropped from her pocket. Sitting in the church together, the Pitbull, wearing the dress she’d made special, and the farmer in the clothes he always wore, neither found they cared a lot about what the other looked like. Charlene, reached out and took Walter’s hand. Walter smiled, telling her softly, “I think my favorite thing just might have just found my heart.”

Way back in the day, we were a really good airline.

Air Canada today revealed a brand-new “Zootopia 2” themed aircraft livery celebrating Walt Disney Animation Studios’ highly anticipated sequel, only in theatres November 26. This special livery on an Airbus A220 aircraft, Fin 138 will be seen in the skies and at several destinations including Montreal, Toronto, Ottawa, Vancouver, Los Angeles, New York LaGuardia, Denver and Boston. #nyairportnews Click for more: metroairportnews.com/air-can…

Female fencer takes knee instead of competing against biological male USA Fencing disqualifies & expels her from the college tournament, even though her male opponent played for the men’s team last year before switching to women’s How is this legal?!