Mellow Yellow

Elly McMahon left the Bighorn Diner around 4:30—late, but this time of year she stayed open a little later in the afternoon to accommodate holiday shoppers. Her lambs were inside, cleaning up so she could head home and catch some rest. She considered dropping in on her loving husband, but a glance through the Grease ‘n’ Grill’s windows showed Vern was doing a healthy business too, and his customers were pure carnivore. Better if she didn’t walk into that feeding frenzy. She’d see Vern tonight.

She’d rounded the corner by City Hall when she heard snickering, followed by an “Awwww!” and some half-hearted swearing. “Wait. Lemme try again.”

Elly frowned. That was Moon-Moon’s voice. She’d better check this out. When Moon-Moon did, or even tried, anything, disaster usually followed.

She spotted Moon-Moon hunched before a towering snow bank. He wasn’t alone. A lanky male in a leather coat and a visored cap stood beside him, in the same hunched position. The smell of urine was everywhere.

Not hard to guess what they were up to. What surprised her was that the other male’s steaming stream had a veggie aroma. Wolves were addicted to pissing contests, but not with herbivores. This bore looking into.

Elly stepped off the sidewalk and called out, “You know City Hall has public restrooms, right?”

Both males jerked around and hastily stuffed their hoses back behind their flies. Moon-Moon flushed bright scarlet. “Afternoon, Miz Elly,” he stammered out.

She nodded to him and turned to his companion. “Freddy Turner? Is that you?”

“Miz Elly.” Freddy touched the visor of his John Deere cap. “You didn’t see anything, did you?”

“Not a thing,” she said truthfully, with a silent thank-you added to the forest spirits. She peered a bit more closely at the lines branded into the snowbank and had to fight a laugh. “Signing autographs, are you?”

“It’s supposed to say ‘Merry Christmas,’” Freddy said, “except—”

“Except it’s not coming out right,” Moon-Moon said. “Well, it’s coming out good enough, we’ve been drinking all afternoon—”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

“But it’s not the right color. Y’see, we wanted it to be festive, dress up the town a bit, so I ate red meat this morning, and Freddy here had a ton of greens, so that—”

“If I did the Merry and Moons did the Christmas, then—”

“But it keeps coming out yellow,” Moon-Moon finished. “I can’t figure out what we did wrong.”

Elly shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way, boys. Pee only has one color. Anything other than yellow and you should be seeing a vet. It’s like feeding Hershey bars to a cow. You won’t get chocolate milk.”

“You don’t?” Freddy looked shocked. “So if you freeze the udder you don’t get ice cream either?”

“No. Take my word for it. Don’t you dare go around experimenting.”

“Hell, no,” Moon-Moon said fervently. “I’m not making that mistake again. Simon Batista damn near broke my nose when I suggested we try it.”

“That’s because Simon’s a bull, honey.”

“Oh. So when I said I wanted to milk him, that’s why he—” Moon-Moon’s eyes got wider. “Ooooohhhh.”

“Well, hell.” Freddy kicked at a clump of frozen snow. “Wait. Wait. I know what happened. It was the egg nog. We were drinking egg nog. That’s why it came out yellow.”

“I dunno, man. Last time I got hung over I took Pepto-Bismol, and nothing came out pink. In fact, it was kind’a—”

“And that’s my cue,” Elly muttered, edging back to the sidewalk. “I suggest you boys go home and sleep it off. And when you’re sober, go to the library and check out a couple of health books.”

Too late. Moon-Moon had had a revelation. “I got it! My buddy Mooney’s wife’s a witch who works for this cat who brews potions. I’ll bet he could make us something to get the colors right.”

“Yeah, I know the guy,” Freddy said. “If he was any good, you’d think he would’a brewed himself a potion for hair growth by now.”

“Maybe he shaves it.” Moon-Moon adjusted his pants. “Never hurts to ask.”

Yes. Yes, it does. Elly determinedly turned on her heel and trotted briskly in the other direction, mumbling, “Don’t get involved. Don’t get involved,” under her breath for at least a block.

Nosy

“Well well,” Donny said upon entering his cousin’s apartment and finding Axel wrapped in a quilt on the couch. “Getting a jump on the season, are we?”

“Not—blechhhewww!—not this time. Not like last year. This time it’s legit. I’ve got a cold. Can’t you tell?”

“So the red nose isn’t a Christmas thing?”

“No,” Axel snarled, “it isn’t a Christmas thing. It’s because you brought me a box of cheap tissues. I told you to get the kind with lotion. I have a delicate snout.”

“And you’re not going to climb up on the roof and claim you can fly?”

“That was last year. Last year was the cider talking. This is a virus, for cripe’s sake. Did you at least get me honey? Tea’s about all I can keep down.”

“Axel, the red-nosed mule deer … ”

Axel tried to swear and ended up coughing instead. “So tell me, Donny,” he finally got out, “how are the antler implants working?”

Don cut himself off in mid-verse. “They’re not implants. They’re extensions.”

“Uh-huh. Because Carli doesn’t want to be seen in public with a button buck. Y’know, if you’re going to get implants, you should do her a favor and go for the—”

“Extensions. They weren’t permanent. They were just for rut.”

“Must not have worked. I heard she’s been prancing around with Evan Lang. Talk about your natural—waaachewww!” He blew his bright red honker.

And Donny blew his stack. “Lang? That steroidal elk? Talk about faking it. If his rack’s real, I’ll eat those Kleenex.”

“Don’t—” Axel clapped his hand over his mouth. He grabbed the waste can beside the couch and made dry retching noises.

But Don was off and galloping. “You’re making it up. Carli wouldn’t do that. Not with an elk, that’s for damn sure.”

Axel wiped his mouth with a tissue. “She’s a doe, man. All they look at are the horns. She probably couldn’t even describe your face to the cops, but I’ll bet she knows your rack circumference down to the millimeter.” He aimed a disdainful snort at Don’s pants. “Nothing else on you worth measuring.”

“I’ve never had to get up on a roof and pretend to fly to get a doe’s attention.”

“I told you, that was the cider. Man, could I go for one of those right now. Could you bring me one? When you go get me those tissues with the lotion in them like I asked you for in the first place?”

“Get ‘em yourself, Rudolph. I’ll bet you’re not even sick. You’re sure off base about Carli. I’ll bet you—”

Behind him, someone knocked on the apartment door. A cute young sheep with curly hair dyed a charming pink squeezed past him. She had nice squeezable bits. Don swallowed hard. All of a sudden, “hard” had become the word of the day.

“Excuse me,” she said, without even looking at him. “How are you doing, Axel?”

Axel went from indignant to death’s door in zero to sixty. “Bobbi?” he quavered. “Is that you?”

“Oh, you poor thing.” She scurried over to the couch and started removing supplies from her fabric grocery bag. “Here. I brought some herbal broth. This should get you back on your feet in no time. And this will help you relax.” She withdrew a bottle of cider. “Can I get you anything else? Do you need more tissues? The kind with the lotion?”

He wiped his hand on the quilt before he tenderly touched her cheek. “Artemis bless you, Bobbi. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours, after my shift. We can mull that cider.” Finally, she took notice of Don. “Will you be staying with him? Can we trust you?”

“That’s Don,” Axel said on a cough. “My cousin. He’s okay. But if he sticks around, you’ll need to bring more cider.”

“Oh. Don.” She said it like she’d heard stories. “Make sure he stays warm, and don’t you dare tire him out.” She marched past him and into the hallway, with a final wave at Axel. “See you later, honey.”

Don stared after her and her swaying lamb chops. “Who?”

“Bobbi. My downstairs neighbor. She’s a nurse.” Axel grinned. “And can she ever play doctor.”

Don darted into the hallway, just in time to see the sheep and her muttonous backside disappearing down the stairs. “Uh,” he said. “Ahchoo?”