Best in Show

Laurie dug her hand into the shoe box on the coffee table and came up with half a dozen blue ribbons. “Geez. How many are in here?”

“I dunno.” From the kitchen came the sounds of Digger rummaging around in the fridge. “Where the scat’s the—”

“Look in the door.”

“Oh yeah.”

The rummaging stopped. Laurie sighed. “My boyfriend, the mighty hunter. Can’t find things he put in his own refrigerator. It’s a good thing you grow your own food.”

“Correction.” Digger came into the living room with two bottles of Lexor’s Pale Ale. He handed the unopened one to Laurie and took a swig from the other. “I grow vegetables to lure in my own food. There’s a difference. You can’t hunt a leaf of lettuce.”

“You sure can grow one, though.” She held up the blue ribbon that proved it. “Did you win every produce exhibit at the fair?”

“Not every one. Some horse won for sweet corn. The judge was a horse, so I think it was fixed. I didn’t enter for cabbage because I didn’t grow any, and my peppers sucked this year. Even Lorelei said so.”

“That didn’t stop her from eating them.” Laurie picked another blue ribbon out of the box. “’Best Flower Arrangement’?”

Digger’s face got red. “You weren’t supposed to see that one.”

“Well, you do have that beautiful flower garden.” She spotted a flash of third-place yellow in the box. “What happened here?”

“Oh, that was Baked Goods. Meat Pie. They didn’t tell me it was supposed to be ground chuck and not woodchuck.” Digger shrugged. “Tasted fine to me.”

“Ooooh, this one’s huge! Best in Show?”

“For the zucchini, yeah. I wanted to cook it for you, but Louie offered me cash for the whole display. He said he wanted to use ‘em in a special. I couldn’t turn him down.” He raised his bottle to her. “You’re drinking your fried zucchini dinner. Enjoy.”

“We should make a display out of these. Hang it over the fireplace.”

“What for? Because I’m good at growing bunny bait? Most of that’s your doing, or tips from Lorelei. Why don’t you take those home with you? I feel funny just looking at them. Like I cheated or something.”

“It’s your garden and your efforts. You earned these.”

He wasn’t buying it, she could tell. Wolves weren’t supposed to enjoy gardening, or growing things, or digging in the dirt. The pack as a whole considered it unlupine.

Well, Laurie had an answer to that. She put down her bottle and picked up the biggest blue ribbon, the Best in Show. “I only want this one, and I know just where to put it. Right where it belongs.”

Before Digger could protest, Laurie knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his fly. She fixed the blue ribbon to the place of honor. “There we go. Biggest zucchini in Talbot’s Peak.” She gave his “zucchini” a squeeze. “And so firm!”

Digger made a low, growly noise.

“Taste … mmmmm, salty. Look! It’s growing as we speak. We’re going to need a bigger ribbon. Shall I check the radishes while I’m down here?”

His assent came out as a croak.

“Zucchini in heart of palm,” Laurie murmured in between licks. “With radishes on the side.” She sucked enthusiastically until the sauce arrived. “Now that was worthy of Best in Show. You, sir, are one hell of a gardener.”

“Gimme a couple of minutes and I’ll be ready to plow your field. Oops! Looks like the growing season’s started already.” He tugged her blouse up over her head. “We won’t be needing this.”

She yanked at his trousers. “Or these.”

Suffice to say, Digger claimed yet another prize. As the saying goes, farmers do it dirty.

NIMBY

Laurie came from a large, close-knit family, so backyard holiday gatherings were nothing new to her. A Labor Day barbecue with a wolf pack, that was new, for both her and Digger’s kin. The wolves kept looking askance at Digger’s other guests.

“Dog,” his fellow delta-ranker, Stefan, said in a mutter that nevertheless carried the length of Digger’s yard, “those are bunnies.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, are they appetizers or what?”

“That’s Lorelei and her buck and some of their friends. They’re cleaning out the garden for me. The growing season’s pretty much over.”

“Yeah,” Stefan said uncomfortably, “about that. The garden, okay. It’s a rabbit trap. That’s good. The flowers, I dunno, I guess if you say they’re for your she. It’s okay if you want to date a human—scat, who hasn’t?—but palling around with bunny shifters? I don’t know about that.”

“It’s not your house, or your yard, or your life. You don’t have to know about it.”

“I get that, dog. But word’s getting back to Boone.”

“Boone’s not here,” Digger said. “You want a wiener or a burger?”

He opted for the burger. No matter how they felt about the bunnies, Laurie noticed the wolves had no trouble helping themselves to Digger’s grilled venison burgers and home-made sausage. They also raved about the taste, the result of additions from Digger’s veggie and herb gardens. Laurie herself quickly adjusted to the lack of alcoholic beverages. The wolves drank beef broth and blood-based drinks. The bunnies had brought kegs of carrot juice and V-8, which they shared with Laurie. Digger even let them use the grill for their veggies. “Just don’t blame me for any meat aftertaste,” he warned them.

When Laurie first came to Talbot’s Peak, in the wake of her sister’s marriage to a grizzly shifter, she’d wondered how a human could fit in when the carnies and the herbies barely got on with each other. The bunnies here mostly kept to themselves (and the garden), but none of the wolves had tried to eat them, and a couple of brief but non-aggressive conversations had already taken place. It gave her hope for the future, in particular a future with Digger.

Until the alpha showed up.

No one had to point him out. His swagger announced his rank. The other wolves’ reaction served as Laurie’s head’s-up. Every wolf went still, like a game of Statues, then sidled away from Digger. The bunnies retreated to the veggie garden and formed a line around it.

The alpha had two betas with him, big, burly wolves who flanked him and glared the pack into submission on their leader’s behalf. None of Digger’s guests stepped up to provide similar support, so Laurie moved to Digger’s side and pointedly took his arm. The alpha flicked a glance her way, then proceeded to ignore her.

“So this is where everybody got to,” the alpha said. “What’s up, Digger? Backyard barbecue? I don’t recall getting an invitation.”

“That’s because I didn’t send you one. This is a private party, Boone. No alphas.”

“There’s no such thing as private in a pack. You know that, Digger.” He swept his glare around the yard, at the huddled bunnies in particular. “So the rumors are true. Or are they on the buffet?”

“They’re guests, Boone. You’re not. If you’re here to see throat, you’re scat out of luck. That’s only at the lodge and for pack meetings. This is my party, my yard, my guests, my turf. It’s only half an acre, but it’s mine. I’m the alpha here.” He took a step toward Boone, and Laurie went with him. “Say your good-byes and be on your way.”

Boone shook his head. “This is what we get for letting the pack spread out. The low-ranks start getting delusions. We should have stuck to communes. Those were the days. Let me refresh your memory. I’m alpha of the pack. I own you dogs. If I want to drop in unannounced for a burger, you’ll serve it up with a smile. Unless you think you can challenge me?”

“Excuse me.”

The alpha looked around, then down. Lorelei’s buck, Bobby, was big for a rabbit shifter, but still only came up to Boone’s collarbone. “On behalf of our host, and since wolves can’t even scratch fleas without orders, I’d like to invite you to go hump yourself.”

Boone sneered. “So this is the new pack you’d rather run with, instead of your own alpha. You’re a bunny, aren’t you, shorty?”

“Yep,” Bobby said. “Y’know why bunnies have big feet?”

He demonstrated without waiting for a guess. Along with big feet, Bobby had excellent aim. Laurie, herself a mistress of the time-honored knee maneuver, winced at the impact. Boone howled and hit the ground.

The betas stared nonplussed at their writhing alpha, then looked up to find themselves ringed by rabbits. The does had moved to the forefront. They flexed their long, lacquered nails. The betas swallowed hard and took a long step backward in tandem.

Digger nodded to Bobby. “Thanks.”

“Forget it. We owe you for the free salad bar. That, and you’re the only wolf in Talbot’s Peak who isn’t a dick. You like to dig. We relate.”

“Uh-huh, right. Just please don’t say those things in front of the pack again, okay? Dogs,” Digger said to the betas. “Let me get you something for the road.”

The betas left, carrying their groaning alpha and a chinette platter with three burgers and two sausages in buns. “Happy Labor Day,” Digger called after them.

With the alpha’s departure, the festive mood quickly returned to Digger’s yard. The wolves seemed a lot more at ease with the bunnies now, Laurie noticed. Maybe it was spurred by self-preservation, but hey, whatever worked.

“And now,” Digger announced, “it’s time for the traditional Labor Day touch football game. We’ll be moving the party over to the high school athletic field, where we’re going to trounce your puffy little tails.”

“In your dreams. Rabbits invented broken-field running.”

“And wolves invented teamwork. Losers clean up the yard.”

Lorelei sashayed over to Laurie and offered her a cup of juice. “Wolf or bunny,” the doe remarked, “men are always men.”

“Amen to that,” Laurie said. They clinked their plastic cups together, grinning.

Your Cable Access Station

(Don't say it. I know. I'll run the announcement blog next week, I swear. May Dean Winchester hunt me down if I don't. Whoa, hold on ... )

Transcript: Mrs. Geaufeur’s Garden Tips Episode #58, broadcast 6/18


Talbot’s Peak Cable Access Channel 11

Mrs. G: Good morning, all! Welcome back to the garden. And how was that fresh carrot casserole, hmmm? I’ll be sharing more viewers’ recipes later in the show. Right now we’ve got a very special guest with us today, a carnivore with his very own vegetable garden! Please raise your trowels in salute to Mr. Greg Lupine from right here in Talbot’s Peak!

Greg: Call me Digger.

Mrs. G: Certainly, Digger. Now, you’re a wolf, is that correct?

Greg: You betcha.

Mrs. G: And yet you’ve planted a vegetable garden.

Greg: Well, I like to dig in both my forms, so one day I figured, I’m going to get my paws dirty anyway, why not put all that effort to good use? So I got some seeds and a couple of starter plants and first thing you know, they’re growing. I was kind of surprised myself, but now that I’ve got the hang of it, it’s working out great.

Mrs. G: What did you put in?

Greg: Well, I started with green beans because I heard they’ll grow anywhere. Look, I’ll be up front here. I wasn’t sure what to go with, but my girlfriend Laurie, she’s a human, she works at the garden center and she gave me some tips. I put the tomatoes in because of her. She looooves home-made spaghetti sauce. I’ve got about three types of lettuce, some carrots, radishes, zucchini, you know, the usual backyard crops. Oh, and a flower garden. I like all the scents. Don’t tell anybody. You know wolves. Any dog who says he likes flowers has to be a swishtail, know what I’m saying?

Mrs. G: (points to camera) You know this is being broadcast to the whole town, don’t you, dear?

Greg: Scat. Can you cut that part about the flowers?

Mrs. G: I’ll speak to the film editor. It’s rather unusual for a meat-eater to plant a vegetable garden, isn’t it?

Greg: That’s what everybody says. But y’know, it’s a real thrill watching the little shoots poke through the soil and the tomatoes grow and get big and ripen and all. The whole circle of life thing, y’know?

Mrs. G: Sounds as if you’ve had substantial luck. Do you use commercial fertilizer?

Greg: I’ve got a compost heap. And whatever I, uh, put out.

Mrs. G: Say no more, dear. I hope you wash everything you cook.

Greg: Oh, I don’t eat the stuff myself. Some of it goes to my girlfriend, but the rest is for the bunnies.

Mrs. G: You provide food for the local rabbits? That’s so philanthropic!

Greg: No no no, you’re getting the wrong idea. Not shifter bunnies. Real bunnies. I planted all that to lure them in. They eat the veggies, I eat them. Like I said, circle of life.

Mrs. G: You—what?

Greg: Look, I’m not a big veggie eater. I have to choke some down to keep the human body healthy, but mostly I eat meat. Wolf, remember? Well, I got tired of those mob scenes that are a pack hunt, me being down the ladder and all, the alpha and beta get the best cuts and we’re lucky if there’s scraps left on the bones, y’know? And I can’t just eat out all the time. Have you seen the prices in some of the restaurants around here? Who do they think we are, Warren Buffet? So it’s chase my own game. Rodents are pretty much all you can get without a pack for backup. Then one afternoon I was throwing dirt around out back and I realized, hey, I’ve got half an acre back here, why not plant some bunny bait and let them come to me? Son of a mutt, it worked, too. I put out a couple of live traps—

Mrs. G: Mr., um, Digger—

Greg: —and I must take in five or six a week. I had to get one of those big freezers. Took care of my gopher problem, too. No more holes in the lawn.

Mrs. G: (chokes)

Greg: That’s not the best part. I planted sunflowers and now I get squirrels and mice. Oh, and this one time, a deer. I swear, I get up one morning to mark the ol’ territory and there’s an honest-to-Lupa deer in the lettuce. A real deer, not a shifter. Well, he didn’t get more than one jump before I brought him down. Careless. You ask me, I did deerkind a favor taking him out of the gene pool.

Mrs. G: Oh my dear God—

Greg: Oh, and I’ve started an herb garden, did I mention that? For cooking. Nothing like fresh venison with onions and just a bit of basil. I’ve got it all now. Parsley, sage, rosemary and squirrel. You ever try sage on squirrel? Unbelievable. Squirrel goes great on home-made pizza, too. And gopher sliders. Love those.

Mrs. G: (makes retching noises)

Greg: You okay? You don’t look so good.

Mrs. G: (frantically) Go to commercial!

Voice: We’re cable access. We don’t have commercials.

Greg: Can I say hi to my girlfriend? (waves at camera) Hi, Laurie!

(Mrs. G slides off her chair)

Greg: Mrs. Geaufeur?

(TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES CARD)

Voiceover: We’ll be right back with this week’s viewer recipes. Here’s last week’s recipes, for those who missed it. Dammit, Nelson, roll clip!

One Man's Trash ...

“Scat, not again.” Digger upended the cage trap and dumped his “catch” onto the lawn. The fluffy bunny righted itself and glared up at him over such disrespectful treatment. “You might as well switch,” he told the rabbit. “I don’t eat sentients. Lucky for you my nose can tell the difference.”

The rabbit fastidiously brushed its paws over its long, silky fur, straightened up on its hind legs and shifted into a petite golden blonde with curvy hips and big feet. She continued to brush dirt and dew off her skin, all the while growling in a most unrabbitty manner.

“A trap?” she snapped at the wolf, with a curt gesture at the offending apparatus. “You use traps?”

“Sometimes I don’t feel like chasing my dinner. Which is real rabbits, not you guys. You should know better than to raid a wolf’s garden anyway. Look, there’s a sign right there.”

“Since when do wolves grow veggies?” the rabbit retorted, pointedly ignoring the prominent “Herbies keep out, this means YOU” sign right behind her. “You probably don’t even eat half this stuff.”

“No, but the things I do eat love it. So does the human I’m dating. Oh, get that look off your face. Everybody dates a human at least once. Mine likes salads and home-made spaghetti, so stay away from the tomatoes.”

The rabbit eyed the rows of lettuce slyly. “She can’t eat that much. What happens to the rest of it? You just let it rot?”

Digger glared at the sassy bunny. “Okay, just this once. Take what you want and get out, before I haul you inside for breakfast, and not in a good way, either.”

# # #

Lorelei hustled home with her booty, an armful of Romaine lettuce. She had big plans for both the lettuce and the evening. Tonight was her anniversary with her boyfriend Bobby, and she intended to make the party unforgettable.

She probably shouldn’t have been so hard on the wolf for liking to play in the dirt. Everyone should have a hobby. Lorelei’s was creating her own garments, using her own fur—a major advantage to being an Angora rabbit. She’d been wondering what kind of dress to sew to tantalize Bobby with when her nose had drawn her to the wolf’s garden, and inspiration struck.

She added a little skip to her gait as she dashed through the woods to her cottage. She didn’t have much time. If all went well, this would be a dinner to remember.

# # #

“Hey, baby.” Bobby breezed into Lorelei’s cottage and tossed his leather jacket over a chair. Knowing Lorelei’s appetites, the rest of his outfit would probably join it before they got halfway through dinner. “Your big bad buck is here.”

“Just a minute,” Lorelei sang from the kitchen. “I’m putting the finishing touches on dinner.”

Bobby flopped onto the sofa and began to loosen his belt. He knew that tone in Lorelei’s voice. Among rabbits, “hello” counted as foreplay. “What are we having?”

Lorelei stepped out of the kitchen and posed provocatively in the doorway. “Greens.”

Bobby’s jaw dropped. She’d made herself a skimpy minidress that just barely covered the hot bunny bits—all out of broad lettuce leaves. A ring of ranch dressing around her neck and down into her cleavage served in lieu of a necklace. She twirled to give him the full effect. “What do you think?”

Bobby had already stopped thinking with his upper head. He bounded off the sofa and over to Lorelei and took in a deep-lunged sniff. “Farm fresh,” he pronounced huskily. “Where’d you get this? Not from the supermarket.”

“Some wolf’s put in a veggie plot. He’s growing it for his girlfriend or something.” She waved a leaf of her “bra” under his nose. “You like?”

“Me like.” The big buck nibbled at her Romaine bodice. His tongue kept slipping off the greens and onto her bosom. Lorelei didn’t complain. “So this is dinner?”

“This is dinner. Once you finish your vegetables … ” She tore a strip off her skirt and chewed on it suggestively. “Then you get dessert.”

He buried his nose in the dressing dripping between her boobs. “Here’s to vegetarianism.”