Some of the soldiers were still rumbling over

Page 10.

Some of the soldiers were still rumbling over what had just been said when Mrs. Thompson inched her way toward Bacho with her fists clenched as the room grew quiet. In a tone that dripped with suspicion Mrs. Thompson spoke out, “Why should we believe you anyway Bacho, you were involved in the attack on this Fort, you and your people attempted to kill my husband and you murdered and   mutilated Mr. Taylor after he shot your dog”. The men in our company began to cheer out in agreement with what had just been said but Bacho remained stoic and somewhat defiant looking at Mrs. Thompson directly into her eyes.  The old Apache spoke loud enough for all in the room to hear telling us if he had not joined in on the raid his granddaughter would be killed. He looked toward Captain Thompson and said he had no intention of killing him and threw the spear wildly and it was his Apache brothers that murdered Williams father after they broke him out of the store room that night using his knife to pick the lock. Bacho continued that the golden pup holds great powers in the eyes of his people who believe the spirits of their dead loved ones now live inside the young dog.

I've lived on the fort long enough to know the beliefs of the Apache people were strange in the eyes of the white man but they viewed our God in the same light. Threats had be made on my life in the past for keeping a horn toad as a pet that one Apache Brave believed was his dead brother and another time for throwing a rock at a rattlesnake I found near our drinking water. I knew Bacho meant what he said and the Apache were dead serious in their beliefs and traditions but Willow was mine and no one was going to take her from me. Bacho now turned to Captain Thompson and said, “Tomorrow at dawn my people will be here to make a trade, my granddaughter “Star Raven” for your lives and the golden pup. Captain Thompson stood silent and then directed Mrs. Thompson to escort Willow and I back to his quarters. I was afraid of what was to become of Willow with just me to defend her but now the lives of the entire fort were at stake with not even a drunken father to turn to for help.

Back at the captains quarters Mrs. Thompson assured me that no harm would come to Willow especially at the word of Bacho and to worry would only make matters worst. As the night wore on I overheard Mrs. Thompson's voice rise and fall over a heated conversation with the Captain. I knew this could only mean one thing and unless I did something about it I would lose Willow also. It wasn't long before Mrs. Thompson had returned to our quarters but it was past midnight now and with Willow tucked away at my side I pretended to be asleep. Our soldiers kept a large fire going throughout the night in the fort's courtyard and it lit up our darken room just enough for me to see my way around without lighting a candle. As Mrs. Thompson lay asleep I wrapped up Willow inside a red and green checkered Indian blanket and strapped on Mrs. Thompson’s Bowie knife and together quietly we slipped out the door unnoticed. I knew which way the Apache's would be coming and after borrowing  Captain Thompson's horse, “Fremont” the most spirited horse at the fort we disappeared into the darkness and waited for dawn to arrive.

Mrs. Thompson rushed from the Captains quarters

 Page 8.

Mrs. Thompson rushed from the Captains quarters carrying an army blanket in one hand and a large bowie knife in the other. As she wrapped the mutilated body inside the blanket she cursed the brutality of the Apache swearing to even the score if given the chance. It was at that moment the dead blue Apache began to move, instantly Mrs. Thompson was on him with the knife at his throat and fire in her eyes. One of the soldiers dashed toward her while the other wrestled the knife from her hand but this didn't stop her. She again launched herself on top of the Apache clawing and screaming like a hell cat and clamped both hands around his neck. But before she could finish her mission of fury and justice the wounded blue Apache yelled out his name, “It's me, “Bacho”. Mrs. Thompson sat silent still straddling somewhat sidesaddle as she released her death grip and was lifted off Bacho by two astonished soldiers. Not seriously wounded but every much alive Bacho spoke in a whisper, “my people forced me to do this”,  he choked, “they hold my granddaughter and threatened to kill her”. Captain Thompson ordered the men back to their stations and after assessing Bacho's wounds were not life threatening he was confined to the same stockade used to hold my father but this time a new lock was provided. 

By now the afternoon sun was beginning to slip behind a distant mountain side dotted with silver gray boulders of granite and tall Ponderosa pines. One of the soldiers dug a shallow grave along side the southern wall of the pueblo as I watched him flatted the earth with his army spade and make the sign of the cross with a silver rosary he worn around his neck. Mrs. Thompson ran to my side and hugged me smearing blood and blue paint all over my red checkered shirt nearly faded white by the sun. I stood traumatized of what had just occurred in front to me and with all my will I tried to block the scene from my mind but I couldn't. The horror of what just happened seemed like a nightmare but it wasn't, it was real and fear once again began to strangle my soul to death. Was this the devil himself doing these wicked things free to torture and torment any living thing in this land of such sheer beauty made by God for all of us to live in peace? Captain Thompson was now on horseback shouting out more orders and directing the men to barricade the area where the Apache had ridden in when he turned his mount toward us and shouted, “Woman are you out of your mind, you two were ordered to stay inside”. 

Mrs. Thompson turned me loose and raise her head toward the Captain and glared with her teeth clenched and her lips held tight. Even the Captains horse stood at attention as Mrs. Thompson spoke in a low and defiant tone, “I will never stand by and allow the desecration of this child’s father in that manner or to any member of this troop so help me God”. Captain Thompson momentarily began to sputter and tried to respond but thought better of it and requested we both for the time being retreat to his quarters until the fort was secured.  We swiftly raced toward the Captains quarters only stopping briefly to retrieve Mrs. Thompson Bowie Knife that one of the soldiers reluctantly returned to her. And as we bolted the door shut we both clearly heard Captain Thompson say to his horse, “she's gone now so you can move”.

Just then several soldiers with Bacho trailing behind them

 Page 5.

Just then several soldiers with Bacho trailing behind them quickly rode into the post with some at a full gallop. One of the soldiers sprung from his horse and bolted into Captain Thompson's office as if being pursued by a swarm of yellow jackets. Mrs. Thompson squeezed my hand and told me to follow her while Bacho remained on his pony. “We got troubles”? I heard one of the soldiers say, “and it's all because of him”, pointing at Bacho and spitting toward him at the same time. Captain Thompson emerged from his office with a message in hand, “ Wilson”, he said, “ deliver this dispatch to Fort Marida and take Jones with you and get back here as fast as you can”. He then turned toward the men and ordered an inventory on all supplies, weapons and ammunition. “What is it Dear”, asked Mrs. Thomspon who appeared visibly concerned. “Mary”, replied the Captain, “ have young William move in with us for the next few days, and William could you have your father report to me”.  I ran past Bacho on my way to our quarters who was now standing next to his pony looking north into the distant chaparrals. I've lived on this post for almost three years and never had I seen such concern on the faces of the soldiers before, but as I reached the door to our quarters out stormed my father cross eyed drunk and waving a colt dragoon over his head. 

Before anyone could react he lower the pistol and fired at Bacho and missed but not before trying again. Bacho's pony turned and faced my father who pulled back the hammer and took aim once again but this time out of nowhere that female mogul dog bit down hard on my fathers leg. Bacho yelled out something in Apache but it was too late for now she lay dead at my fathers feet shot through the heart. “Well at least I got one of them”, bragged my father while at the same time the butt of Captain Thompson's revolver clocked my father   unconsciousness. Bacho transformed into a fury of hailstorm rage and pulled a thin bladed knife from his waistband and charged my fallen father but was quickly subdued by the surrounding men. “Throw that drunken coward into the brig”, ordered Captain Thompson, “ before I let Bacho have his way with him”. And as I watched them drag my father off I looked down toward  the dog  and then Bacho but both he and his pony had disappeared like a ghost. My world was now completely upside down with my father in jail and a dog dead at my feet and her pup, what will become of that pup.

I wrapped the dog's body in an old flour sack and asked Captain Thompson permission if I could bury her just outside of the outpost. “William”, he said, “ it seems our Indian interpreter is a wanted man but not by us but by his own people”. Captain Thompson continued, “ whatever he did or didn't do the Apache's have declared war on us just for associating with him”. Captain Thompson gave me permission to bury the dog and assigned two men to accompany me just outside of the fort. The desert floor was just too hard to dig no matter how I tried so a pile of rocks would have to do. One of the men asked me if I knew the dog's name and I remembered, “Sato” but what about her pup it's somewhere out there. “Well” replied one of the men, “ It won't last long out there without a mother and that's a sure deal”. Those remarks jarred my thoughts of my own mother as I fashioned a small cross from two flattened pieces of mesquite and scratched my mother's name, “Catherine” across it. She was brave like my mother and tied to help her family in the same way my mother would have but the sun was beginning to set and it wasn't safe to be out any longer.

With blazing hot days and bone chilling nights

 Page 4.

With blazing hot days and bone chilling nights the weather never seem to bother Bacho who built a shelter over a partially dug out section of the pueblo's south wall. On some moonlit nights the adobe walls glowed with hundreds of crawling scorpions searching for a meal of moths and crickets. Thousands of Mexicans bats swirls from their daytime roosts at sunset every evening gorging on the always present mosquitoes that plagued the outpost. Night or day no matter the season New Mexico was a mysterious place and she held her secrets close showing only those worthy to know. One morning while bringing water to our quarters I heard the tiny cry of what sounded like a young pup, so I quickly ran toward the cry to investigate. There standing on the trail just outside of the post was that mogul dog holding her pup by the nap of its neck. She dropped her pup on the dusty trail and started to wag her tail as the tiny golden pup huddled at her feet not making a sound.  Suddenly I wasn't alone as Bacho quietly stood next to me and watched in silence. “They are from the Gaage Tribe meaning Raven People”, he said, while I stood stunned hearing the old Apache speak for the first time in perfect English. “She followed me here with her pup”,continued the elder brave, “her name is “Sato” and she belongs to me”. 

Bacho lifted his arm above his head and instantly Sato grabbed her pup and disappeared into the desert like a ghost. “Your father does not welcome them here”, he said, “he is a man with a broken spirit with eye's that are blinded by hate and sorrow”. Bacho and I returned to the fort and just as quickly he rode off with several soldiers heading north only to disappear into a bottomless rocky canyon. I knew I couldn't say a word of what just happened to anyone especially my father but I thought about Sato and her pup fearing the worst for them. I went about my chores around the fort and heard my father's voice raise in anger coming from Captain Thompson's office. “My goods and missing” he yelled loud enough for anyone within miles to hear, “and your soldiers got something to do with it and maybe even that Indian”. Captain Thompson replied back in a more controlled tone, “If it's liquor that's missing that's doubtful knowing your behavior Mr. Taylor”, answered the Captain. A soldier grooming his horse nearby began to laugh as Mrs Thompson the captains wife stepped outside quickly taking my hand and whispered, “William, would you please escort me to the officers quarters, there's something I'd like your to read. As she whisked me away I could clearly hear my father bellow out, “I swear to God as my witness, I'll kill him or whoever done it”. 

I was old enough now to know what all this meant and with Mrs. Thompson still holding my hand I could not longer contain my emotions. I tried to pull away but Mrs. Thompson held tight and for the first time in my life I let someone see me cry. I missed my mother so dearly and her loss and memory at times consumed all my waking thoughts. I couldn't masked the pain with liquor like my father who grew so distant from me and now cared for nothing except the bottle. He shamed himself and the life of my mother and I felt guilt and embarrassment because I couldn't stop the hate I had for him that now grew stronger with each passing day. Mrs. Thompson and I sat together on a makeshift bench as I stopped my weeping and I sat silent staring into what seem like a broken violent world. “This is no place for you William”, she softly said, “I've heard this post will close down in perhaps two or possibility three years”. I knew she meant well but Mrs. Thompson wasn't making me feel much better but with my mind still reeling I wondered if the answer was to just run away.

My father hurled the empty bottle

 Page 3.

My father hurled the empty bottle at one of the soldiers feet and uttered, “Indian lover” in a drunken slur and stormed off in the direction of the store room in an unsteady gate. Our outpost was nothing more than an abandoned pueblo in a mesa surrounded by a deep gorge that snaked it's way toward a series of cliffs once occupied by an unknown race of Indians. These people lived in caves carved by nature and made their homes in cliff dwelling hundreds of years ago. On one occasion while my father recovered from whiskey poisoning several of the soldiers brought me along to explore the area. It was early summer and the land below the cliffs was covered in sand sage and dove weed with Mexican sunflowers dotting the horizon providing flashes of yellows against a cloudless blue sky. We had to use ropes just to reach the lowest of the cliff's and the soldiers made sure it as safe before they pulled me up.

Once I reached the top I was astonished by ancient drawings on the walls of deer, elk and men with bows and arrows that overlooked a view that allowed nothing unnoticed for miles. We discovered broken pottery and animal bones and then the skull of a child. Death was no stranger to all of us in this world we now lived but the men laid the tiny skull carefully back where it was found and we all stood silent as a covey of scaled quail began to call out from a stand of blooming Apache Plums. We left this place the way we found it but I knew someday or somehow I would return. Captain Thompson assembled the men from the fort while standing next to Bacho and instructed the troop that Bacho would be serving as an interpreter for the post. The old Indian stood quietly with a new army blanket tucked under his arm and slowly walked toward his pony who lifted her head and whinnied as he approached the corral.

The men offered Bacho some tobacco which he immediately gave to his pony lifting her head in approval and stomping her right hoof on the ground.  They were part of the outpost now and I got to know them both quite well as time went on. The post had it's share of animals with an occasional stray dog or two looking for a handout. Generally they were shot for fear of madness or the possibility of injuring our horses or stealing our chickens.  Shortly after Bacho arrived an old mogul dog appeared just outside rifle shot from the post. Clearly she had pups but they were no where to be seen, however; the dog appeared to be watching us for some unknown reason and over time she inched her way closer to the fort. My father saw her too and warned me to stay away from the dog mentioning his plans for loafers and beggars were settled out the barrel of his hog leg pistol that lay within arms reach cocked and ready.

My father was harsh to the Apache people

 Page 2. 

My father was harsh to the Apache people and would often accuse them of stealing army beef without any evidence to back his claims. Once he kicked a young brave in the stomach when he asked for something to eat telling him that dirt was always available to fill an empty gut. The Indian boy wasn't much older than I was and the army Captain threatened to have my father removed from the post over the incident. I was ashamed of what he did and will never forget the look on the face of that young Apache after several Apache women carried the boy away calling my father, “Gwii, Gwii”, their word for snake. I was forbidden to speak to or play with any of the Apache children who named me,”Gah” meaning rabbit. With no friends to speak of except a baby horned toad I raised in a wooden box feeding it spiders and fire ants when I could catch them without being stung. Some of the soldiers taught me how to ride a horse and care for it and an officers wife took it upon herself to teach me to read and write in a proper manner. Life on post at times stood still but there never seemed to be a time where the Apache wasn't at war with us or someone else including themselves.

Deep inside of me I believed they felt they were on the right side of things but. my father called them less than human with his opinions becoming louder the more he drank which he often did. Captain Thompson who ran the outpost once had my father tied and detained in a store room after one of his many drunken outbursts not to mention swearing in front of a lady who happened to be the Captains wife.  Once I overheard the soldiers talking loud enough for me to hear and they all agreed my father was more trouble than the Indians hoping the Apache would have their way with him the sooner the better. That spring is when I met an old Apache man named, “Bacho” the Apache word for wolf.  Rumor's had it he was too familiar with many of the available women in his tribe causing him to be banished by the elders with some wanting him killed. I first met him as he rode up to the fort falling off his pony and landing on top of a pile of some dried yellow cactus flowers. Both Bacho and his pony were covered with ticks and cactus needles and his boney legs were scratched and bleeding. It appeared to many of the soldiers who watched him ride in that he intentionally cut through the wilderness purposely to avoided the main trail into the fort. 

His back was crisscrossed with deep red welts with some of them bleeding, a sure sign the Apache women strongly disapproved of whatever he had done. Bacho's sudden arrival drew quick suspicion and he was immediately brought to Captain Thompson for questioning at gunpoint. One of the officers directed two soldiers to tend to Bacho's pony who was moved into the fort's corral and given some army oats and fresh water. It didn't take long for my father to take notice of all this attention as he watched intently from the armies store room with a bottle of spirits in one hand and a pistol in the other. He began to protest loudly about the treatment the pony was receiving and grabbed a stick and headed hell bent toward the animal at the same time dropping his bottle and gun that was cocked and loaded. Two soldiers quickly subdued my father and relieved him of the stick and retrieved his side arm threatening to beat him about the head should he take another step. My father cursed the men and uncorked another pint of whiskey he kept at the ready from inside his vest pocket and drained the bottle as if it were water.

Glazing out the window of my two room cabin

 My dog Willow

Glazing out the window of my two room cabin I watched another sunrise paint the morning sky with a wash of light purplish blues, pale reds and bright yellows. These earthy tones highlighted the nearby mountains and seem to beckon one with a mysterious silence to their natural beauty. On this day the early morning silence was broken by the sound of a far off church bell ringing in town about a half mile away. It was Sunday in Kings Canyon, a small town in New Mexico with a population of just over a hundred or so depending on who was born and who had died that year. Over half or our residence were native Apache and sadly most of them were often drunk and referred to as godless souls by most of the town folk. I was alone now with my wife Sara’s passing two years earlier to some unknown disease our town's kid Doctor from Boston couldn't even pronounce. She past holding my hand terrified of death and I was paralyzed with the thought of her leaving me as I helplessly watched her die one cold winter day. Sadly we were not blessed with children to carry on our families name as I was the last of our kin still standing. Born William Timothy Taylor and was baptized by a one armed priest I'm told by my mother who lost it while spreading the Lords word when New Mexico was just a territory. I am sixty now in the year 1902 and I guess you tend to reflect on the past too much when you reach this stage in your life's journey.

 My old hide was tanned and scarred from a lifetime in the desert and my soul probably looked the same way to the almighty above even-though being baptized wasn't a free ticket to enter heavens gate. Hell, the scorpions stopped stinging and the sidewinders stopped striking at me guessing I must of tasted pretty bad to them by now. I was just ten years old when I came to this country brought here by my parents after my father hired on as an Indian agent for the United States government. Somewhere along the way my mother took poorly and died suddenly and together my father and I buried her in a good place that overlooked a deep valley that ran as far as the eye could see. We marked her grave with a cross but later that same year flash floods washed the area all away never to be found again no matter how hard and how many times I searched. Sometimes I felt my mother's loving hand brush across my face while I looked for her resting place but maybe it was just the wind after all playing a cruel trick on a motherless child who missed her deeply. My father blamed her death on the desert and especially the Jicarilla Apache Nation until the day they helped him enter eternity with that story later to be told. 

My father drastically changed with her passing from a man of kindness and God fearing to a broken spirit who lost his soul often publicly cursing and professing his now hatred to God and anyone else he felt beneath him including me. For the next eight years we lived on an army post with no more than twenty soldiers present at anytime and four of those were officers. I never really got to know any of them to make a real difference in my life as they were continuously transferred in and out often never to return. The outpost had a natural spring and was the only source of fresh water for miles but with that it brought a lot of good folks and bad to our post and most of it was unwanted. The army was there to keep the peace and maintain some reasonable amount of law and order but it was more lawless with very little order at all. My father managed the local Indian affairs which included distribution of some beef and provisions as well as matters regarding the Indian reservation. But the Apache's hated the white man and had little regard for our presence. They rightfully believed that this land was theirs and though of us as intruders and trespassers. The Apache weren't sly about letting us know their intentions which usually meant torture and death and something being eaten.

Moments later both Tim and Will

 Page 6.

Moments later both Tim and Will stood astonished as they now looked down at “Bonzo” who sat at the base of a large cypress tree inside his enclosure swallowing down the last bite of Will's apple. Tim was speechless but Will shouted out at the top of his voice, “It's real, it's real, we were Chimpanzee's”. Not waiting for even a second the boys tied the Giraffe, and then the Elephant and together they tried to out roar each other as two male lions should do when their not sleeping, eating or making babies?. With just two choices left it wasn't even close when it came to becoming a Hippopotamus who pooped a lot or the majestic Eagle destined to soar the blue skies free! Tim and Will were just about to experience those joys briefly as that of a Hippopotamus when they were jumped from behind. There reeking of liquor staggered out Opus but not before the boys instinctively hid their Eagle crackers in their pockets. Opus tightened his grip around Tim's collar and ordered Will to follow them back to the office at the Lion House. Just as trio neared the building the office door suddenly flung open and out crawled a woman who appeared thin, pale and in desperate need of some help.

Tim felt a connection to the woman who lay at his feet and knelt down beside her as the elderly man in the safari suit and Sergeant Collins walked outside each holding a beer and laughing. Opus inched toward Tim and quickly grabbed his box of animal crackers but Will held his box out to Sergeant Collins and said, “Here Sir, I saved you some”.  The man in the safari suit walked over to the fallen woman and gave her a kick and in a devilish tone said, “Sally Rogers, you've served our purpose now get out here before I feed you to the lions”. Opus and Sergeant Collins had worked up quite an appetite with their morning activities and they both gobbled down the two remaining Hippopotamus crackers like a pair of hungry hyenas? And no sooner had those crackers disappeared so did they. Something instinctively raged throughout Tim's body and he sprung at the elderly like a leopard and before he even had a chance to say, “where did they go”, he to disappeared with the help of an extra Hippopotamus crackers administered by Tim that mysterious appeared in what was believed to have been an empty box? Will wasn't far behind and he thanked Tim for their short companionship as his last words where  “I will never forget you my friend any may we meet again”, with that Tim watched a mighty Eagle soaring north and then it vanished into the clouds.

Tim held his drug stricken mother whom he hadn't seen for over two years and she lay still in his arms almost wasted to nothing with the stench of death surrounding her spirit. Overcome with grief and sadness of what had become of someone he loved so much, Tim cradled his mother and brought his Eagle cracker to her lips and watched another magnificent bird drift skyward and disappear. Suddenly Tim felt a light tap on his right shoulder and there stood Mr. Gibbs grinning to ear to ear but for Tim it was a feeling of great loss and anything from joy or happiness. Mr. Gibbs said with a smile, “Don't worry Tim, she'll be back and good as new”. Tim could barely reply as he choked back the tears, “But it was the last one and that's forever, right?”.  Mr. Gibbs sat next to Tim and explained that love between a Mother and Son is constant no matter what would come between them and it would be that very love that would return her home someday as a new and better person if that's what he really wanted. Mr. Gibbs assured Tim never to give up hope, not even for Opus, Sergeant Collins and Mr. Safari suit who were presently enjoying the company of Tiny the Hippopotamus who's been a bachelor for years but now has three new girlfriends? Tim learned a lot about life in his short fourteen years and could have saved himself but choose not to and it wasn't long before his mother did return home but until she did he worked at the Crittenden Zoo and maybe someday you may hear Tim's voice calling out, “Crackers, Crackers get your Animal Crackers”.

The end

Tim and Will were just about halfway

 Page 5.

Tim and Will were just about halfway to the Lion House when they again heard a man's voice calling out,” Crackers, Crackers, get your Animal Crackers while they still last”. But now the sound appeared to be coming from two different directions and this had the boys more confused than ever! Just then Tim felt a light tap on his left shoulder and whirled around like a spinning top causing Will to crash into him almost head on. There stood a middle aged man pushing a small wooden cart brightly painted with animals from all over the world. Wearing an outfit something in between a pirate and Burger King he wore a gold colored monocle that dangled across his nose and covered his head with a straw colored hat. Sporting a thin black handle bar mustache his green eyes sparkled as he introduced himself to the boys as Mr. Gibbs from where ever anyone would really like to be? Tim almost instantly felt at ease with Mr. Gibbs while Will remained somewhat timid not knowing what to think of such a colorful fellow and besides Will expected Opus and Sergeant Collins at any moment. Mr. Gibbs who told the boys today was his first day on the job and he would be selling his animal crackers throughout the zoo. Mr. Gibbs continued, “I've got something I'm sure you'll both enjoy, however; it does involve a choice of a lifetime if you dare”.

Mr. Gibbs handed Tim a brightly colored box of animal crackers beautifully decorated with various animals such as “Tiny the Hippopotamus”, “Ernest the Elephant”, ''Charles the Chimp”, “George the Giraffe”, ”Ellen the Eagle” and of course “Lars the Lion” who was always everyone's favorite? Mr. Gibbs explained the crackers where not your garden variety snack but were a gateway or a dimension to a new world and a new life. Mr. Gibbs continued and told the boys that to eat just one depending on the animal they would in fact become that creature for just a few moments and then return back to their normal selves. Mr. Gibbs handed both Tim and Will a box and said, “Imagine standing twenty feet tall like the Giraffe or traveling through the treetops like the Chimpanzee or soaring the skies like and Eagle”. Will smiled and then laughed thinking to himself what it would be like to sit on Opus as a Hippopotamus or become a Chimpanzee and break a dirty ashtray over Sergeant Collins head. Tim turned toward Mr. Gibbs and said, “This is all to fantastic to believe Sir, not that I wouldn't want to at least try just one”.  Mr. Gibbs began to smile and said, “Lads the choice is yours and yours alone but remember the last cracker in the box is permanent and you will remain that animal for your lifetime on earth.

Before the boys could ask another question Mr. Gibbs had disappeared into an excited crowd of young children with their parents all racing toward Crittenden's famous Monkey Island. Will still wasn't convinced but for just a few precious moments his mind was free of the constant fear and doubt that plagued his young life through no fault of his own. Tim couldn't wait any longer and opened the box and selected an animal but Will stopped him and said, “Let's do it together, so here goes Charles the Chimpanzee”. High pitched laughter and squeals of delight filled the air as a small army of youngsters gathered around Monkey Inland as Tim tried to yell, “Ouch” after a big green Granny Smith apple struck him on the head. Tim then looked over at Will who looked just like a Chimpanzee and then he looked at his hands and they looked just like a Chimpanzee. By now the zoo's resident Chimp named, “Bonzo” charged toward Tim and Will surprised by their arrival to his enclosure and pushed Will quickly aside for the apple that bounced off Tim's head. One of the little girls who stood watching from above yelled,” Do it again Daddy, throw another one”, and as the child father lifted his arm to hurl another apple Will returned the favor with something not as pleasant as a Granny Smith?