Poppy's Return

CHAPTER 1

Poppy and Rye Visit Ereth

SUGARED SLUG SOUP, said Ereth the porcupine without looking up from the lump of salt over which he was slobbering. I don’t believe it."

I’m afraid it’s true, said the deer mouse Poppy to her old friend. It’s very upsetting. The kind of thing that makes me wonder if I’ve been a bad parent.

Poppy and her husband, Rye, a golden mouse, had gone over to Ereth’s smelly hollow log for a talk. The closest of friends, they lived deep within Dimwood Forest, where the tall trees reached into the sweet air and carpeted the earth below with soft shadows.

Now Poppy, said Rye, the rest of our children are doing fine.

Poppy sighed. I suppose one failure out of a litter of eleven isn’t bad, she said. Her round, white belly had grown plump of late. Though her eyes were usually bright and her whiskers full, now those eyes appeared rather dull and full of worry, while her whiskers were somewhat limp.

"You made your first mistake by naming him Ragweed Junior, Ereth grumbled between licks of salt. Most juniors, he said, resent the name. Or should."

"I wish he did resent it, said Poppy. Junior’s problem is that he loves being a new Ragweed."

Gangrenous gym shorts, said Ereth. Was there ever a mouse—dead or alive—who caused more fuss than the first Ragweed?

I’m afraid, said Rye, "Junior wants to be what he thinks Ragweed was. It’s all those stories he’s heard about my brother."

Though of course, Poppy said, Junior never knew Ragweed. All he knows is that Ragweed was unusual. She reached out, took Rye’s paw, and squeezed it with affection. It was Ragweed who brought us together. And if it hadn’t been for him, she reminded Ereth, I doubt you and I would have met.

I suppose, said Ereth. He put his salt lump down reluctantly. Just what the flea fudge has Junior done?

He used to be a cheerful, chatty, wonderfully open young mouse, said Poppy. Nowadays it’s a constant frown.

If I say yes, Rye went on, pulling at his long whiskers, he says no. If I say no, he says yes. When he says anything more than that, it’s mostly ‘Leave me alone.’

He has become rather rude, said Poppy.

Almost impossible to get him out of bed before noon, added Rye.

I doubt, said Poppy, that he washes his face more than once a week, even though he’s constantly being reminded. Her own ears were large and dark, with a nose, toes, and tail that were pink and clean.

And now he’s completely changed his looks, said Rye, whose fur was dark orange.

"Looks! barked Ereth. How can a mouse change his looks?"

You see, said Rye, with a shake of his head and a whisk of his tail, Junior’s best friend is a skunk.

The salt fell from Ereth’s paws. "A skunk?"

His name is Mephitis, Poppy explained. We don’t know much about him. Or his family. I’m afraid the problem is that he’s not a very good influence. Ereth, you need to see Junior for yourself.

Oh, toe jam on a toothpick, said Ereth. He can’t be that bad.

The point is, said Poppy, Junior has become a teenager.

A teenager! cried the porcupine. Why the weasel wonk did you let that happen?

He did it on his own, said Rye, his small ears cocked forward.

Then I’d better go unbuckle his buttons, said Ereth. With a rattle of his quills, he heaved himself up. Where is he?

Probably down among the snag roots, said Rye. He’s taken to liking darkness, too.

Just watch me, putt pockets, said Ereth. I’ll straighten him out flatter than a six-lane highway rolling through Death Valley. Be back soon. But don’t touch that salt, or you’ll get a quill up your snoot. Quills rattling, the porcupine clumped out of the old log and headed for the gray lifeless and topless tree in which Poppy and her family made their home.

Good luck, Rye called after him.

I do hope it was all right to tell Ereth about Junior, said Poppy.

Nothing else has worked, said Rye.

But . . . what do you think he’ll do?

I’m not sure, but I guess we’ll find out pretty soon.

CHAPTER 2

Ragweed Junior

SERVES POPPY AND RYE right for having children," said Ereth as he waddled along the well-worn path that stretched between his log and the snag. Not the sweetest smelling of creatures, the old porcupine had a flat face with a blunt, black nose and fierce, grizzled whiskers. Sharp quills covered him from head to twitchy tail.

They were much too young to have kids, he muttered. "No experience. Don’t have enough strict rules. No consistency. No firmness. They spoil those youngsters. Let them run everything. Coddle them. I mean—baboon bubble bath—who’s supposed to be in charge? Kids or parents? Well, it’s time I taught them all a lesson or two about how a parent should act."

Hi, Uncle Ereth. Where are you going?

Ereth looked up. Some of Poppy and Rye’s children were playing just outside the snag. Snowberry was building something out of sticks. Sassafras and Walnut were in deep conversation. It was Columbine who had called to him.

Where’s your brother? Ereth demanded.

I have a lot of brothers, said Columbine.

The one who’s acting like an idiot.

Most of my brothers act like idiots, said Columbine with a cheerful grin.

Listen here, you piddling pile of potted pips, don’t talk back to me!

The other mice looked around at one another. They loved to hear Ereth swear.

Columbine, barely managing not to giggle, said, Which brother are you looking for?

Ragweed, said Ereth. The junior variety.

Oh, him, said Columbine, her good cheer fading. "What do you want him for?"

I need to straighten him out.

Uncle Ereth, if you want old grumpy, he’s either with his friend Mephitis or down in the snag roots.

"I don’t want him, said Ereth. I don’t want any of you. I need to talk to him."

The porcupine went to the base of the snag. Since the mouse entry hole was too small for him to pass through, the best he could do was stick in his snout and call: Junior! This is your Uncle Ereth. I need to speak to you. Now! The young mice put aside what they were doing to watch what would happen.

No reply came from inside the tree.

Junior! bellowed Ereth. You get your bloated beanbag of a brain up here or I’ll unzip your bottom from your belly and give it the boot!

The young mice waited breathlessly for a reply.

When none came, Ereth screamed, "Didn’t you hear me? I said now!"

I’m busy, said an irritated voice.

With what? said Ereth.

Stuff.

March yourself up here this moment, cried Ereth, before I stuff your stuff up your stuffing!

Okay, okay. Keep your pit in your olive.

Ereth snarled and looked around at the mice. What are you watching? he cried.

You, said Snowberry, no longer able to keep from giggling.

Good. Maybe you’ll learn something. His prickly tail thrashed back and forth, stirring up a large cloud of dust.

All eyes were on the entry hole. After what seemed forever, a mouse crawled out. Ereth blinked. Ragweed Junior had dyed his normally golden fur tar black. A white streak ran down his back. He looked like a miniature skunk.

Yo, dude, what’s going down? said Junior.

Is that you? said Ereth. Ragweed Junior?

Yeah. What do you want?

Why are you . . . that way?

What way?

Looking like a skunk, sounding like a frog.

Because I freaking well want to.

Bug-bellied bromides, said Ereth. Don’t swear at me like that. I’m your uncle.

Yeah, well, if a porcupine can be an uncle to a mouse, I can be a skunk, said Junior. And if all you’re going to do is yell at me, I’ve got better things to do. He turned to go.

Hold it right there, young mouse! yelled Ereth. I’m here to tell you that this rudeness has to stop. You need to show some respect for your parents—the ones that raised you up, take care of you, and make sure your life is decent. Have you no gratitude?

Gratitude is for old grumps and gimps, returned Junior. Listen, flat face, why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Or better yet, to talk the way you do: go pack up your prickles and peddle some pickles for some pocket change! With that, Junior spun about and disappeared back into the snag.

Ereth—his mouth agape—stared at the entry hole. Bottled baby barf! he cried. "He has become a teenager." The old porcupine hurried back toward his log.

The young mice, laughing uproariously, watched him go. Did we learn anything? said Snowberry.

It was Walnut who said, Well, Junior is still grumpy.

To which Columbine added, And Uncle Ereth is still funny.

CHAPTER 3

The Message

AS ERETH HURRIED BACK to his log, he saw a mouse on the path. At first he thought she was Poppy. But when he realized she was a mouse he had never seen before, he skidded to a halt and stuck his nose close to her. "Who the musky muskrat marbles are you?"

How do you do? said the mouse, backing away nervously. Are you Erethizon Dorsatum?

What if I was?

Might you be Poppy’s . . . acquaintance?

I’m her best friend.

How do you do, Mr. Dorsatum. My name is Lilly. I’m one of Poppy’s siblings.

"You’re . . . what kind of dribbling sap?"

I am Poppy’s sister.

"Sister! What sister? Where did you come from?"

From Gray House, said Lilly. That’s Poppy’s home on the south side of the forest. Beyond Glitter Creek. Near Tar Road. Do you know where I might find Poppy? I’m bringing her an important message.

I always know where she is, said Ereth. Follow me.