Well, er… it’s about… um… unicorns.

Wait! Come back! It’s not like that. I swear!

Without being too spoilery, let’s just say these aren’t your typical glitter pissing, rainbow pooping run-of-the-mill unicorns. They’re a bit more… gritty.

Check it out.

Sally knew that the puppy liked flowers. Every morning she waited on her porch for the puppy to come visit her. Some days it didn’t come, but most of the time it did.

She used one of her pink bed sheets to give the puppy a pretty bow for its hair. It seemed to like the bow.

And the flowers.

It would let her climb up on its back and ride on its silky soft fur as it swam in the ocean, riding the big waves that sometimes crashed on her beach, sending fluffy sea foam into the air.

She loved her puppy, although she was beginning to wish it hadn’t eaten her parents. She was beginning to miss them.

But only a little.

She had the puppy to keep her company now.

At long last, it had come down to the two of them.

Ozzie squinted in the harsh afternoon sun. He tilted his hat to shade his eyes. Distracting glare would not be good at a time like this.

“So, it’s just you and me now,” said Ozzie to the figure about five paces ahead.

“Yup,” said the figure. “This garden ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

Ozzie nodded, mostly to himself.

He remembered the day when it happened. It began when one of the squash plants had crossed the path and silently smothered the neighboring radishes. It wasn’t his squash or his radishes, both belonged to rival gardeners, although he was silently glad. He never did like radishes.

That’s when the war started. First it was stampeding cantaloupe, then a ‘Big Girl’ tomato broke free of its cage and smashed a bed of infant carrots. Peas and bean vines were set loose upon neighbor’s spinach and chives.

Ozzie tried to stay out of the cross fire, but that all ended the day a troop of nasturtiums ambushed his strawberry patch.

He had wept upon the discovery of the bruised, battered, and crushed berries one foggy morning; red juice staining the dark soil. He remembered looking across the dusty path to the hostile garden and seeing old Mr. McCrawbriddle standing there, with a sly triumphant smirk teasing the corners of his face.

If that was how it was going to be, Ozzie vowed that the other community gardeners would rue the day they pulled him into the war.

Corn toppled, cabbage heads split, numerous varieties of flowers met their untimely ends; the battle for the garden was in full boom. Eventually all the gardens had been destroyed. All except Ozzie’s and Mr. McCrawbriddle’s.

They stood facing each other. Ozzie plucked a large blossom from his last remaining plant, a purple coneflower. He thoughtfully brushed the sharp spines of the flower. Mr. McCrawbriddle plucked a hefty foot long zucchini off of his last vine and menacingly thumped it against his hand.

“Prepare to feel the echinacea’s wrath!!” screamed Ozzie, raising the flower to the sky.

“ZUCCHINI HO!!!” yelled Mr. McCrawbriddle as he brandished the squash and charged.

~

No one really remembers what happened in those final moments. It’s still not completely clear how the coneflower beat the zucchini. The garden scripture lacks any definitive details. Some say it was a miracle, others insist that the coneflower really is mightier than the zucchini. Others still, say that the zucchini was just too slow to match the speed, agility, grace, and sheer viciousness of the echinacea. Whichever was the case, Ozzie found himself victorious.

To this day, a mound of purple cone flowers grow in the place of honor at the center of the garden. In fact, rumor has it, that plant is the very same noble herb that won the garden and brought a one hundred and fifty year (and counting) rein of peace to the gardeners.

—

On a side note, if it was coneflower versus artichoke, the artichoke would win, even if the coneflower was being wielded by a garden ninja. Just sayin’.

—

Technical Details
Aperture Value: f/4.8
Focal Length: 185mm
Exposure Program: Aperture Priority
ISO: 200
Shutter Speed Value: 1/200 sec
Location: Vancouver, WA

Extremely rare and elusive, the Tufted Cuddlestache is native to the dense temperate rain forests of the Pacific Northwest.  It was believed that they were hunted to extinction for their luxurious mustaches, which were used in the making of novelty stick-on mustaches and eyebrow replacements. However, while searching for Sasquatch in the remote backwoods of Washington state, field scientist, Dr. Crumpen Von Ludwig,  stumbled upon a small surviving population of the Tufted Cuddlestaches. Little was known about them as the last known living specimen died in 1910. He discovered that they were quite friendly and unafraid of man. Whether that was from isolation, or natural behavioral traits, studies so far have been inconclusive.  Since this great discovery, a  breeding program has been established by Washington State University in order to help restore wild population numbers and to gain valuable knowledge about the behavior and biology of these wonderful creatures. Currently, wild numbers are still very low (estimates are somewhere around 20 breeding pairs) and the Tufted Cuddlestache is listed as critical on the endangered species list.

—

If you want to make your own, I’m planning on putting together the pattern/plans for these guys, so it should show up on this site at some point. I have enough green fuzzy fabric for one more Cuddlestache. So, if anyone is interested, feel free to send me an email (see the contact page) and we can work something out.

While your are at it, make sure to have a listen to some of the other Misfit Brew episodes. They are all really good. In fact, this is one of my favorite podcasts.

The first step ended with a crack as the first rung snapped cleanly in half. The second attempt involved a violent and uncontrollable shaking of the ladder and ended in Mr. Twaddle laying on his back on the neatly trimmed garden lawn.

Saddlewags decided that he should get some grooming in while he watched the strange show that his master performed for him. He started licking his slightly dusty paw and nibbled in between his claws like his mum taught him when he was a kitten.

Mr. Twaddle stood back up and dusted himself off. He then looked up at Saddlewags and called out to his pet.

“Here Saddlewags. Saaaddlewaaags. Here kitty kitty.”

Saddlewags stopped mid-lick. He didn’t understand why his master was calling out his name. Couldn’t his master clearly see that he had his full attention? Humans, thought Saddlewags, what strange creatures.

Mr. Twaddle was now flapping his arms back and forth and threw his body forward and backward a couple of times. Saddlewags looked on with his little pink tongue still sticking halfway out of his mouth. The performance his master was putting on was so enthralling that he had forgotten completely about his grooming. Mr. Twaddle then slumped over, then jerked up with a start, and reached inside his pocket, searching franticly for something. With an expression of discovery, Mr. Twaddle pulled a small fish shaped cookie out of his pocket, and held it up so that Saddlewags could see it.

Saddlewags sat up in excitement. “Is that for me?” Saddlewags asked his master in curious meows.

“Would Mr. Saddlewags like a fishy?” Cooed Mr. Twaddle.

“It is for me? Hell ya! Hold on, I need to get down.” Mewed Saddlewags excitedly as he ran to the edge of the tool shed roof and found a nice spot to jump down.

Mr. Twaddle crouched down and gave Saddlewags the treat as he came trotting over, tail held high. He then picked up the heavy feline and carried him over to the front door, where the cat was gently set down and a small stone-like charm was attached to his leather collar.

Mr. Twaddle turned away from his task at hand and looked at the frail figure of Mrs. Cwaddeltwatch, his elderly neighbor. She was smiling at him kindly, her bright pink shawl draped over her thin shoulders like a large pink tongue.

“Oh, hello there, Mrs. Cwaddeltwatch. I didn’t see you there. I just got this cat door for Saddlewags – me beloved kitty.” Mr. Twaddle explained as he pointed to a large hole that he was excavating out of his thick wooden front door.

“Ooooh, well isn’t that lovely. What a clever idea. What will they think of next?”

“Aye. I spared no expense. I gots the deluxe model, I did.” Mr. Twaddle was clearly excited now. He pulled on the pile of wooden bits that one might assume were the parts.

“You see this bit here? Well, I puts a special fiddly thingy on his collar and it tells this wobbly bit here,” he held up a piece that looked a bit like a dead earthworm encased in a tube, “that the pussy wants to come in and then this other jobby,” he waved a piece that looked suspiciously like a spork, “to open the hole for the kitty so it can trot on through.”

Mr. Twaddle grinned largely at a dazed and confused Mrs. Cwaddeltwatch.

Mrs. Cwaddeltwatch just smiled kindly and nodded. “Well isn’t that nice.”

As she left, Mr. Twaddle got back to his task at hand. It only took him a couple more hours to finish. He took out the little round charm that activated the door and waved it in front of it. There was a clink and a small squishy sound and then the door slid quietly open.

He ran off to find Saddlewags.

The cat door quietly closed behind him.

“Dunnin! Slow down, the mountain isn’t going to go anywhere,” Gunni called up the mountain breathlessly.

The dwarf higher up the mountain stopped and turned to face his companion.

“Honestly, Gunni, I’m traveling at quite a leisurely pace,” answered an exasperated Dunnin. “It’s not my fault your enlarged midsection is slowing you down–it would do you good to keep up with me.”

Despite his teasing, Dunnin slowed down so that Gunni was able to keep up.

“So, remind me again why we are going on this fool’s errand to find this rumored dragon? If you ask me, we should leave well enough alone, since it is a silly children’s tale.” Asked Gunni while trying to catch his breath.

“If you have reservations you should have stayed home. You know quite well why we are searching for the dragon… to find its nest of treasure!”

“Ha ha! Right you are!” Replied Gunni with a broad smile and a twinkle of greed in his eye.

“The dwarves’ weakness… I only hope it doesn’t claim another victim if the rumors end up being true.”

The dwarves reached a large plateau where they took the time to have a rest against a lovely sun warmed rock and indulged in a hearty lunch.

“So what will you do with your share of the treasure?” asked Gunni as he took an exceptionally large bite of a stuffed sausage.

Dunnin leaned back against the rock and downed the rest of his mug of beer. A good amount dribbled down his dark brown beard.

“Horde it of course! Ha ha!”

“Hear hear! I second that! Of course getting a new set of axes would be on my list. Replace the shotty ones I have right now. New, shiny axes…” said Gunni as a dreamy look spread across his face.

“With gems in the handle!” added Dunnin.

“Of course with gems in the handle. No respectable dwarf would take me seriously if I didn’t get gems in the handle,” answered Gunni in a gruff matter-of-fact tone.

“And a cellar full of the finest beer!” continued Dunnin.

“Ha ha! Definitely!” agreed Gunni with a large hairy grin, raising his now half full mug of ale to Dunnin, splashing the golden liquid a bit over the rim.

Dunnin and Gunni sat back and pondered the endless possibilities in silence for a little while.

“So… not to put a damper on things,” mulled Gunni, “But, theoretically – what if the dragon happens to be at home if we do happen to find this rumored nest?”

“I suppose we should just be extra quite. I’ll have you know that I can be as silent as a mouse on moss if I need too,” said Dunnin.

“Ha! You, silent?! Yeah, you’re as silent as a robin on a sunny spring morning,” Gunni scoffed as he turned to give Dunnin an incredulous glare.

Dunnin looked a bit hurt by this statement. “Well, we could always kill it.”

“Yeah, right,” but Gunni didn’t sound too convinced, “I think you would have better luck asking it nicely if it wouldn’t mind just handing over it’s treasure.”

“What? Like, ‘Um… hello there Mr. Dragon… um, granted this is only a suggestion, but could you hand – er – claw over all the shiny bits in your nest?’”

“Well, it might work”

“Highly unlikely” said a voice.

“Ho! Who goes there! Show yourself!” exclaimed Gunnin as both dwarves jumped to their feet and pulled out their axes.

“For one thing, the dragon might be insulted if you called it a Mr. when it actually was a Ms.” Continued the voice.

“It sounds like the bugger is behind that large bolder,” whispered Dunni to Gunnin as the dwarves crept closer to the rock.

“These shiny bits you speak of don’t really sound that appetizing. I mean, honestly, what would use would a dragon have for such things? They don’t sound like they make good eating, and that’s really the only thing a dragon would care about,” continued the voice, oblivious to the affect it was having on its audience.

Gunnin motioned to Dunni to charge the other side of the boulder on his mark.

The voice continued. “I really don’t understand were people get these ridiculous stories from… pure rubbish if you ask me!”

The dwarves rushed the other side of the boulder.

Nothing.

The dwarves looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“This is a might bit of trickery if you ask me,” whispered Dunni.

“Aye,” agreed Gunnin. “Ho there! Voice?”

Silence.

The dwarves looked at each other again. Dunni shrugged.

“Show yourself! We won’t have for any trickery!” Gunni called out to the hidden speaker.

A snickering like the sound of grinding stone emanated from the boulder. “Oh that is rich!” More snickering. “I really don’t think you really want me to ‘show’ myself even though you are practically on top of me.”

Dunnin picked up is feet gingerly and looked underneath them one by one. Gunni looked on in disbelief on how he managed to have such a dolt as a companion.

This produced more rocky snickering from the boulder.

Gunni rapped Dunnin on the head with his axe handle. “It dunna mean you are on it!” Gunni turned his attention back to the boulder.

“Ho voice! We mean wha’ we say. Show yourself!”

“If you insist,” responded the voice.

The boulder started to move and grow. Cracks and crevices that had once been unnoticeable turned into limbs. A tail unwound itself and clawed paws emerged. Before the dwarves knew what was happening the stony claws had grasped each one of them. A large boney grey head looked down upon them with hungry amber eyes.

“Dragon!” exclaimed Gunni. “Dunnin, you fool of a dwarf! Look at where your curiosity has gotten us!” said Gunni as he tried to free an arm from the dragon’s clasp in order to give his companion a good thumping. “I knew I should have never followed you up this mountain.”

“Me?!” answered Dunnin in an angry tone. “Ha! You’re the one tha’ insisted tha’ the bloody dragon show itself!” Dunnin also started to squirm in the dragon’s clasp in hopes of giving Gunni an equally good thumping. The dragon looked down on the two struggling morsels with an amused expression. The dragon had delt with dwarves before and while expected such behavior from them, still found the whole situation quite amusing. After a few more minutes of squirming and exchanging insults with one another, the two dwarfs were too tired to continue.

“Well, it’s good to see you got that out of your system. I wouldn’t want you to keep bickering with each other when you are in my belly. I think that would give me quite a stomach ache,” the Dragon casually informed the two bewildered companions.

Dunnin turned a pasty shade of white while Gunni opted for a sickly shade of green followed by a corpse-like gray. They remained silent.

“Right,” said the Dragon “what’s all this nonsense about my nest being full of, er…” The dragon screwed up her face in concentration. “Little, sharp, shiny things…”

“Treasure?” offered Dunnin weakly. Gunni gave Dunnin the universal are-you-bloody-stupid-what-did-you-say-that-for look.

“Oh yes, you call those things treasure” said the Dragon, smiling and nodding. “Utterly nonsense,” continued the Dragon conversationally, “I mean why would I want such uncomfortable things in my bed?” gesturing with the paw holding Gunni who was starting to look a bit queasy.

“Well, my gran used to tell me…” started Dunnin. Gunni rolled his eyes.

“Your gran! Now you should know better than to believe tales from a crotchety old dwarf. She probably said that she used to walk 50 miles, waist deep in snow, up hill both ways to the mine each day when she was a dwarfling.”

Dunnin’s eyes got wide “how did you know!?”

The Dragon snorted and a white plume of smoke escaped from her nostrils. “Figures – lies, the lot of them. Where’s this gran of yours? She should have her head bitten off.”

“She died about ten years ago” said Dunnin solemnly.

“Well,” said the Dragon in a haughty voice, “serves her right for spreading such lies.”

The dragon eyed her two prisoners carefully. The dwarves squirmed under the intensity of her amber stare. After a moment, the Dragon began to slowly speak. “Well… what shall I do with you two?”

“Er, not eat us?” suggested Dunnin with which was reinforced with vigorous head nodding from Gunni.

“Blah!,” said the Dragon as she wrinkled her long gray nose and stuck out her tongue in disgust, “I would have to agree with you on that one. Dwarf meat isn’t very good.”

The two dwarves breathed a sigh of relief in chorus.

“But,” continued the Dragon as she spread her wings, “since I can’t having you spreading more lies, or having you tell all your friends about my home that you so rudely stumbled upon…” The Dragon bolted into the air and rose very quickly above the mountain. “…I will just arrange for a bit of a climbing accident for you two.” With that, she released her clasp of the two surprised dwarfs. The last thing the dwarves saw was the dragon hovering in the air as they quickly fell away.

The air was crisp and clear. It was a perfect day for catching bugs, or at least the blue bird that had just landed on a patch of soft brown grass thought it was. The patch of soft brown grass began to moan and move. The startled blue bird took off into the bright mountain sky.

Dunnin and Gunni moaned and slowly arose from the mountain valley meadow where they were lying. They looked at each other with quizzical looks.

“Dragon?” asked Gunni weakly with a confused expression. Dunnin nodded.

“But… we fell… didn’t we?”

They both looked up to the sky, but it was only filled with a brilliant shade of blue.

Halfway up the mountain a large gray boulder snickered to itself.

“Why do you bother yourself with messing with their minds?” asked a smaller boulder off to the side. “It not as if they are a threat to us.”

The larger boulder just continued snickering to herself.