"A Not So Classic Fable Of A Boy And His Dog"

In a toy shop somewhere in the middle of America lived and worked a toy maker the neighborhood children called Mr. Mike. They couldn't pronounce his real name. He came from "Mother Russia", he called it. His home was high atop a mountain. When Mr. Mike told the children his name it sounded something like !@#$%^&*.

"Oh Phoo!" Mr. Mike grunted under his breath. He needed spectacles but refused to admit his vision wasn't perfect. As a result of this, another toy would be thrown on the wood pile behind his toy shop.

"Must be inferior wood." He grumbled as he tossed the second toy this week out the door. First a small dog and today a wooden boy. As he was returning through the back door of the old toy shop he noticed a neighbor on a morning stroll.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hardy." Mr. Mike chanted almost like a monk.

"Good morning, Mr. Mike." She politely returned.

Mrs. Hardy was a good neighbor who lived down the lane. She had been a widow for many years. At times she would have to struggle to keep her old wood burning stove full of fuel.

Mr. Mike knew this but, as a friend, he didn't want to embarrass her. He would say things like please, Mrs. Hardy, would you be kind enough to take some of this mess off my hands?

He would always make it seem it was she who was doing the favor. He knew the wood scraps he threw away regularly would burn hot and long in her old stove and keep her warm as toast.

"I see you have a fair size pile of wood this week, Mr. Mike." She smiled. "I'd be more than happy to load my old hand cart, push it down to my place and burn the scraps for you...seeing as how you're so busy and all."

Mr. Mike nooded an approval, took a tug on his pipe then returned inside his warm shop.

Mrs. Hardy's stove was burning red hot since she stoked the fire. She starts to examine the dolls that were thrown away, now atop the rack of wood she kept close to the old stove in her front room.

Mrs. Hardy was never blessed with children and she couldn't make herself burn the toys.

"Some needy child would love to have these toys." She muttered to herself. "Yes...even a lonely old widow like myself would enjoy having them around to talk to." She decided.

"Well my children, if you're going to be living in the home of Mrs. Georgia Hardy you will need a bit of cleaning and polishing." Sighed the old lady. "I'll make my new son a pair of respectable pants too...modesty will prevail in my home."

She decided to rub the dolls with lemon oil to protect the wood and it would also give them a pleasant aroma.

"This will put a bit of shine on you and it won't hurt a bit...I promise." Grinned Mrs. Hardy as she began to apply the oil.

As she rubs the dog first she keeps getting her hands and fingers scratched.

"What is this, you woolly pup?" She wailed at the dog. "Such rough wood you have, it's giving me splinters."

For some reason this just hit her in an amusing way. She decided then and there that Splinter would be the dog's name.

She picks up the boy and thinks how beautiful the wood is.

"But you are so scrawny...a wee shaver are you." She muttered. "That's it then...Shaver your new mother will call you."

After polishing the dolls and dressing the boy she decides to place them on a big sofa table in her front room. It sits in front of a huge window overlooking the street.

"There now...you can just sit there and watch the neighbors come and go." She giggled.

Weeks passed, not a day went bye she didn't fuss about with the dolls. She would talk to them while she dusted and cleaned, wishing they could respond. One evening as she was rearranging them a bit she held them close and pitifully wished they were really her children.

"I wish...there, on that falling star, you were as real to me as any woman's children." She tearfully wished. "Oh well...if such things were so."

She awoke the next morning to a clamor in the kitchen. Cautiously she arose, stepped first into her front room and began to slowly look around. She was horrified when she realized her dolls were missing.

"Oh no...someone stole my children!" She cried aloud.

Still hearing a noise she now creeps into the kitchen...

"Good morning, Mother." Remarked Shaver. "Did you sleep well?"

"Land 'O' Goshen!" Mrs. Hardy exclaimed. "I must be still asleep. Yes, that's it...I'm dreaming."

"No Mother, you are awake." He replied. "I don't know what happened but Splinter and I can walk, I can talk and Splinter can bark and wag his tail. We are so excited we don't know what to do first."

"Ruff!" Barked Splinter enthusiastically.

"Oh Mother, we are going to do all your chores so you won't have to work so hard." He told her.

"It's a miracle from heaven...that's what it is." Said Mrs. Hardy.

"What can we do for you now, Mother" Shaver asked. "The dishes have been washed and the floors are swept." He made sure she noticed.

"Splinter is helping too by carring out the trash to the incinerator." Shaver boasted. "We will leave the burning to you...uh...you understand, don't you Mother?"

"Indeed I do!" Mrs. Hardy answered. "I don't want my new children anywhere near open flames. Fire is tempting because of the warmth and beauty but it's very dangerous...do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother." Shaver answered.

"Gr-r-uf!" Splinter yelped.

"Well now, let me see...are you strong enough to push a lawn mower?" Mrs. Hardy asked.

"I don't know, Mother, I've never tried." He answered.

"Oh well, there will be plenty of time for you to learn many things." She laughed.

The winter had been long and cold this year. Though spring was officially here it was still cold at night. The days were warming up more and more each day. Tiny starts of spring flowers were already peeking their heads up through the earth. The grass was ready for the first mowing this year.

"Come on, Splinter, we will clean up our new yard and make our mother proud of us." He excitedly commented.

Shaver explained to Splinter that he should pick up all the paper trash and carry it back to the incinerator. Meanwhile, Shaver would approach the lawn mower, slowly, and try to figure out how it works. Considering he didn't even know what a lawn mower was he didn't do too badly.

"Well Splinter, I'm not sure what it is supposed to look like but we worked so hard...it must have been done right, don't you think so?" He asked.

"Ruff!" Barked Splinter wagging his long whip-like tail.

The yard was a maze of zigzags.

"What shall we do next, Splinter?" He wondered.

"Splinter? Splinter? Splinter! Where did he run off to?" He asked himself.

Shaver found Splinter romping with a small spotted dog close to their neighbor's fence. They tumbled, rolled and generally were having a gay old time.

"Where does your new friend live, Splinter?" Asked Shaver.

Though Splinter can't actually talk, he could make clear what he wanted. Quickly, he jumped up and pointed with his tail, much like an Irish Setter would point to the birds for a hunter. He indicated to Shaver the spotted dog lived next door.

Shaver told Splinter it would be best if his new friend returned home until they finished their chores.

"He could get hurt on some of the lawn tools...do you understand, Splinter?" He asked.

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