How the Warhog got its groove back

A Warhog appeared on my front lawn today. Perplexed at what it could possibly want (and also the fact that it had clearly strayed miles away from its natural habitat-for Warhogs, as we all know, only live near battlefields, and the area around my house had not been one since the Great Shoe Cataclysm of '05), I proceeded to ask it questions.

Coming up from its right flank, I made sure to position myself in its blind spots, as Warhogs are prone to attack those who stand directly in front or behind them. I had learned that in 1st grade, the same year my teacher left for the great war.

"What," I said in what I hoped was a good baritone, "is your favourite tuna flavour?" Now this question might appear to be only superficially linked to my original intention to find out what the animal was doing on my front lawn, but any who have taken the deep-thought meditation lessons by the monk Po Shin Tzu (who also left for the great war) in the Tibetan village of Dru Mai Fing-hos will know otherwise.

The Warhog merely ignored me, it seemed to be fixated on my upper floor window. Its slimy eyes were secreting a gooey solution. I repeated the question, this time holding my hands up high, without realizing that I was still standing in its blind spot.

Its blind spot saw me and tried to alert the Warhog. Foolishly, before leaving for the war my teacher had never taught us that Warhogs had sentient blind spots. Luckily the Warhog still seemed preoccupied with my upper floor window, to the point where it suddenly stood up on its hindquaters and began to snort an unearthly yell. I cannot quite describe to this day what it sounds like, save to say that it would not be surprising to open the beast's leathery stomach only to find an entire litter of kittens being beaten up by a grand-mama.

I should be thankful that the shoe salesman arrived, at that moment, for his daily rounds. He stopped right in front of my house, and did not even pay attention to the Warhog, who at that moment had slowly moved forward, stepping on my venus fly traps and rose bushes. "Good day sir", said the salesman, "your son's shoes are ready." The blind spot, moved slowly above the Warhog and focused itself on the salesman.

Then it started to twitch between me and the salesman, apparently confused as to which threat was more immediate to its still-braying master. Astonishingly, all of this became a moot point when the Warhog leapt into the air and crashed through my window.

"My God!" I yelled, perplexed. "Why on earth would it do such a thing?"

"Egads man!" Answered the salesman, panicking and dropping my son's shoes. "I've only ever seen that reaction during the Great War itself. Run!" Following his own advice, he became a black speck upon the horizon of my neighbourhood within seconds.

I quickly bent down to pick up the shoes and ran inside. The warhog was now in my son's room. Climbing up the stairs as fast as I could, past the picture of the monk in the hallway, I stood at the door. My son was sitting on the floor playing with his toy soldiers, many of which had large silver shoes, seemingly unaware of the great lumbering beast gazing intently at the toy soldiers.

Very carefully I tip-toed into my son's room, trying to avoid the Warhog's intense stare. The feverish beginnings of a plan began to formulate in my mind even as I trembled in fear. I placed my index finger in front of my mouth to indicate to my boy that he should remain quiet. With my other hand I very carefully lifted his new shoes out of their box. Reaching my son, I grabbed him with one arm and watched as the Warhog's glare followed the silver-shoed toys falling to the floor. I threw the real shoes out the window. Behold, it worked! The distracted Warhog oafishly jumped back down to follow this new prey.

Sadly as I reveled in my joy my eyes fell back on the windowsill and with dread I remembered that I had not accounted for the creature's blind spot, which floated back up to the opening in the room.

It was then, that my son moved back to the toys. "I must finish the war father", he said innocently, "only then will the beast be satisfied." He bent down and started to move the soldiers around. They looked like silly little men dancing round and round in their over-sized shoes. The blind spot was observing, like a dance instructor watching its pupil, trying to follow each move, each pattern on the checkered floor.

Moments ticked by like those strange mosquitoes that flutter around at summer camps but never quite seem to sting anyone. There was tension in the room, here in this little space where it seemed the fate of the world was to be decided by one child's whim. The blind spot frowned. Then it looked up in boredom. Then it stared at me as if pleading me to tell my son to finish up more quickly because it had other fronts to visit, other grammatical and semantic impossibilities to engage in.

"Sole," I called out my boy's name. "Sole, I think it's time to decide who wins." However it was clear he was in another world, consumed by his imagination. I moved in and tried to hurry along the proceedings, grabbing some of the toy soldiers myself. The blind spot clicked its tongue in sharp reprimand. I let go. Evidently this was a game for one.

My son at last pushed the soldiers into each other for one final joust. Some fell. Others stood victorious. The blind spot made some gesture that I could only interpret as nodding somewhat approvingly. It whistled. Its master leapt back up, still holding the mashed remains of a loafer in its gaping maw.

To my surprise, with a deft movement of its tusks, the Warhog saddled my son on its back. The blind spot tucked itself into Sole's front shirt pocket. My boy looked at me in fright as the Warhog jumped back down on my front lawn and galoped away.

Stupefied I watched the three of them round the corner of my street as they left. It only hit me then. There had been no cosmic battle deciding the fate of the world in my son's room. The Warhog and the blind spot were simply out on a recruitment drive. And Sole had passed the test...

THE END!