Ben - Chapter Thirty Six

Sighting the gurgling water, Besshield and her intrepid passenger would need to make their dash and steal victory from the river. The cold dish that is revenge would need to wait in the freezing mind before being served with a grin to melt that said dish.

Ben held on with his whickled paws and sat each finger between the storied long and smelly strands. He held tight and confident, to balance out the fear of falling tooth-first into the raging torrent.

Besshield moves forward with confidence and entered the river with a mocking series of pawsteps. From feet first, rear last and bum to top it all off. The wait to float was not too long and she was soon to be off all-fours. She ducked her chin in the water to ask for its kindness and forgiveness for this mockery.

The engines of this hound roared up and she pushed forward against the inquisitive water drops, which were becoming more inquisitive and choppy, like thirsty lobsters lunging forth at the drinkplank after a day of performing tricks with troupes I’d trained fleas. As a kindness, she would also transport these across and take her penny in the form of a back scratcher fashioned from a woodpecker.

As this perilous journey continued, the river was being owned and dictated. This respect kindly asked, was being afforded. Her nose would subside, then protrude out and draw and push, much like the large grey-slippies that sharted water only to return to their murky homes.

The shunting forward continued as strong pushes, with the two climbing over and ever increasing current. The odd invasive water droplet would harass Ben and attach to his eye glasses. This obscured the view and alleviated much dismay as a result. A rabbit cannot fear what they cannot see.

No sooner had Ben shifted his thoughts to and awkward exchange of glances with a dung beetle many years ago, had Besshield made good on hers and arrived at the opposite side of the gush. She strode up, tired but confident and thankful, lowering herself to release her passenger. Ben dropped like an apple and resigned, arms and legs draped out like an old leaf.

Besshield, being of a quiet nature, made her dash, with put puts and runt fluttocks emanating a hum as she went.