Mr. Fox was currently standing over the stove his root stewing in a pot of milk. Soon it be soft enough and Mr. Fox would have his soup de strong root, only needed to wait another few minuets, then he'd start crushing it into the milk. Miss. Fox was standing against the door frame leading into the kitchen, partly to watch over her husband, partly to keep the boys out, and part to make sure her kitchen didn't go boom. Miss. fox smiled at that last thought. Mr. fox, the fantastic fox, capable of robing a man blind in a single hour, could not cook to save his life, how had turned a simple pair of sunny side up eggs, into a black soup was beyond either of them, and since the couple had agreed never to let Mr. fox in the kitchen cooking without some one watching out incase of an emergency.
Mr. fox whistled a familiar tune as he tock a potato masher and began grinding and crushing the root into a mush pile while simultaneously stirring it into the milk, watching as it dissolved. Finally it was done. Mr. Fox smiled as he reached for a ladle and got a large spoon full. Mr. Fox grimaced slightly at the next part. Putting the concoction to his lips he closed his eyes and quickly gulped down the ladleful. The taste was horrible like week old socks mixed in with a rotten salmon, how his grandfather chugged this stuff down daily was beyond him. soon hi 'cup' was empty and Mr. foxed stood letting the warm felling that came with his drink flood his senses. One ladle down, a hundred to go.
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