The Ousting of an Emperor

In a far-off land where the skies were always blue, the plants always green, and the people always confused because they couldn’t understand how the plants stayed green without rain, there lived a farmer by the name of Norman.

Farmer Norman was a very content man. He had his beautiful wife, Beatrice; and he had his two-year-old daughter, Margie, who was a delight to the world. The three of them made a very happy and lovely family. They had a companion who lived with them, too: an old sheepdog named Emperor. He had served them well for many long years, herding Norman’s sheep from pen to pen, and lending his furry shoulder if ever anyone needed to have a good cry. But one day, Farmer Norman decided that Emperor was getting too old.

***

Beatrice’s voice was loud in the kitchen as she argued with her husband. The parents didn’t worry about waking Margie. Perfect children never wake from their naps before they are called, and Margie was a perfect child.

“Norman, Emperor has been loyal to us for over fifteen years! You can’t shoot him, you simply can’t!”

Beatrice was a very theatrical woman, and dramatized every situation with flagrant phrases and gestures. More than one piece of crockery had met its shattering demise thanks to her volatile moods.

Norman was very calm as he responded, “Beatrice, my love, it would be cruel to keep the dog alive any longer. He has no teeth left; he can’t even eat his food properly. He has served us well; he has served his purpose. He is useless to us now, my lovely wife. Tomorrow evening I will take him to the forest and shoot him, and we will bury him with a proper funeral.”

Beatrice, too upset to respond, burst into big, gloopy tears and ran from the room, trying not to trip over her absurdly long skirts. Norman sighed tiredly and sat down at the kitchen table, head in his hands.

Emperor, the faithful old sheep dog, was lying just outside the backdoor, and he heard the entire conversation about his impending doom. His ears hung low, and his face was sad.

Emperor stood up slowly, and then padded into the forest to see his best friend, a wolf named Goat. (Emperor had mistaken the species of the wolf upon their first encounter, and the name had simply stuck throughout the years.)

Goat was sitting quietly by the forest river, licking the blood of an innocent rodent from his chops and humming quietly to himself.

“Hello, Goat,” said Emperor in his soft, old voice, “I was hoping that you might be able to help me.”

“Hello, Emperor,” responded Goat. He took another moment to clear a final speck of blood from his forepaw. Goat was a very fastidious wolf. “I would be delighted. What can I do?”

Emperor sat stiffly next to Goat on the riverbank. His ears seemed to droop a little further.

“I don’t really know, Goat. I heard Norman talking with Beatrice today, and I think they are going to shoot me tomorrow. I am terribly old, you know.”

Goat nodded in agreement. Emperor was even older than he was. “Well, let me think about it for a moment. There must be some way we can stop them.”

“Goat, they think I am useless. How could we change that before tomorrow night?”

After a moment, Goat said, “Don’t worry, Emperor.” He grinned his wolfish grin. “I’ve got an idea.”

The two canines conspired deep into the night. By the time the dawn broke over the land where the skies were always blue, the plan was set, and Emperor was feeling much better about himself.

***

The next morning, Farmer Norman and his family went to work in the hay fields, as they were wont to do. Emperor made funny faces behind Beatrice’s back so Margie would smile. Perfect children always smile at funny faces, and Margie was a perfect child.

When his owner’s family finally took a break for lunch, Emperor looked to the forest a few yards away, and lifted his floppy ears at Goat.

Goat, barring his teeth, leapt from the undergrowth, and dashed toward the family. He growled and snarled ferociously, snapping his jaws at Norman, and tearing a hole in the first of Beatrice’s many skirts.

“Norman, Norman, it’s a wolf! Get it away! My skirt!” shrieked Beatrice, dissolving into tears.

Goat sprinted over to Margie and, careful not to harm her, took her gently in his mouth and ran back to the forest.

Perfect children never cry when being carried off by wild animals, and Margie was a perfect child.

Emperor ran after Goat, pretending to be fierce and agitated. He had learned well from his owner’s thespian wife – his acting skills were really quite remarkable. Before he’d grown so old, he’d sometimes thought of running away and joining a circus. But then again, Emperor had never heard of a circus traveling through the land where the sky was always blue.

***

Goat was smiling smugly when Emperor met him by the riverbank. Emperor would bring Margie back safe, and Norman and Beatrice would love him and cherish him and not shoot him. He smiled broadly, his big, pink tongue hanging down between his big, pink gums.

“Thank you so much, Goat,” he said. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Emperor moved forward to retrieve Margie.

“Actually,” Goat said, stopping Emperor mid-step, “there is this one thing.”

“What is it? You’ve saved my life – I’ll do anything.”

“The child.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“The child,” Goat repeated. “This child. I would like her. That is my request.”

Emperor gave a bemused half-woof. “Margie? I have to bring her back, Goat; you know that.”

Goat chuckled deep in his throat; the fur on Emperor’s neck stood on end.

“I don’t think you’re getting this, Emperor. I’m keeping her whether you like it or not – I’d just sleep better if I knew I had your permission. You are my best friend, after all,” Goat stated calmly.

Emperor couldn’t believe his floppy ears. Dreading the answer, he asked, “What do you want with her?”

Fangs flashed in the afternoon sun as Goat grinned that wolfish grin.

“Rabbits and chipmunks have awfully tough meat on their puny little bones, Emperor.”

Perfect children never scream when sharp teeth pierce their arms, and Margie was a perfect child.

Emperor took hold of Margie’s other arm to try to rescue her, but his slippery gums slid from her elbow to her wrist, and he lost her. His big, brown eyes watched in helpless horror as his owner’s precious daughter was torn limb from limb. Her blood spurted and sputtered and stained Emperor’s fur a hellish red. Goat put aside Margie’s fingers and toes as snacks for later.

Margie was a perfectly delicious child.

***

Beatrice hit the ground hard when she saw Emperor’s blood-stained fur. Norman shot the old, tried dog on sight in the land where the skies were always blue.