The Tales Of Fred And George: Chapter 6

Fred was a snake, green and glorious and quick. George was a turtle, mottled green and yellow and slow. They were friends, or at least one of them thought so.

But they both knew Bernadette, the sleek red racer from up the river who made Fred's tongue skip a slither whenever he thought of her.  They were a couple. Or at least one of them thought so. 

Fred was determined that Bernadette would see him for a sly smooth talker--the way he saw himself. But so far, his attempts to impress had been met with less than spectacular results. In fact, an outside observer might rightfully concluded that she didn't really know that Fred existed and when he thought deeply, that single thought crushed Fred's not-insubstantial ego.

How to get Bernadette to notice him? Toss that. How to get Bernadette to like him? He had tried to parade in front of his neighbors with her present. Failure. What he needed was for Bernadette to catch him in the act of some feat of derring-do! 

As he usually did when contemplating these deep questions, he went to consult with his friend George, who was idly circumnavigating one of the ponds formed by the handiwork of beavers in search for water bugs and small fish. And that was how most of George's days proceeded: wake, climb onto the log to catch the first rays of the morning sun, swim around the pond for lunch, another long stretch on the sun-warmed rocks with legs extended and then a quick nose around for dinner. 

Except when Fred happened by. Fred was one of the few sources of unadulterated excitement in George's life, so he always had time for Fred.

This time, Fred came to the edge of the slow eddy along the bank of the stream and gesticulated wildly to get George's attention, which involved waving his head back and forth in rapid movements and hoping that George noticed or at least heard his whispery voice from the shore. Finally George happened to swivel around and catch a glimpse of Fred's green dance on the short. 

"Hmmm?" he said, his mouth still full of cricket. 

"George!" Fred exclaimed. "You must help me, my friend. It is of the utmost import!"

George's heart managed to accelerate by a single beat per minute at the thought of his supreme importance. "Fred. Did...something...happen?"

"No, no nothing happened." Fred twitched impatiently.

"Oh." And George started to turn away.

"Nothing has happened yet. It is what must happen that is important." Fred quickly supplied.

"Oh. What must happen, Fred?" George queried, his heart accelerating yet one more beat.

"Well I don't rightly know, George." Fred answered.

"Oh." And George started to turn away, thinking where his next cricket might come from. Maybe by the tuft of dried grass?

"Wait! That's why I need your help. I need to know how to get Bernadette to be impressed with me. She's quite the fine red racer and I would like to know her better. You know, she would like me if she knew--if she saw how impressive I was."

"Hmmm...well, Fred, I don't know. What is so impressive about you?"

Fred was flabbergasted. I mean, this was his friend, right?

"I mean....I mean, I'm green....Oh...you were suggesting that I should I enumerate my outstanding qualities."

"Mmmm... yes, why would a snake of Bernadette's quality pay attention to you?"

"Well, really, George...oh, you did it again." Fred cocked his head to one side, his tongue flicking in and out idly. "Well, one, I am good looking." He struck several poses before his reflection in the still water at the river bank.  "Yes, very fine. Two, I am famous in this forest." 

Calling out to a passing otter in the river, he said, "Warren! Yes, over here on the shore. Warren, who am I?" "Why you are that snake that tricked me out of my second fish the other day!" answered the irritated otter. 

"See!" Fred exclaimed, "Famous among forest folk. Third, I slither swiftly." And he dashed around the base of the tree and then up to its lowest branches, so quickly that George lost sight of him. "Fred? Fred?" he called before he glimpsed Fred's form above him. "Oh, there you are Fred!"

"And, then, fourth and most importantly, I am clever and persuasive. Yes, very clever."

"Fred...how will you show that you are clever?"

"Well, I need to think about that bit. For someone as humble as I am, I'm not used to showing off or anything." And he went back to his thinking spot, high in the elm tree and George went back to his watching for crickets, nibbling of stream-side water cress and afternoon swims.

The next morning, when George emerged from the pond for his morning warm up session on the top of a handy toppled poplar log, Fred was nowhere to be seen. Not worried, George oriented his shell for best effect and lazily closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his shell and outstretched feet, and dreamt of slow swimming water bugs. 

Suddenly, whoosh, George felt the rushing of air on his belly and, opening his eyes, found he was sailing high above the woodland and the stream that meandered through it. 

"What? What?" cried out George in a croaking, plaintive voice and waved his legs ineffectivly in the air.

"Ah, hush! None of that. Keep your unimpressive mouth shut, you'll see your beloved pond again and I'll get my shiny coin that glints and glitters." croaked a voice from above, which, twisting his head about, George realized came from the black beak of Raven. Raven was was pumping his wings furiously to gain height.

George didn't understand. His mouth moved as he ruminated on the situation and finally, he had to say, "You do not eat turtles and we are not close friends to be joy-riding. So..." He thought more. "So...why are you carrying me?"

In answer, Raven banked to the left, which left George a little dizzy. Then Raven dived and George flailed his legs and opened his mouth wide in a wordless scream, wordless because turtles aren't really good screamers. Finally, Raven set George down in a grassy meadow clearing, released his claw grip on George's shell and hopped off to the side. Then, swinging his head, Raven looked to the left and the right with exaggerated care. When nothing happened at the first try, Raven tried again and let out a guttural croak. Still nothing. So they sat there in silence for almost one minute, before Fred's tiny green head popped up from the grass.   

"Where's Bernadette? She's late." Fred's looked around for a bit and then he shrugged and said, "Well, let's get on with it." And he rose up and rushed toward Raven and George aggressively. George was alarmed by Fred's advance and started to turn. Raven let out a sqwak and lept into the air, "Oh, bold sir snake, you have deprived me of my prize."

"Yeah, yeah." replied Fred. His tongue tasted disappointment and he grumbled, "She didn't come and I bet you still think you should be paid."

Raven circled overhead, "A deal is a deal. A deal is a deal. A deal is a deal. My gold shiny!"

Fred signed and called out, "In the crook of the ash. Help yourself." Then he plopped himself down on the top of a bare rock and addressed himself to George. "It was brilliant. Raven kidnaps you and pretends he will hurt you and I rush out and save you."

"But why?" George asked, not understanding. 

"Ah, that is the brilliant part. I invited the divine Bernadette up here for a picnic. The plan was perfect. Then Raven was supposed to drop you hear and threaten you and I would rush out and rescue you. When she saw that, she would see that I am a snake above the ordinary. Fred--extraordinary Fred--can rescue someone from the most dire of circumstances."

"But why?" George asked again. 

"What part of what I said did you not understand?" responded Fred, annoyed at himself for his plan's failure and at George for being his usual slow self.

"Oh, I understood. But why do this when Bernadette stopped by the pond to say that she couldn't come to your picnic today."

The Tales of Fred and George: Chapter 5

 Chapter 5

Fred was green and long, like a rather thin piece of vine-a snake. George was wide, flat with dark green hexagons inscribed on his shell with beige borders-a turtle. From the time that they spent together, you might assume they were close friends. Yes, go on assuming that.

Today, Fred was feeling unappreciated. Even though he was a fully-grown snake, it never seemed like the other animals along the river bank noticed him as much as he liked. There were some, like Bernadette, the red racer who slithered from upriver, whom he would dearly like to impress. 

What could a snake like Fred do? Well, he could ask his friends. Or rather, his friend. Or rather, George. He could depend on George. It was George, after all, who had remembered his birthday. It was George who was always nearby and who was rarely-well, never, really-angry with him. 

He would like some more friends. Really, he would! But it never happened. They were polite, but you could not say that their relationship was warm. “Maybe they do not want to be friends because I am a snake.” wondered Fred to himself. “Yes, because I am cold-blooded! Well, that is sort of rude!. They assume that because I am a reptile that it means that I am unfriendly.”

He mused to himself, his tongue flickering thoughtfully in and out as he thought about his problem. “Why do people want to be friends anyway? George seems to have lots of friends. Bob and Chuck are always coming over to chomp on the greens and discuss-very slowly-the latest gossip. Why does he have so many friends and I have none.”

Then he had an idea. It was so simple really. “If I was famous or important, then people would want to be my friends so that, if I was famous, they would be kind of famous, too! So, how can I be famous? Well, what do famous people look like?”

He slithered down the bank, through the roots of the trees, along the rounded river stones that marked the river’s edge, to where George was sunning himself on a log. 

‘George! George! I have a question.”

George’s eyes were both shut, but when Fred asked the question one of his eyes opened and then the other.

“George, wake up! I have a question.” Fred asked, his voice so excited by his thoughts.

“Yes, Fred, what is your question?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking. What do famous people do? I mean how do other people know that they are famous?” Fred asked.

George thought about it. In fact, he thought about it for so long that Fred thought maybe he had discovered a new talent for sleeping with his eyes open. But he knew George’s habits and was willing to wait a little bit longer. Finally, George blinked and then blinked again and then turned his head to look Fred in the eye. Finally, he spoke. 

“Well, if a person is famous, he or she is in a parade.”

“A parade?” Fred asked. His brain was already full of ideas.

George stretched out one of his front legs, and then the other. “Yes, Fred. They get dressed up and they are carried through the people. The people clap their hands and cheer and they wave. That is what famous people do.”

“Excellent! Excellent!” exclaimed Fred. “We must have a parade.” And he slithered away to make his plans.

The next morning, when the leaves were changing color in the early sunlight, Fred positioned piece of wood so that it balanced on George’s back. Then he wriggled so that his head lifted the shiniest, glossiest leaf which he had made into a sort of pointy cap on his head. Then, raising his head above the ground he maneuvered himself, using only his tail, up on George’s back and then up onto the piece of wood. 

“Hup!” he shouted to George. George knew that was his signal and started to walk along the river bank.

“Hello, friends.” Fred called out to a pair of chipmunks who rested on the bark of a fir tree. They nodded their heads at him and he nodded back.

“Ho, Bob and Chuck. See how I am riding on George’s back? Isn’t it amazing!” Bob and Chuck were so surprised by the sight of a snake riding on a turtle’s back that they could not never speak and their mouth hung open.

And so they continued down the path, passing animal after animal. Some greeted Fred and it made him smile. Others ignored him and he made rude remarks about them. A few made fun of him and he pretended that he did not hear them.

But then he saw Bernadette. She was the snake with most beautiful red stripes down her sides and her eyes were like pools of infinite depth. He wanted eager to impress her, so he pulled himself even straighter and checked that the leaf was sitting on his head correctly. 

“Hello, Bernadette. How stunning you look today.”

“Why, hello yourself, Fred. I see that you convinced George to give you a ride. And what is that on your head.”

“It was George himself who told me that famous people often have parades.”

“And what is that on your head?” she asked, coming closer to inspect more carefully.

“Well, George told me that famous people often wear new things-things that other people don’t wear but later copy.”

“You really listened to George carefully. I have no doubt, my silly Fred, that everyone will remember what you did today.” she laughed. “They will talk about you and tell their children and their children’s children the story of Fred’s parade.”

It was at that moment that a fox scampered out from brush near the bend in the river. George seldom moved quickly, but he was so surprised that he jerked to the left and plunged into the cool depths of the river, carrying Fred with him. A few moments later, Fred came to the surface, spluttering, his tongue pushing drops of water away from his mouth. Fortunately, all the other animals had scattered and did not see him slither out of the shallow water on to the shore. They didn’t see his leafy hat all sideways and covering one eye.

“George! George!” he cried out. “Did you hear that? She said ‘my silly Fred’! I am so happy!” But George had swum away down the river.

The Tales of Fred and George: Chapter 3

 

Chapter 3

Fred watched George suspiciously. Underneath that calm brown and dark green turtle shell, he was sure that he saw a glint of pernicious intelligence. Then it was hidden again under the slow, deliberate speech and careful movements. George’s body was still, his eyes were closed and his neck, tail and legs were stretched out as far outside his shell as they could stretch. The delicious feeling of the warm morning sun on their night-chilled bodies was one thing Fred and George could agree on.

Slithering his striped green body across the shale, he took an inspection tour around George’s still form. His forked tongue tested the smell of the air. Nothing.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.” the long sound of contentment from George was so low, that another person might thing it was a snore. Fred shook his head in annoyance.

“Come on, George, wake up! Time to move!” Fred insisted.

George did not move.

“There are things to do! Don’t you want to see your friends Bob and Chuck?”

A slight tremor. Slowly, George’s left rear leg began to slide in towards his shell. Then the right. Then the front legs bent in and George’s shell lifted off the ground.

“That’s it!” Fred encouraged him. “Bob and Chuck are heading towards the lettuce patch. They might get there before you. Early turtle gets the treat.”

George’s head slowly, ponderously swiveled until his eyes could clearly see Fred’s long body and his head raised slightly off the ground. 

“What...did you...say, Fred?” George asked.

“Oh my goodness!” Fred almost slapped his forehead with his tail in frustration. “How can you be so calm? Every minute you waste here means a mouthful of missed munched lettuce!”

Eventually Fred was able to cajole George into motion along the narrow dirt path that lined the river bank. Racing on ahead, Fred monitored the progress of the two other turtles, Bob and Chuck and then raced back to report to George.

“They are only a few yards from the lettuce! You must hurry.” Fred matched George’s ponderous pace down the path, ever encouraging him to greater speed. But little changed and finally, after a status check, Fred decided that desperate measures were required.

In the seconds between the movement of George’s front leg and the time when his rear leg moved forward, Fred slithered under George’s shell, braced himself against the rocks that lined the path and lifted UP.

“Oofff!” Fred exclaimed. 

“Whaa?” George wondered as he noticed two legs wiggling off the ground.

Fred pushed, bit by bit, until George’s body was a right angles with the ground. With one final heave, George tipped over onto his back with such force that he continued to roll over and over, down the river bank into the water. George quickly righted himself, his head poking above the water and with precise paddling, aimed himself downstream. 

“Yes, yes! That’s right, George. They are just at the patch now. If you hurry, there will be some left for you.”

Minutes later, George heaved his shiny body out of the water onto the muddy shore. Nearby, two other turtles of similar size and coloration paused their lettuce munching and raised their heads in greeting. 

“Morning, George.”

“Morning, Bob. Morning, Chuck.”

Fred moved over to where the two were sitting in order to estimate the remaining size of patch. Using his long, flexible body, he lay down in such a fashion as to mark off approximately one-third of the lettuce.

“Ummph.” (Fred’s mouth was full of the green grass and other plants) “Ah..George, I’ve marked off your fair portion. Hurry. They might step on me and I would be squooshed. But I’ll do it, for you, George.” He paused. There was no response. “George?” Still no response. “George?”

Exasperated, he finally lifted his head up until he could see over the greenery that lined the river shore. Nothing. He could not see George. Finally, he gathered himself and with a glare that he hoped would warn off the other two turtles, he lifted his head higher. “George!”

There was George, less than ten feet away. He wasn’t moving.

“George!” Fred was alarmed and rushed over to his friend. “George! Are you all right? I had to leave the lettuce, but I think they won’t eat it until you get there.”

Then he heard it: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.” George was snoring in a patch of sunlight.

“Arrgh!” Fred rolled his eyes to the sky. “George, George. You’ll never get anywhere in this world.”

The Tales of Fred and George: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was a few days later that Fred, sitting up on a low tree plum tree branch from an old ranch, noticed that George was unusually agitated, especially for a mature turtle. George’s head was swinging from the left to the right. HIs tail was coming out of his shell and then pulling back in. 

Fred slithered down the gentle slope of the trunk and over to where George sat in the shallow water. 

“George, my friend, what is the matter?” Fred asked, genuinely curious about the green-and-brown patterned turtle’s behavior.

George did not respond immediately, but this did not surprise Fred since he was used to his friends nearly glacial reaction time. 

Finally he spoke, “Today is my friend’s birthday.” 

“Well that is great.” said Fred cautiously. “You are always good at remembering the important days for all of your friends. Birthdays. School holidays. Why, I remember when Bob was starting fishing school and you were the one who walked with him the ten yards upstream to the Old Pool.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” repeated George. “But today I did not wish my friend ‘Happy birthday!’ I am sure he will be upset if no one remembers.”

“Well, George, who is it?” Fred asked, genuinely curious. “I am sure that you have time on this bright, sunny day to find him or her if you start now..”

George turned his head slowly and smoothly until both eyes were focused on Fred. “Oh, Fred, can you go with me.” 

Fred hesitated. 

“Please, Fred.”

How could he refuse? “Of course, George.” he responded after a few moments. “Umm, which way should we go?”

George swiveled ponderously to the right, upstream. Then he turned just as slowly downstream. Fred’s tongue flickered in and out of his mouth impatiently.

“Downstream.” George ventured. “Yes, downstream. I am sure.”

So they began their slow, mismatched journey down the river path. Sometimes, George would enter into the water and swim and then come back out. He seemed almost graceful there. Other times, Fred would slip ahead, peering around each corner and climbing up every twig and low branch.

Finally, they came over a small rise at the center of a small chunk of land that stuck out into the river, forcing it to divert its course along a much longer path. Down in a clearing below them, Fred could see a few of the other river animals gathered under a low-rising willow whose roots were evenly divided between the river and its bank. As they drew closer, Fred could see the two other turtles, Bob and Chuck, as well as Bernadette and Chloe, who were other neighborhood snakes. There was even a family of river otters that had moved into the neighborhood for the season. And, of course, Oscar, the white egret was wading in the shallows.

“Well, here we are, George.” announced Fred as he and George finally arrived in the clearing, among the other animals. “Now you can wish your friend a happy birthday. Which friend is it?”

George, never one to rush things, stopped and looked at each of the gathered animals carefully, as if checking their identity. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Fred.

Fred was worried and he darted to and fro among the others gathered there. “What is it, George? Is your friend not here?”

George shook his head gently and then spoke with a strong voice and a measured pace. “Fred, let me the first to greet you. Happy birthday, my true friend!”

“WHAT!!!!” Fred shouted in surprise.

“I have been waiting for this day. I did not forget. It is your birthday.” George said.

Fred laughed in delight. “I forgot completely. But of course you did not, because you are George.” He shook his head, and if snakes could have years, he would have shed a few in the joy of that moment. “Yes, it is my birthday. Thank you!” At that moment he felt a little embarrassed because he had not always been a good friend to George. 

“I did not forget.” George affirmed with a nod. At that, the other animals shouted a chorus of happy birthdays and each came forward to congratulate Fred.

“I did not forget, my friend.”

The Tales of Fred and George: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Fred was a snake, green and long who traveled like a moving letter ‘S’ George was a turtle, covered in a beautiful protective shell. George was slow of movement and thought, while Fred was clever but not wise. 

So it was that a raven traveled through their forest, collecting bits of twig and twine and bangles and jangles trailing and secreting them away in places only he knew. He was a collector, and often he would trade what he had for the new, exciting and different. Sometimes, he offered bright coins for what he had not. George chewed his precious grass, and meandered among the wide spaces between the forest trees. Every so often he would lift his head at the sound of the raven wings, and gaze at the black bird’s flight above even the tallest tree.

Fred’s eyes were captured by the bright coins. He had food, yes. His hollow, where he curled up at night was safe. But the coins drew him. He observed how the raven would offer them for what he did not have. It made Fred feel that there must also be something he did not have. Perhaps, if he had a coin, an entire world of glittery shiny somethings would be available to him. But only if he could just have coins to trade for them.

So one sunny day, full of the smells of spring and the sun which called the flowers to grow, he decided to bring up the topic of coins with the raven.

“Mr. Raven, sir, how do you do?” Fred offered, cautiously. 

“Quite well, sir. The light glistens on the tips of the grasses and sparkles on the creek’s current. It makes me feel sure that the world is full of treasures to find.” The raven shifted its wings and turned its glossy black eye on Fred. “Don’t you find this to be true?”

Fred didn’t know how to respond exactly, so he plunged on, “I see that you have quite the collection of shiny bits and bangles. It seems to be a hobby of yours.”

“Yes...yes, it is. I bring them out, shine them up, admire how light reflects on them, and then tuck them away.”

Fred continued, “But there is one type that is different. Most seem so admired. But this other type--well, you dispense with them so freely, even though, to my untrained eye, they are just as golden and shiny as the rest.”

Raven favored his other foot and seemed to inspect his wing. “Ah, you have seen the coins. My friend, these are the tokens of my esteem, for I only trade them with other--shall we call them collectors?--who have found the exceedingly rare item.”

Fred’s red tongue flickered in and out for several seconds, as he thought, because he really wanted the coins but did not know what would be valuable enough to earn the Raven’s coin. Finally, he ventured, “Have you seen anything here, in this corner of our woods, that is sufficiently rare to attract your attention? I could help you, for I know this land well, and perhaps we could arrange a deal.”

If ravens could smile, this would have been the time. Instead, he took his time and swiveled his majestic black head so that his eyes could take in all around him, as if looking for such an item. But in truth, he already knew what wanted. So it was that his gaze fell upon the slow moving form of George, basking in the warmth of the sun on a rock near the edge of the creek. 

“Ah, yes. I have heard that the inner side of the shell of a turtle, if properly polished, shines in a rainbow of colors. But I have not been able to add such a shell to my collection, for the dear turtles seem decidedly attached to them, if you take my meaning. Why, such a shell would be worth more than a single coin--maybe as much as two or, I dare say, even three.” With his beak, Mr. Raven extracted such a coin from the depths of his features and the sight of it filled Fred’s visions. It took a few moments for him to recover.

Now Fred had never been able to determine why George needed his shell. Certainly many other animals seemed to get along just fine without the shell. And it seemed to him that much of George’s frustrating slowness of movement was due to his having to carry such a cumbersome item on his back all the time. So it seemed to Fred that he would be doing George a service by separating him from the shell. Oh, and he would get the raven’s coin too! 

Slithering over to where George basked, he went straight to the point, “George, would you like to fly?”

“Fly?” George answered slowly, his head coming up so that his eyes could see the fine form of Fred fidgeting on the short. “Fly?” he repeated.

“Yes, George, fly. Have you never wanted to soar through the air? LIke a bird?”

After what seemed forever, George’s face lit up with wide eyes, “Yes, Fred. I want to fly!”

“Good, good. You just leave everything to me. Do what I say and you will be the world’s first flying turtle!”

It took the rest of that day for Fred to convince the beaver at the pond (for the price of one fish) to lend him a sturdy branch and position it on rock at a angle. Then he went in search of George.

“George!”

George was downstream a bit, just exiting from the gentle current of a wide place in the creek. He lifted his head slowly, looking around in an arc. “Fred?”

“George, would you like to fly?”

“Oh, yes, Fred. I would love to fly. Up in the sky!”

“Come with me. I can help you fly. The beaver helped me set something up for you.”

So George trundled after Fred, upstream to where one end of the log rested against the ground. 

“You just climb up here on the log. Then, you should give me a few minutes, but you will certainly fly.”

George climbed slowly up the log. He was no stranger to logs, since turtles often rest on sunny branches and logs in the creek when they want a bit of warmth. Soon he was ready, and called out Fred’s name.

In the meantime, Fred had climbed up to the other end of the log. “Ok, George, here we go!” And he looped his tale around the log and dropped. But he had badly underestimated the amount of weight it would need to make his impromptu teeter-totter to work. Eventually he convinced the beaver to return and slap his tail against the log and George was flung into the air.

As the beaver slapped the log, the one end of the log jerked down and the other end, where George sat shot into the air, pushing George himself up in a wonderful arc. “WHEEEEEEE!” he shouted in pure joy. 

Fred slithered after him, hoping that the impact would jar loose George’s shell from his back. But when he got to the place where George should have come down, a rocky beach along the creek bed, nothing happened. Fred scanned the sky, dumbfounded.

But there was Mr. Raven, cawing in laughter. In his claws was George. “Foolish little snake. Why give you coin when I can take this turtle for myself.”

“No! George! No.” George himself was unaware of what was being said, he was still so enchanted with flying. “I CAN SEE FOREVER!”

“Mr. Raven, you are a cheat. You take what is not yours.” But Mr. Raven ignored him and continued to circle Fred and taunt him, sometimes dipping down to come almost within his reach and other times climbing up near the tips of the pepperwood trees.

Fred scrambled back up the shore to where the log rested. Promising yet another fish, Mr. Beaver maneuvered the log back in position and Fred put a rock on the other end. At just the right time he shouted “Now!” and Mr. Beaver slapped his broad flat tail against the log, shooting the rock into the air. Mr. Raven squawked in surprise as the rock tagged him from behind, and he let George fall.

“I’M FLOATING!” George shouted (as loud as turtles can shout, which is really not very loud), “I’M SO HAPPY…..glub.” That last sound was what he said as he hit the water. But a few minutes later he popped his head above water and made his way to shore.

Later, as he sat munching grass and meticulously tucking each leg within his shell, he turned to Fred, “Fred?”

“Yes, George.”

“Thank you for the best day ever.”

The Tales of Fred and George: Chapter 1

 Based on stories that I told my kids

Chapter 1

In the forest lived two of the strangest friends you ever would meet. Fred was a snake, long and green and shaped like the letter ‘S’ with two dark eyes and a tongue that flickered out of his mouth. George was a turtle with a rough shell and a slow, careful walk. On some days, you would have a good reason to doubt that this snake and this turtle were friends, and you would be right.

One day, on the path that went through the trees of their forest, Fred heard people say that you could sell a turtle shell for money. He didn’t know about money, and he wasn’t sure what he needed it for, but these people seemed very impressed by it. 

“George doesn’t really need that shell.” he told himself. “He lives a very safe life. Everyone is his friend and he doesn’t walk fast enough to hurt himself, even if he trips and falls! Much better to let me have it. I think he will grow another. And I...I will give him some of this money they talk about it. A win-win situation.” So Fred created a plan.

George was munching his food near the base of a low oak tree when Fred found him.

“George.” Fred announced.

“Yes….Fred.” George answered deliberately, one syllable per chew.

“Today, you should climb this oak tree with me.” Fred spoke quickly, words tumbling out. “The view is better up there, and you can see all of the other trees and the pond and the stream. It is so beautiful.”

George considered that for several moments. “I don’t know….I’m not a climber.”

“You are a champion climber. This oak has low spreading branches. See how the trunk has fallen over, almost like a tree highway. Just right for a turtle like you. See?” Fred slithered up and down the branches to demonstrate how easy it was. “Just follow me. We will go slowly. And it is so beautiful at the top. And, oh, there are some special plants I just know that you will enjoy up there, on one of the branches. I saw them there myself just a while ago.”

George looked up skeptically, but he did want to see the pond and eat the special plants, so he cautiously put up one leg on the base of the tree and then another. Fred became excited and raced up the trunk, taking branch after branch until he rested on mere twigs. On those twigs he had placed luscious grasses and George’s favorite delicacies. When George got out that far, his weight would cause the twigs to break, he would fall to the ground and pop! His shell would come off. “No, he won’t really be hurt. That’s what the shells are for, right? To protect him from falls like that.”

So George followed Fred, turn after turn, fork after fork. “There it is!” Fred shouted excitedly, his tongue aiming at the pile of grasses. And truly, George could see it, and he could smell it, and he was growing tired with all of the exercise. His legs required careful placement to maintain his footing. Now he was as excited as a turtle could be. “Yum!” But just as he got near to the grasses, on the last twig, suddenly he lost his grip and his footing gave away, two legs on each side. Scarily, he was balanced on a branch, barely able to move for fear of falling to the ground. But that branch was sturdy, so George was stuck, but stable on that branch. “He needs to move just a few more inches, on to that twig and then it will surely break.” Fred thought to himself.

Then he tried to push, but all he did was scrape his scaly body on the rough bark of the oak tree. Then he crawled onto George’s back, and tried jumping up and down, trying to dislodge him or cause him to lose his balance. Oh, how George wobbled, and rocked until his stomach felt funny. Finally Fred crawled over George, on to the twig where the grasses rested and gripped George’s head with his tale. Then he pulled and pulled until CRACK, the twig cracked and Fred wailed “Help!” as he fell down, down down to the ground. The grasses floated down and landed on his head.

The second CRACK caused Fred to look up, only in time to see George waving his legs wildly as he too fell, but it wasn’t too bad because he landed on all that grass and on Fred. Fred had a headache, but George munched happily. “Thank you for the grass. It’s yummy!”