Then one day I came upon a Forest, the like of which I had never seen before, so deep and green and dark and grate-smelling it made those holes in my nose go super wide with sheer delite. O, the lite threw the Trees! The moving shadows when the wind wud blow! The millyun grate smells, such as water not far away! The wind in the hi part of the Trees, and sometimes a branch will crak!
All of the suden, I smelled Fox big-time. Then saw Foxes big-time. A hole other groop. Just like us. Only not. Compared to us they were (1) less skiny and had (2) no feer in eyes and (3) cotes of the pretiest red ever, a deep Fox lee red that made me ashamed of my own dul cote.
I told them my name and let them smell me, hoping they wud like me.
Which they did. They did smell me. They did like me. They tuk turns smelling and liking me.
I told them all that had be fallen me. They beleeved it about the Mawl. They did not beleev it about Fox 7. I cud tell. They looked at me funy. Then looked at each other funy.
Tell the truth, I wud not have beleeved me either if I had showed up and told me that.
Those Foxes were super nise. One came over all shy and out of her mowth dropped a froot at my paw. One dropped a gift of a part of a Berd. They showed me to a pond, where I drank so much they were slitely laffing.
And I woslike: There is no fud or gud water where I live.
One of them woslike: We kind of figgered.
Then, thanks to my habit of day-dreeming, I saw myself, in my brane, leeding my other Foxes to this paradice, one by one, threw FoxViewCommons. I wud show them the Gap. I wud show them the Fake Rox. If one was skared I wud say: Don’t be skared. And make a joke. If one was slow I wud give a push from behind with an enkeraging snout. If one was looking around all freeked out, I wud calm lee go: Fokus, fokus. If one was old, such as are Grate Leeder, I wud carry him or her on my bak.
Soon, in my mind, we are all safe lee there. And my other Foxes, looking at me with shy glanses upturned, are like: Fox 8, we cud not have been more rong. And they fan me with there fans.
I snapped out from that day-dreem to find the New Foxes regarding me with kind lee smiles.
When I told them my day-dreem, they were like: Cul. Bring your frends here, we can all live together very hapy. There is so much fud here it is like crazy.
Wud it be easy?
It wud not. It wud take Guts. But I have Guts. I once likked the tire of a Truk that was moving to see how it tasted, which the Groop teesed me about it, because hey Fox 8, why not wate until one found a Truk not moving, wud that not be easier?
Only too bad. If this was a buk, all it wud take is Guts, and I cud have done it. But no. It was reel life. For many weeks I tried to find my Old Foxes. My new frends even helped.
But no way.
We serched and serched but never fownd my frends, or even a trase of FoxViewCommons.
It is as if my beluvved Old Groop had fallen off the fase of Erth. (Gudby deer frends. I will not forgit you.) So now I live here. I have fud. I have water. I have frends. One frend is Fox SmallNose/Alert+Funy. She is prety. She is nise. These new Foxes do there names somewhat difrent, having werds in there names. These werds tell what is note werthy about each Fox. Like one Fox is known as Fox Complanes Constantly/Yet Nise. One is known as Fox WhySoHefty? My frend Fox SmallNose/Alert+Funy has a small nose, plus is alert, plus is funy. Hense her name.
Sometimes she is like: You are not all here, Fox 8. Come alive. Be hapy.
Yesterday she woslike: You have a sad dark view.
And I woslike: So wud you.
She woslike: Well, I do not want are Babys having a mopy dad.
To which I woslike: Wait, are we having Babys?
And she spun arownd, and did a hop-and-yip.
Hearing that gave me paws. I did not want to be the kind of Dad who is so mad he just skowls, and hense his Babys are like: Ugh, Dad brings us down, he does not find life gud, but only sits mad in the Den wile us other Foxes stare up at the moonlite, nuzzling close, moving our tale areas bak and forth the way we Foxes do when glad. I wanted to be the kind of Dad who, yeers hense, when thinking of me, are Babys are like, gud old Dad, he was always there for us, showing us with the old snout-nudge what is fud and what is not.
So asked myself: What mite somewhat retreev the old and hope full me? And replyed: Some ansers.
Which is why I am riting this leter to you Yumans.
I wud like to know what is rong with you peeple. How cud the same type of Animal who made that luv lee Mawl make Fox 7 look the way he looked that time I saw him? Wud a Yuman do something like that to another Yuman? I dowt it. Whenever I saw a Yuman, he or she was laffing wile smiling wile approching the Mawl. Sometimes one Kar mite hit another Kar and a Yuman mite be slite lee mad, but always, by the end, they are at least nise, and give each other the gift of a scrap of paper. Never onse did I see a Yuman hit another Yuman with a rok hat, stomp and kik that Yuman, then fling that Yuman, laffing when he or she came down in a puff of dirt with a sikening sound.
Maybe Yumans do that.
But I have not seen it.
I know life can be gud. Most lee it is gud. I have drank cleen cold water on a hot day, herd the soft bark of the one I luv, watched sno fall slow, making the wuds kwiet. But now all these happy sites and sounds seem like triks. Now it seems like the gud times are mere lee smoke that, upon blowing away, here is the reel life, which is: rok hats, kikking, stomping. Every minit with no kikking and stomping now seems like not a real minit. Do you get what I mean? It is like some frend who preveusly was nise suden lee says some crool thing and does this nip on your flank. Even when he goes bak to being nise, you will never feel exact lee safe. And meenwile your other frends, who did not get nipped, are troting arownd with hapy smiles, going: Fox 8, why so glum?
Preevius to lerning we wud have Babys, I felt, about Yumans: I brake with you. If you see me in the wuds, do not come neer. Stay in your awesum howses, play your music lowd, however you make it play so lowd, yap your Yuman jokes, sending forth your crood laffter into the nite. I will not approche you. I will just stay in my plase, skwatting low, fearful and kwaking, which is how you seem to like us Foxes.
But now, Babys on root, I do not want to feel that way.
I want to feel strong and generus. I want to feel hope full. Which is why, upon compleeshun of this leter, I will leeve it at that howse at the end of Clear Circle Way, where offen I see a serten rownd guy feeding Berds. His male boks says his name is P. Melonsky. You seem nise enough, P. Melonsky. Reed my leter, go farth, ask your felow Yumans what is up, rite bak, leeve your anser under your Berd feeder, I will come in the nite to retreeve and lern.
I am sure there is some eksplanashun.
And wud luv to know it.
Reeding my Story bak just now, I woslike: O no, my Story is a bumer. There is the deth of a gud pal, and no plase of up lift, or lerning a leson. The nise Fox’s first Groop stays lost, his frend stays ded.
Bla.
If you Yumans wud take one bit of advise from a meer Fox? By now I know that you Yumans like your Storys to end hapy?
If you want your Storys to end happy, try being niser.
I awate your answer.
Fox 8