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-by MOTHER |
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It all started when my nephew Michael called me up and told me he needed an
elephant for a science fair project. Now, Michael may be 13 years old, but
he is a responsible and sober creature for his age. If he said he needed one,
then he needed one, and since he was my only nephew I wasn't going to let him
down. The logical thing to do was to call scientific supply houses. I tried
every one in the book, but not a single one had an elephant in stock. That meant
I was just going to have to go out and trap one.
This was a project that was going to require some serious planning, so I got out a pad of graph paper, a ruler, protractor and box of colored pencils; sat down with a quart of milk and half a chocolate cake and began to cogitate. Within an hour I had my trap designed and a detail list of supplies drawn up. I changed out of my chocolate-stained pajamas, into safari garb, washed off my milk mustache and donned my pith helmet. In a few hours I had all my supplies rounded up and loaded in my mini-van, and was cruising town looking for signs of my prey. I decided that the best area for stalking and trapping an elephant was the big grassy field behind the school. I scouted the territory, looking for spoor and telltale tracks. I watched for trees that showed sign of munching, and muddy watering holes. At last I came upon a likely spot. It was far enough from the baseball diamond so that I wouldn't get hit by fly balls, and placed strategically away from the swing set so that the merry laughter of active children would not distract the elephant. Here I constructed my cunning trap. I propped a grand piano crate up at one end with a floor mop, and attached a rope to the mop. I uncoiled the rope and stretched it some distance to a nearby tree, where I would hide, cunning disguised as a clump of forsythia. Then I baited the trap with a pile of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. All I had to do was wait. Waiting is the hard part. The sounds of the grassland lull you into a stupor; the whistle of the wind, the swoosh of the grass, the ribbit of the crickets, the creaking of the swings in the wind, all become so rhythmic you can easily lose the edge you need to jerk that rope the minute your elephant creeps into the box to devour the sandwiches. To keep myself alert at times like this, I have a little routine I practice. I recite the Gettysburg Address, each time dropping another word and substituting a mental clap for each of the missing words. I was up to "clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap fathers brought forth" when I heard a shnuffling sound. Sure enough, there was a bull elephant sniffing the air, his nose like a periscope. He was homing in on the sandwiches. He could smell the peanut butter; now, the question was, could he find it? The mighty figure stomped about, following his nose, until he approached the box. He examined it with some curiosity, but his greed overcame his natural reserve. He dived under the edge of the box for the sandwiches; I jerked the rope; the mop flew out and the box fell atop him, just like in my diagram! Quickly I leapt atop the crate, opened my bottle of chloroform and poured it through a hole I had drilled into the top of the box. Almost before he started thrashing, he collapsed, asleep. My elephant was caught and subdued! It was a simple matter to truss him up with a mile of so of rope, really secure, just in case the chloroform wore off. Then came the really clever part --- I'm really proud of this part - I pulled out four skateboards, nailed them to the top of the piano crate, flipped the crate over and voila! I had a wagon to bring my trophy home! I tossed the elephant into the crate, and using his trunk as a handle, pulled the "wagon" across the field to my mini-van. I knotted the trunk around my rear bumper and drove off in triumph towards my nephew's house, towing my prize. This is where I made my mistake. You should always tow with a rigid bar, because if you have to make a sudden stop... well, inertia and all that, the object you are towing keeps going even if your vehicle stops. And sure enough, I had to make a sudden stop for an ice cream truck making an emergency delivery to a Weight Watchers meeting. I slammed on my brakes; the crate kept rolling and slammed into me. I slammed into the ice cream truck; the crate shattered. The ice freezer blew up sending ice cream bars flying in all directions. The fat ladies started to riot at the sight of the unrestricted chocolate; the skate boards came lose; the ice cream man tried to grab handfuls of his product away from the hunger-stricken women; the sleeping elephant skidded into the crowd like a pinball, ricocheting off the ladies, bumpers, planks of wood, skateboards and three other cars that lost control on the now creamy street. I didn't think it was advisable to stick around. I put down the Chocodream Bar I was eating, grabbed the elephant and stuffed him into a passing cab. You know that old joke about how do you get 6 elephants into a Volkswagen: three in front and three in back? Well, they never used sleeping, tied-up elephants. I guess it is just easier when the elephants work with you. I gave the taxi driver my sister's address. My, he was surly. He shouldn't have sworn like that in Hindi; for all I know it was an Indian elephant and he might have understood and been offended. It wasn't like there were any springs in the cab to begin with for the elephant to break. When we got to her house I paid off the guy and gave him a good tip. Just because he was a bad sport didn't mean I was going to be one too. My sister wasn't home, but I rolled the elephant into the backyard and tied it securely to a tree. It was starting to wake up. I figured it might be a bit annoyed when it came to. It was, indeed. But it was making the most peculiar sounds, didn't sound elephant like at all. It sounded, uh, stuck. Of course! It had eaten all those peanut butter sandwiches and no milk! So I ran to the store, bought four gallons of milk and a baby's bath tub and put it out for him. Much better. My sister and nephew came home shortly after I got this straightened out, just as I was standing on the step ladder washing the last of the ice cream out of his ears. He looked all spiffy and clean. "Well, what do you think, Michael?"
"What is this?" Michael asked.
So I am writing to ask: does anyone have any more skateboards? I seem to have lost mine in the confusion... |
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