B-b-b-b-bo bo bobo bo!
Can we play a game?
Come on! It'll be fun~
Oh, hey, Bo I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, don't pout. I'll put my teeth away, see, all better! I'm not scary, Bo.
Bo! Bo! Where did you run off to? Nearly scared me half to death. Come on, dinner is on the table and getting cold without you. Oh Bo what am I gonna do with you.
…
Dinner is cold. The adults are acting strange. Or, not strange, they're just acting like adults, and adults are always strange. Cold mashed potatoes are a little gross. Ham is good cold. What game did the fox want to play? He put his teeth away. It was very polite of him to do. His teeth were sharp. A bit like how stars look sometimes. Sharp and pointy and cold cold cold.
…
This way! This way! This way!
The fox is good at finding shortcuts. His glossy caramel fur slips in between y-shaped twigs. You could make a whole alphabet out of twigs. If you could find an a-shaped twig. Or a g-shaped twig, that would be hard.
Keep up Bo, you don't want to be late!
The fox is on top of a log. He licks his paw and smooths a tuft of fur behind is ears. His snout is pointing towards the sun. Well, a sun lit spot. There is a big circle in the forest here. If you lay down here you'll warm up and drift off into a dream.
…
Cloud coverage. Deep deep under the sea. Slate grey, graphite grey, road grey. The fox is gone. His beautiful coat is not hung anywhere. Where are you, Bo?
…
That child belongs to us. Our prodigal daughter never came home, but we have a part of her here. We can rehabilitate him. He can learn to love us. He can learn to love this home.
…
This game isn't fun, Mr. Fox. It's cold. I want to go home. I want to see grandpa and grandma. Grandpa would have a story about this.
Well—and you'll want to hold on to your britches for this one—there was a little boy once. He loved to play games in the forest, especially with the fox. The fox loved to play games with the little boy. But the fox was a pushy sort of fox. He would ask the boy to chase him around the forest, over log bridges and shallow streams with slippery rocks. One day, the fox asked if he could chase the boy.
…
Bo! There is something behind you!
B-b-b-b-bo bo bo bo bo. What is it? Hazy, like a puddle of mist. Little drops of water fall out of the sky and slip down the bridge of your nose. You can't make out anything. But it feels sharp and cold and dangerous.
…
Come here Bo, grandma's got you. You're safe Bo. You're safe.
Joanna Scott, Make Believe. Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 2000. Koller-Collins PS3569 .C636 M34 2000.
