Orton - From Lizards to Potatoes (1)

If you've been reading this blog for a while you hopefully will have gained an impression of the Sylvanian character. That we love family, friends and nature. It is the last of these I'd like to cover today.

Our love of nature can be shown in different ways. At one extreme we have critters like my nephew Orton's birth parents. Their dedication to conservation would seem to be paramount in their lives. 

I'm probably placed towards the other end of the spectrum since I'm not quite so "paws on". My morning walks through the local woodlands continue to be a delight; I like to soak in those natural elements. I'm convinced this connection with nature helped to inspire my music for the "Sylvan River" musical. My songwriting partner has notebooks full of poems dedicated to flora, fauna and the changes of seasons.

Other Sylvanians have a more practical relationship with the land. Some have allotments to grow their own vegetables, the excess supplying friends and shops. Those not having the time to work on such a scale often reserve a small patch in their own gardens. You see, we're not totally reliant on farms (such as that owned by the Timbertops) and small holdings within the county.

In my youth, our garden was kept neat by Mookie Dappledawn (*1). As young children, Merlin, Newton and I helped him a little - but Merlin was the most dedicated. These days, most of our garden maintenance is performed by Merlin's brother-in-law Denzel Dandelion, but we still maintain a small vegetable patch. Merlin grows his own herbs, and both he and Eliza like to grow their own root veg. A couple of years ago Orton, as their foster son, decided he would like his own even smaller patch, resolving to grow his own potatoes, fresh from the garden.

He is not always successful but he is a determined young bunny.

o 0 O 0 o

Since Orton Butterglove arrived on our doorstep, having been discovered as a stowaway on Captain Seadog's boat, he has become a solid, valued and much loved member of our family (*2).

From the wary little boy hiding in his hooded coat, searching for his relatives, he has become a confident young lad and he has become well-liked and appreciated by the greater community.

I'll give you a particular example as told to me by Merlin.

o 0 O 0 o 

Butterglove House had a visit from a member of the Sheriff's Department in the form of Constable Bobby Roberts. He had come to see Merlin with the hope of seeking his expertise as librarian. Specifically, this was to find out about an unusual creature that had been found in the rough ground near to the Spark Farm (*3). He had brought a photograph.

"It is wary of anyone approaching it," explained Bobby, "and I was hoping to find out what type of animal it is and how best to gain its confidence. It's not the best photograph as the creature seems to continually be changing colour."

Neither Merlin nor Constable Roberts had noticed Orton enter fresh from the garden, his friend Kimball Bayer trailing behind.

"May I see?" asked Orton.

Bobby regarded the two children for the first time, smiling. "It's police business, lad, but I don't see why not."

Merlin chuckled. "Orton probably knows more about rare creatures than anyone in Mellowdene."

"Really?" said Bobby whilst turning the photo over for Orton to see. The boy reached out and angled it to get a better look.

"You say it changes colour," said Orton. "If that is happening as I suspect, most people wouldn't recognise the creature for what it is."

"But you do?" said Merlin, proud at his boy's confidence.

"Yes. It's a schismasaur. A type of lizard. They're normally a single colour but if the colour is constantly changing it is preparing to split."

"Split?"

"Yes. When they are born they tend to be very pale but when they reach maturity they get to a point where they split into two siblings of different colours. When that's about due the skin starts to vary between those colours. The thing is - the actual split can only happen if the schismasaur is calm. If it is troubled, the colour changes become wilder. It shows how distressed the creature is. This photo is not a good sign. You'll need to calm it down."

"How do you know all this?" said Bobby.

"My mamma helped raise some in a sanctuary. I watched."

"How would you calm it down, Orton?" said Merlin.

"It needs to feel loved. It would be easier if I took Snorker to help with that."

"Snorker?" said Bobby, clearly feeling confused with all this information.

"A Snodgrass-Hepple Hog," said Orton, which didn't do anything to reduce Bobby's confusion. .

"It's our pet mountain hog," said Merlin. "He creates a sort of empathy, a sense of calm. He sort of 'spreads the love.'"

"Whilst making kissy noises," said Kimball Bayer, deciding he wanted to be part of the conversation.

 

 "May we go?" said Orton. "It's been a while since I've seen a lizard split."

Bobby Roberts shrugged. "I don't know what's happening here but you clearly think you know what you're talking about. Is it safe, though?"

"It's safer than if we did nothing," said Orton.

Merlin came to a decision. "Go wash the soil from your paws, collect Snorker and we can be on our way."

o 0 O 0 o

The four found the schismasaur easily enough. Its skin seemed to be undulating, changing hue in waves, alternating between green and the darkest of blues. It was clearly an agitated creature, walking in tight circles.

"Aw, it looks poorly," said Kimball.

"It shouldn't have got into this state," said Orton. "I'm taking Snorker to it straight away."

Constable Roberts was about to object but Merlin assured him that the lad knew what he was doing.

"Well, I'm accompanying him," said Bobby.

"Me too," said Kimball.

"In that case we all will," said Merlin, "but let Orton take the lead."

Snorker was already moving slowly towards the lizard, periodically glancing back to check Orton was nearby. Extending his snout the kissing noises began. They were more rapid than usual. The schismasaur paused in its pacing and gave the mountain hog a sideways glance as it approached.

Bobby Roberts would later report how he was enveloped with a feeling of calm, a gentle happiness and confidence that all would be well. The lizard was similarly affected. The skin changes became less rushed and erratic until they settled to a regular rhythm. The waves of colours would remain static for five or six seconds, then resume movement for a similar amount of time. Snorker moved even closer and extended his snout to touch the schismasaur. 

Something must have happened as both creatures briefly shuddered and separated. Orton moved to retrieve Snorker.

The schismasaur then gave a little shiver and sank to the ground with a happy sigh. Although its eyes remained open and unfocused it appeared to fall asleep.

"Isn't it lovely?" remarked Kimball. 

"I'd have to agree," said Bobby. "It is a handsome beast. Or at least, it would be if it stayed one colour."

"It will," said Orton, taking hold of Snorker and hugging him. "Great job, Snorks."

"What now?" said Kimball.

Orton inclined his head slightly. "I think we should move back. Do you hear that snoring? The schismasaur is about to split."

"Okay," said Kimball although he couldn't resist reaching out and touching the sleeping beast. "Good luck, Schizzy."

Bobby Roberts took hold of Kimball's paw and in so doing also touched the schismasaur. "You heard Orton. He's been right so far. We need to move back."

No sooner had they turned and started to move away the snoring stopped with a shudder. The silence was filled almost immediately with a short popping noise. A wave of air passed over Kimball and Bobby, like a vanilla-scented gust of wind, causing them to overbalance. 

They looked back. Where there had been one lizard there were now two lizards, side by side, still prone but stirring. 

They scrambled to their feet. One schismasaur was green and it watched Kimball with obvious interest. The other was dark blue and, as Bobby had commented, a handsome beast. One that showed a similar interest in the Policeman from the Sheriff's Department.

"Oh," said Orton. "You didn't touch it, did you? I just remembered. They might imprint on you. Sorry about that."

"Imprint?" said Kimball as the green schismasaur rubbed against him affectionately. "What does that mean?"

"In this case think it means that they will treat you like family."

"Oh! Might it want to come home with me?" said Kimball. "My mum and dad finally agreed that I was responsible enough to have a pet."

Bobby nodded. "I wouldn't mind a police lizard to accompany me on jobs. The colour's right..."

Merlin looked at his foster son. "Orton. Tell me what just happened."

"I think Snorker's kissy noises might have also affected Kim and Constable Roberts. Genuine mistake, pappamerle. They would be extra happy and it's possible the lizards might pick up on that once they'd been touched."

"Are you telling me that Kimball and Bobby Roberts are now emotionally linked to these creatures? Is that why they seem inclined to take them on as pets?"

"It's possible," said Orton. "They'd have to say, but it looks like they'd be happy about it."

o 0 O 0 o

They were happy about it. 

For their new family pet Kimball Bayer decided to stick with the name Schizzy. With his home adjacent to the grasslands Kimball has found Schizzy to be an adept runner and a great assistance in stopping the tiniest puppies from going astray or getting lost in the long grass. 

Bobby Roberts named his new companion Boysin Blue (foreshortened to Boyce). I suspect the wordplay was to reinforce the intent to use the schismasaur as a police lizard. Bisto Wildwood was amenable subject to Boyce's behaviour. 

Orton continues to visit both schismasaurs and their owners.

If you're wondering why I chose this particular example of Orton's expertise I will explain.

The lad doesn't have much opportunity to demonstrate his zoological knowledge. That had made him realise he wanted to develop other areas where his knowledge would be valued. When Merlin and Eliza had commented that they were unable to grow potatoes in their vegetable patch, Orton determined he would try to succeed where his foster parents failed.

The satisfaction he felt helping with the schismasaurs further inspired him. Despite his botanic failures to date he would grow those potatoes!

The question was - where could he find the advice he clearly needed? 

 

o 0 O 0 o

To be continued

* Notes:

1. See Time Capsule (January 2020)

2. See Welcome Autumn (September 2019)

3. See When the Sun Goes Down (September 2022)

Dog Days

Last time, when I was talking of the Sylvanian Olympics and some of our younger Mellowdene athletes, I mentioned Adam Maces as this young mouse has become quite an accomplished runner. It has since occurred to me that we haven't had any dogs taking an interest in this discipline. It struck me as odd because - as I have previously highlighted - we have a number of canine families living in the grasslands bordering the village and one reason they live there is because many of them enjoy running around in joyous abandon.

 

Recently I was at the dock snack bar playing a game of jindick with Owen Seadog (the place has become a popular location for board gamers). As I was wondering about the Olympics and why dogs didn't clamour to be participants I asked him for his take on the situation. He huffed as he considered his reply.

"I've never really thought about it, Jacky," he said. "I suppose it could be because we dogs like the freedom to run where we want to go. Change direction at a whim, enjoy how one's hair ruffles with the movement of air, the feeling of control in your body. No rules. We don't stick to a given path, don't time ourselves, try and break records or be better than our running mates."

"I see how that wouldn't lend itself to competition."

"That could be why," Owen nodded, "though maybe we Seadogs aren't the best to ask. Me and my brothers prefer the freedom of the waterways. A good sea breeze in yer snout. Now Drake has finished his academic work at the nautical college I expect he'll be joining his dad and the rest of us on the Marita May or at the docks."

 

Horatio's son Drake Francis Seadog had been at the college a few years, specialising in engineering as well as a range of other seafaring skills. He had been a live-in student, only spending holidays with his family in Mellowdene.

"My Cornel is interested in the waterside life but hasn't found his niche yet," reflected Owen. "On top of that, I think he doesn't want to offend his aunt and uncle."

After Owen was widowed, it didn't seem fitting that his son should live on a boat or in Dockside Cottage with his dad and uncles Amos and Irwin. It was agreed that Cornel could settle with his maternal aunt's family, the Paperbarks. They had an additional spare room for Owen when he wasn't busy at work - ideal as it ensured father and son could take advantage of that quality time. 

The Paperbarks run a stationers' shop. They craft their own speciality paper, mix inks, and deal with the bulk paper imported by the sea cats and transported to Mellowdene via the canal. Owen knew his sister-in-law's family hoped Cornel would join their business when he decided his career path.

Owen clicked his tongue. "I doubt my boy will take advantage of the Dog Days this year."

Dog Days. Yes, they are about due. And they had cropped up in conversation only a day ago.

o 0 O 0 o

My surrogate nephew, Orton Butterglove popped his head around the door to my living room.

 

"Are you free, Uncle Jack?" he said. "I've got some pals who'd like to see you."

 

I was curious so agreed. He opened the door more widely allowing three young dogs to traipse through before closing the door behind them.

.

There was Tam Tailbury, Fergus Hunter-Smyth and Kimball Bayer.

"Hello boys," I said. "How can I help?"

Orton opened his mouth to speak but Tam beat him to it, stepping forward to act as their unelected leader.

 

"It's about the Dog Days, Mr Butterglove."

Before I go any further I should give you a rough idea about these so called Dog Days. They are yet another canine tradition. It might be local to our region but it was adopted by our community long before I was born. They tend to be in the warmer summer months and they are occasions when a pup decides how they want to spend their life as a dog. It isn't age specific. Unlike most of the grassland dogs the Seadog family tend reject the majority of these traditions - especially in Horatio's case. His son Drake Seadog wanted to tinker with boats from an early age and that led him to attend nautical college. He didn't wait for a Dog Day.

Exactly how I could help with the three pups in my living room remained to be seen. I didn't have long to wait.

"Orton told us that you weren't always a songwriter," Tam explained. "That you used to work for the Henry-Lloyds doing office work."

"That's right," I said, wondering where this was going. "Henry-Lloyd Construction.  Do you want to know about what I did there?"

"Not really, Mr Butterglove," said Tam. That was telling me!

Fergus joined Tam. "It's just that you changed your job. We want to know if it was hard changing. If we say what job we want to do as part of a Dog Day we're worried what would happen if we changed our minds."

"Be stuck doing the wrong job," said Tam.

"I think my uncle Hubert would like me to join the Huckleberry family business," said Kimball,  "but I don't know if I want to. Yet."

"I think it relates to apprenticeships," said Orton trying to explain. "I think Tam and the others are worried that they'd have to stick with whatever job they chose on their Dog Day even if they changed their mind."

"I don't know what I want to be," said Tam, "so I don't really think I should choose yet."

Fergus looked at me. "I know lots of pups follow the family business but my mum and dad are singers. I couldn't follow in their pawprints as I can't sing for toffee." 

"It's true," said Tam. "Fergus is excused whenever we have howl choruses. He puts others off. Even Cornel. Mister Farthing lets him clap instead."

Fergus's parents - Nelson and Jeanette Hunter-Smyth - sing old standards and light operetta, sometimes touring northeast Sylvania. Whereas their daughter Rose-Marie shows signs of following in their pawprints, Fergus tends towards more rough-and-tumble activities.

 

The couple now have a regular slot at the Bear Pit Club on Wednesday nights. Finley Osborne says it is proving popular. If Fergus's voice was as bad as he claimed, he could rule out singing like his parents thereby reducing his Dog Day options.

The three pups waited expectantly, clearly hoping I had some obvious solution. I didn't. I wasn't sure how strong expectations were regarding Dog Day decisions. I didn't know if my answer was going to be of any use nor did I want to go against canine traditions. Yet whilst prevarication and procrastination aren't ideal, analytical postponement might help. 

"Do you have hobbies to help guide you?" I asked.

"I like making models," said Tam.

"Right," I said, rapidly thinking of assorted creative jobs. "Then maybe you should check out all the Mellowdene craftcritters. Like Durwood Chestnut. He works with wood. Rolf Billabong works with clay. There must be plenty you can investigate."

Tam slowly nodded. "Maybe. I'd have to do it properly though. Too much to investigate in time for this year's Dog Days."

Orton patted his friend's back. "There's no rush, especially with the Pause delaying ageing. Best to get it right."

Tam brightened. "Yes. I'm going to stay a pup as long as it takes. There will be loads of Dog Days to come."

"I could come with you, Tam," said Kimball. "I don't do models but it might be fun looking at what people do. Learning stuff. Maybe Miss Wildwood would let us off school early for the researching."

"I doubt it," said Orton. "Besides, you might miss something useful in class."

"Then it would be her fault if I stayed a pup for years," said Kimball, "taking so so long before I saw a job I might like."

"Do you really think we could blame Miss Wildwood for delaying our Dog Day choices?" laughed Tam.

I had to say something. "Do you really think your parents would fall for that? "

The three pups giggled. Even Orton's mouth twitched with barely hidden humour.  

"I think we're all going to put off Dog Day." said Fergus, decision made. "What about you, Orton? What would you do if you were a dog?"

"What - for Dog Day do you mean?"

"Yep."

"Well I like learning about the rare animals that my Mamma and Dadda keep safe..." - he paused, looking at me - "...but Pappamerle's library has got lots of reference books about them and a lot more."

It was touching how Orton wanted to balance his love for his parents and his foster parents.

"You want to be a librarian?" Fergus prompted.

"Erm... I think I'll be a pup too."

o 0 O 0 o

 

Owen Seadog was staring at me. "Daydreaming, Jacky boy?"

I smiled. "Thinking about Dog Days and something I heard from one of a few pups yesterday. I was given the impression that Cornel was one of the better singers in your howl choruses."

"Aye, he likes to sing. Pretty good at it too, though I might be biased as his dad. Why?"

"Does he like sea songs?"

"He likes most songs. What are you thinking?"

"You were wondering about him feeling a conflict with his Seadog heritage should he start to work with his aunt and uncle, a possibility given he hasn't found a nautical role yet. Who do you currently have doing your sea songs?"

"Family-wise Irwin does a bit, but young Oscar Marmalade has a couple of songs when we have to haul ropes at a steady rhythm. Are you thinking, Cornel...?"

"If you think he might be interested, I have a contact with the Purrchester Shantymen."

 

(Bing McClaw of the Purrchester Shantymen*)

 

Owen burst out laughing.

"What?" I said, "They are very good."

"It's not that," Owen chuckled. "It's the thought of Cicely Paperbark - Cicely Growling as was - and her reaction. She was surprised when her sister chose to marry me. What would she think if she heard her nephew sing, 'Drunken Dogs on a Sailing Boat' at the top of his voice? She might faint."

 

"In a dog daze?"

"Ha!" 

o 0 O 0 o

* Bing McClaw and the Purrchester Shantymen are the creations of my Sylvanian Collectors' Forum friend Florence Holiday. My thanks to her for the well-crafted shantyman clothing she gifted to me.