The little boy ran up to the cage at the zoo. “Mommy! Mommy, look!” The little boy pointed inside the cage. “Yes, I see.” The mom smiled “Do you know what animal it is?” “A monkey!” The boy exclaimed. “That’s right! Good job.” The mom paused. “Hey, buddy. Mommy has to go to the bathroom. Can you wait here for a couple minutes?” She asked. “Yeah.” He said. “Ok I’ll be back.” The mom left. Now it was just the boy and the monkeys. The boy looked into the cage to get a better look. One specific monkey seemed...off. The boy stared that monkey down. He was a bit larger than the rest and he was making direct eye contact with the boy. They kept staring at each other for quite some time until- “Monke.” It said. The boy squealed in terror and ran to his mom.

She was but 6 inches tall. I’m sorry, 6 and a half inches tall. A human, but much smaller. Standing in the middle of the keeled over, split branch where she made her home, she swept excess dust towards the edge. Moving the leaves she had hung up for privacy to the side, she gently pushed the dust pile out of her house and onto the forest floor beneath where it would be naturally recycled. “Knock, knock,” a familiar voice came from the entryway. “Mr. Frog!” She cried excitedly, spinning around towards her friend who was making his way into her home, “So glad you decided to come by today. Bringing anything good with you?” “Wren, do I ever come to your house empty handed?” He asked, bringing his left hand to his front to reveal a large acorn husk with the cap on, but not tight enough to conceal the fermented honey water that had sloshed up during his hop over and was now oozing down the sides, gleaming in the midday sun. Wren licked her lips, “No, Frog, you always come strapped don’t you? Well go on ahead, I’ll grab the mugs you made me and meet you at the perch, just have to finish tidying up!” Frog nodded and hopped away. After a quick brush over the room, Wren grabbed the only two cups she had, smaller acorn husks, and ran out through her leaf wall, down the makeshift path down the dead tree, and onto the stepping stones below. She hopped from stone to stone following her friends footprints to the soft path through the cattail reeds and up onto a tree stump conveniently located halfway in the lake. She could see that Frog had already taken a few sips of his famous concoction and passed him a mug before eagerly holding hers out to be filled by the golden goo. Frog tilted the container to let the honey water make its way out, filling their mugs with the beautifully bright sun shining through the semi-opaque liquid. Wren had known Frog for as long as she could remember. He was her closest friend and they did not need to fill the quiet, calm space between them with conversation. They sat, their legs dangling off the side of the stump while water bugs and tadpoles danced in the shallow water, taking drinks from their mugs and enjoying the warm fuzz that slowly blanketed over them as the effects of the honey kicked in.
The sun was setting quickly now. The first of the songs started from the bank opposite of them, a lovely feminine voice croaking a song of longing. “Care to dance?” Frog asked. “Why of course.” replied Wren, far too familiar with the routine, but always eager to enjoy it after a mug of honey. She stood on her toes and waited. Frog hopped onto the broad cap of a mushroom that had recently sprouted atop their perch and laid on his back, looking up to the emerging stars above, coughed a couple of times, and began his deep sounding melody. Wren moved around the stump in smooth gliding motions. The music was much slower tonight than usual, and required a graceful step. As Frog sang and Wren danced and the sun set beyond the trees, lightning bugs emerged and sailed about the evening air. Almost every night was like this. Almost every night was perfect.

I went for my morning jog as I usually do, just after the sunrise. Even in winter, I have always loved running in the park, just until it meets the forest and then come back home, have my shower and drive to work. I love the silence of the early mornings, the sounds of the birds waking up while the rest of the world is still asleep. It always feels like I am the only human on Earth.

Also as usual, my Labrador dog, Zinnia, joined me. A nice run always pumped her up, just like it pumped me. I’d let her be free most of the way but when the forest got to close, I’d put her back on her leash. There were some wild animals around and I didn’t want to take chances. Zinnia would stand no chance against a bear, wolf or even a coyote.

I had always been very careful and Zinnia was an obedient dog too. There we were, running side by side, our warm breaths freezing in the cold air the moment we exhaled them. All was quiet, except for the birds and the sound of a soft breeze. My dog would love sneaking around if she sensed a rabbit or some other rodent, but the moment I called her, she’d immediately join me again.

That morning though, I was up to a big surprise that I could swear took some ten years off my life. As I kept running through the dirt road for joggers like me, Zinnia went sniff and suddenly darted from her spot, barking furiously as if she had seen the devil or some threatening creature.

“Zinnia, come here! Zinnia!” I shouted, speeding up my pace. She was still off her leash and the forest was too close for my taste.

But for the first time ever, Zinnia didn’t listen to me. She kept running towards the forest much to my despair. What could she have seen that made her act so furious?

“Zinnia, what’s wrong with you? Bad girl. Come back!”

I was now getting angry at her.

“No treats for you today.” I thought to myself.

That was when the whole world stopped. When I set my eyes on her light brown coat and what she had just a couple of metres ahead of her, I stopped breathing. My heart stopped beating. Panic invaded me and a chill down my spine almost paralysed my movements. Zinnia was standing before a huge black wolf with yellow eyes, a massive creature that was some three times bigger than her. It looked at her fixedly, showing no signs that I could possibly interpret as good or bad.

Zinnia kept barking. Then she moved towards the wolf.

“Nooooooo! Ziiiiiiniaaaaaaa!”

I shouted from the top of my lungs, believing that death was now a matter of seconds away from claiming her life. I ran even faster but I knew I wouldn’t make it on time. My dog would be transformed into mince for having been silly. And I was to blame for keeping her off her leash. Then the wolf did something I would never have expected in a million years. It raised its tail and stretched its front legs. It jumped back, eyes on Zinnia, who also jumped back. I stopped, panting, and observed the scene. They just kept jumping around in circles, on their toes, as if challenging each other. But no aggression that I could sense. They were... my gosh, yes, they were playing. They took turns every few seconds to chase each other. Sometimes Zinnia would chase the wolf, then it would chase her. A wave of relief washed my body and the weakness of the moment made me drop on my knees.

“Zinnia!”

She finally looked at me and came back. I looked at the wolf. It looked back at me, then turned its back as if I was too unimportant to be acknowledged, and disappeared in the forest.

“Naughty, naughty girl!” I scolded Zinnia when she approached, wagging her tail as if she had not given me the fright of my life. “No treats for you today, you silly.”

I put her on the leash, my heart still pounding, and we ran back home. I kept taking her with me every morning and even though we never saw that or any wolf again, I always kept her with me. Next time Zinnia might not be so lucky.

Tucker comes out of the barn after feeding what seemed like 20,000 animals, all begging as if he was some messiah some miracle healer. He comes into the pig pen with a sack full of food for the pigs when he notices that momma pig isn’t looking too good. “Hey girl, what’s the matter with you?” says Tucker “Nothing much, you?” says the pig.

Moths batter against the window, desparate in their desire to surrender to the light inside.

Annika looks up from the papers on her desk to watch them slamming their soft bodies into the tempered glass.

She rubs her eyes and sighs.

The work isnt done, but she knows she needs a break.

She lets the flittering of the moths purpose-driven wings lull her, her body slumping into the chair, days of stress melting into a puddle.

Pitti-patti-pitti-patti.

Pitti-patti-pitti-patti.

SLAM.

Annika leaps up and yells, "FUCK."

A large barn owl picks itself up from the ground in front of the window, and shakes itself off before giving a startled Annika a withering glare as if it hadn't just careened beak-first into the glass of her ground floor office.

Annika stares.

The owl stares back a few seconds before reaching it's wings to ascend into the heavy darkness.

"It's been a rough day for me too." Annika murmurs, her heart still beating it's rapid rhythm as if calling her blood to war.

"We've all been there I guess."

A monkey once went wild it ate a lot of bananas and turned into King Kong

Our cat likes to stay outdoors. He’s a black cat with a white nose. We called him KitKat as it was the first thing that came to us on the spur of the moment. He eats his food and leaves on an adventure every day and rarely returns unless it’s time to sleep or eat. We assume he’s great pals with the neighbourhood cats and hope he’s not involved in the screeching battles that we can only imagine is the cat version of fight club from the sounds of the rummaging and clattering.

One day when KitKat was out in the town, a tabby cat with a thick luscious coat sat outside watching me. I wondered if it was judging me, or one of KitKat’s friends. I wanted to say or rather communicate to him that KitKat was away. But he sat there patiently until I noticed he was there. Then he stood and came closer. That curious walk that cats do to see whether they should pounce away at a moment’s notice or to throw the fastest claw to maim its target. I stood as the gatekeeper of the house and he got incredibly close. He watched my reaction intently to see if I would deny him access. But I too was curious and let him pass. He went upstairs and found his way to KitKat’s food and began eating it. Not ravenously but as if he had been invited. I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this. What do you do if a friend of your kid turned up without warning. In this case, a friend of your cat.

He finished eating, looked at me and left. Til this day, I never saw that cat again. I wondered if it was a complete stranger of a cat who acted as cool as a cucumber. Or whether the cat sensed that I was a cat owner and that I was safe to approach. In this case, curiosity did not kill that cat.

I lived in Alaska for 20 years. Most of that time was spent in Juneau, but I had also spent time in Anchorage, Fairbanks, and Kodiak.

While I was living in Kodiak, I often went hiking in the back country, where bears were plentiful. These were Kodiak bears which frequently grew larger than grizzly bears. To prevent any unpleasantness, I often carried my rifle, a .350 Remington Magnum. To protect myself when I was fishing (and therefore couldn't be encumbered by the rifle), I then carried my .44 Magnum revolver.

One day I was fishing near Pasagshak Bay when I saw in the distance a rather large Kodiak bear. I wasn't worried, but I also knew it would be wise to keep an eye on him.

Well, I got lost in the fishing and the time passed by quickly. I remembered the bear and looked up to see that it was now less than 50 yards away. I looked around and saw a tall tree about the same distance away as the bear, but in the opposite direction.

I dropped my fishing pole and took off running for the tree. I got there only a few yards ahead of the bear, but the lowest branch was 30 feet above my head. I had no choice but to jump for it.

I missed!

But I caught it on the way back down, thereby cheating the bear out of his meal. He wandered off, but not before eating the two fish I had caught.

He’s following me. Why? Is he rabid? Is there a stick, or a rock near by I can throw?

I look over my shoulder, the coyote is still there. Just slowly following me. He’s not acting aggressive, but rabies is still a concern. Maybe I should have brought pepper spray.

I start singing to myself, to calm myself and to focus, and to somehow show this coyote I am not afraid.

He still following me. He is getting closer, but not too close.

Is he hunting me? Studying me?

What does he want?

I panic, and start to run. Stupid, I know. Panic does that.

Faster, and he is keeping pace, but still not over taking me.

I know there are no other humans here, I am alone with this coyote. I know also that they don’t seek out humans to hunt, but again, rabies (hey, this is Connecticut.)

I trip over a branch, and fall face first.

I’m slightly dazed, and turn over.

The coyote is standing over me, staring.

He drops something.

It’s my wallet. I didn’t realize I dropped it.

I dumbly pick it up, and look at the coyote.

He looks back for a bit, then sighs.

“You could say ‘thank you,’ you know,” the coyote says, shaking his head.

I’m still sitting in the middle of the trail, watching him walk off. I hear him mutter, “Humans these days, so rude.”

A good thirty minutes pass, and I am still sitting in the middle of the trail, trying to figure out what just happened.

Amelia walks up to the exhibit with elephants and giraffes. She stares at the animals smiling at their beauty and complexity. All the sudden, one of the elephants says, “Hey, what’s up?” She gapes at him and mumbles something about talking animals. “ Wow, you’re shy aren’t you?” “ I-I-Amelia starts. “ Don’t be like that! Finally I find someone who can understand me, and all they do is stutter!” The elephant complains. “ Well, I just don’t understand how you could logically be able to talk to me,” She says, pondering all the possible reasons why he could talk. There was no science to explain it. The elephant stared at her for a few more seconds, then opened its mouth, and no sound came out. “What the heck!” Amelia thought then convinced herself that she was hallucinating.