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Connor and Daphne: A True Enough Story
Connor and Daphne: A True Enough Story
By Frederick Key
Connor was a bear who was polite to his neighbors but not
your warm, huggy type. Connor was proud of his bountiful garden and his lush
green lawn, which he tended faithfully every year.
One spring, a big family of meerkats moved in next door.
Connor met Daphne, a dewy-eyed kid with a bubbly personality.
It being spring, a couple of dandelions popped up on
Connor’s lawn. Connor came out of his shed with his tools and sprays, ready to
do battle with the weeds.
But Daphne stopped him. “Connor, look how beautiful that
little yellow flower is!” she cried. “How can you be hating on such a sweet
little thing?”
“If I don’t get rid of them as soon as they pop up, they
ruin the lawn,” he grumbled.
“They have every right to be here—as much as that grass that
you have to buy seed for,” she said. “These so-called ‘weeds’ are native to the
area, you know. And they’re useful too! You can eat them, or even make wine.”
“But—”
“Why do you hate flowers so much, Connor?”
“I don’t! I’ve planted all kinds of flowers in the garden.”
“Oh, I see. You only like the ones you planted. The ones
that nature provides you have to blast with all kinds of horrible poisons, is
that right? Those sprays are dangerous, you know. They make the wildlife sick
and they get into the water supply!”
Finally Daphne wore Connor down. He promised to let the
little yellow flower live, and grumbled all the way back to his shed.
In a couple of weeks, little yellow flowers popped up all
over Connor’s lawn. He had to admit that Daphne was right—the yellow flowers
were pretty, and a nice contrast with the green. Then they turned into white
heads, and then the puffs blew away.
With all the seeds gone to ruin other lawns, Connor was left with a patchy
landscape and ugly naked stalks with ragged leaves. Which, in addition to the
other weeds Daphne wouldn’t let him kill, left…
Connor was pretty sore by now, you can bet. The dandelions
saved by Daphne had ruined his grass, exactly as he’d predicted. He went down
to his cellar to get his shovel and pick to start digging deep, for now the
roots of the dandelions were well beyond his ability to dig them up with hand
tools.
While in the cellar, Connor noticed he had an unexpected and
unwelcome guest—a rat had taken up residence in his home. He steamed upstairs
to go to the store and get a trap.
Daphne was outside. “What’s wrong, Connor?” she asked
kindly.
“Got a rat in the cellar,” he said. “Going to the store to
get traps and steel wool and things.”
“No, no! You mustn’t do that!” she said. “The rat isn’t
hurting you, is he?”
“Not yet, but—”
“And yet you want to break his little neck? Connor, how
cruel! And poisons, too, I’ll bet—that’s always your answer, isn’t it? Poison!
Why do you hate living things so much?”
“Damn it, Daphne, I—”
“Anger is a sure sign that you’re losing the argument, you
know that? That poor little rat! With his sad little whiskers and sad beady
little eyes!”
“Why do you always have to go straight to the emotional
appeal? It’s completely unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable? I’ll tell you what’s unreasonable. Ask
yourself, who was here first, Connor? You and your artificial man-made house,
or the native wildlife?”
“Fine! You go down there and catch him, and you take the rat
home!”
“Why would I do that? He’s obviously happy where he is.”
Once again, Daphne wore him down.
But a couple of weeks later, when Connor found he had
carpenter ants attacking his deck, he snuck out to the big hardware store and
made a purchase.
Daphne and the dandelions and the rats and the carpenter
ants and the termites tried to throw him a going-away party, but Connor had
already left.
We asked Daphne what the moral of this story is.
We tried to ask Connor but—oh, well.
The end.
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