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by Jared Povanda

“If he were famous and loved, he’d start playing, and every word he sang would be honey. Milk and honey and pork shoulder so tender the meat would dissolve on his tongue.”

As the well-dressed pass him on his corner, the bard’s thorn-thick claws move like ink over the strings of his lute.

“Would you like to hear the story of Queen Paloma? The story of the Righteous Few? Any story at all?”

Some coins scatter his way, mirror stars beside his sooty paws, but no one stops and listens. This is a festival night, and the scent of pork fat dripping onto open fires draws the crowd as the bard’s music floats above disinterested heads.

Down the narrow road, wolf children rush past with colorful streamers, though one is slower than the others. They yip to one another, and the bard stops playing to watch. When was the last time he laughed among his den-fellows in such a way? The bard, most nights, curls up as tight as he can, as small as he can, bushy tail over his face, to be a compact ball of dirt and dirty fabric on the cold, unpaved earth. There is no money in art. Or, perhaps, there is simply no money in him. Stories, though, always fill his throat with tongues of light like a dragon whispering embers along his vocal cords. He wants to sing until he sears the sky.

One careful step at a time, he moves from his corner, and even as festival patrons part to allow him passage, he ignores their stares of contempt. They know nothing of how a little joy on a dark night can decide the difference between death and life for a fox.

The bard clasps his lute to his chest, calloused paws caressing old, warm wood, and peers at crisp ermine participating in a strange festival game. Some kind of sack toss. The ermine stand behind a white line and lob burlap bundles in high arcs to hit painted targets many paces away. The bard joins in with their barks, but because he has to keep his coins for tomorrow morning’s fish, he plucks a string and continues on before the urge to bet consumes him.

Outside of a raucous tavern, steps from the game and the ermine who play, a peacock with glossy, iridescent feathers passes to his left. She smells of apples, he realizes. Apples piquant with the faintest tinge of brandy. He follows the bobbing of her tallest feather until she drifts beyond view, the blackened feathers near her fragile legs hovering like his notes that never fell.

More daring than he’s been in many years, the bard finds himself stopping where the town’s roads fork. He becomes an island inside his mind. The festival fades away. If he were famous and loved, he’d start playing, and every word he sang would be honey. Milk and honey and pork shoulder so tender the meat would dissolve on his tongue. The bard dreams of this splendor, casting his consciousness far into the raven night until there’s a gentle tug on his tail. One of the wolves from before, streamer gone.

“Can I help you?”

“How much is a song, bard fox?”

“Free tonight. What would you like to hear?”

The wolf shrugs. There’s an ugly scar along the left side of his muzzle.

The bard begins to play a tune he remembers from his childhood. A song as lithe as one of the valley stoats. The bard sings of strange meerkats befriending storms and wicked snakes with knives inside their bellies. The improbable miracle of a mouse monk’s prayers to Dev’tal’an, and how faith stopped the demon blight from spreading into Sir Brown Bear’s home. The child wolf doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe until the last note disperses. But once the spell breaks, he shakes himself, not unlike a wet hound, and limps off with the barest hint of a smile on his battered face.

The bard once again holds his lute like a second heartbeat and watches the child go. He joins the thronging and aimless revelers, and even though he can’t afford anything here, he’s glad he chose to move from his corner. He acquired a new story tonight, and he supposes that stories can be better than coin when told well.

Near him, however, a percussion of sudden shouts arise as cold rain starts to fall. The bard is no stranger to these demon hours, and he gargles hot light in the back of his throat as he slips silent through new gaps in the thinning crowd. He circles around to his familiar corner, soaked to his skin.

The bard curls onto his side and rests his tail over his face once more, light trailing from between his sharp teeth as he thinks of the peacock who smelled of ripe fruit and liquor and how several torches coughed their deaths into storm-sodden air. He thinks, too, of the child wolf’s mutilated muzzle and how the other wolves in his pack left him behind, but then of the soft happiness on his face after an adventurous song rife with relief from evil. The fox thinks, and then he hums the bright beginnings of an ode he already knows he will call Little Joy.

 

* * *

About the Author

Jared Povanda is a writer, poet, and freelance editor from upstate New York. He also edits for the literary journal Bulb Culture Collective. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and multiple times for both Best of the Net and Best Microfiction, and he has been published in numerous literary journals including Wigleaf, Uncharted Magazine, and Full Mood Mag. You can find him online @JaredPovanda, jaredpovandawriting.wordpress.com, and in the Poets & Writers Directory

by Mary Jo Rabe

“Although he had no real hope that the microbes could help him remedy his past mistake, he decided to return to the duck pond and ask.”

Fred the Opossum laid his moderately chubby and maximally furry body down onto the dry, brown grass next to the noisy duck pond and diffidently dipped his claws into the murky, cold water. Some of the crunchy insect parts that he had had for dessert the day before floated away; most didn’t.

Fred should have cared or at least sloshed his paws in the water to clean them. It was to his obvious advantage to keep his grasping appendages free of obstruction. Plus, Fred usually liked to feel clean.

The mud at the bottom of the pond helped soothe sore paws. An opossum that tended to his body parts tended to live longer, which had been Fred’s major goal in life. Lately, though, he wondered what a longer life was good for.

The elderly ducks swimming close to the shore looked up but didn’t bother to quack. They correctly sensed no danger from Fred’s lethargic presence.

Even though he didn’t really feel like doing anything, Fred emptied his mind and tried to soak up some impressions from the microbes in the pond.

The microbes were only one-celled creatures individually. But when they joined together in their group mind, they were far superior in brainpower to all other creatures Fred had ever encountered. Their telepathic powers were incredible.

Fred was grateful to the microbes for even paying any attention to him. His thoughts must seem unbearably primitive in comparison.

However, he had to concentrate strenuously if he wanted to understand what the microbes communicated. Talking to the microbes often exhausted him. Their messages resulted slowly. Sometimes they were interrupted for long periods of time.

Fred had the necessary patience for such communication. However, as he got older, he did notice that he sometimes no longer had the physical vigor he needed for listening. Still, he enjoyed hearing from the microbes.

Other opossums with whom Fred had had sporadic contact in the past ridiculed him for talking to microbes. Fred no longer bothered to explain that he listened more than he talked. If other opossums didn’t want to access available information, he couldn’t force them. In addition, he had less and less desire to cajole impatient fools.

“What’s wrong?” the group mind of the microbes in the pond asked. “You seem a little despondent.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Fred said. “Maybe I’m getting old. Everything just seems so pointless, the same routine day after day.”

“Well,” the microbe group mind said. “We don’t really understand this aging thing you multi-celled creatures go through. Our minds exist together in the group and don’t degrade when we switch from one decaying, old, cellular creature to a brand new one.”

“Yeah,” Fred said. “Then you never have regrets?”

“Regrets?” the microbes asked. “We often evaluate our actions and ask ourselves if we chose the most effective method for what we hoped to accomplish. Sometimes we are satisfied with results, sometimes not. That’s when we brainstorm about possible different strategies for future events. Aren’t you satisfied with your results? It was only last month that we and dark energy helped you save the universe from being assimilated by a parallel universe and destroyed in the process.”

“That’s true,” Fred admitted. “That should have made me stay happy longer. I guess I have started reflecting on the fact that I am getting older and wish I had done some things differently in the past,” Fred said.

“Why not just do them differently in the future?” the microbe group mind asked. “That’s what we do.”

“The same situation is unlikely to happen again,” Fred said sadly. “A few years ago, out of purely selfish motives, I insulted a female opossum and drove her away from the farm. I didn’t want to share anything with her, not my turf nor the food from the humans in the farmhouse.”

“That is a logical decision, obviously beneficial for your own survival,” the microbes said. “Why do you regret it?”

“It was unnecessary,” Fred said. “The humans have shown themselves to be willing to feed any number of animals who show up at the door. Sometimes there are twenty or more cats who patrol the farms in this region, always on the prowl for better food. One more opossum wouldn’t have meant that I got less food. The farm is also spacious enough for any number of my species. And now I wish I had more opossum company, creatures on my wavelength, creatures no smarter than I am.”

“Then behave differently the next time an opossum wants to stay on the farm,” the microbes suggested

“There haven’t been many since she left,” Fred admitted. “She may have bad-mouthed me to others.”

“Well,” the microbe group mind said. “Then you want to change your actions in the past.”

“Right,” Fred said. “Unfortunately, that is impossible.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the microbes said. “We’ve never thought about that before. Give us some time to brainstorm.” And their telepathic messages stopped.

Fred was always glad to do anything the microbes requested. Despite the huge difference in brain capacity, theirs being infinitely greater than his, they were his best friends.

Fred thought he’d stay at the pond for a while. It was pleasant enough here. It smelled like the hogs hadn’t been near the pond for some time now. Fred’s pink nose on his long, thin snout couldn’t detect even a whiff of hog excrement, just overly ripened corn from the fields.

Fred liked the pond. It was one of the reasons he decided to make his home on this farm. One of the previous farmers had dug the hole that became the pond thinking that it would be used by the farm animals. As far as Fred could determine, that didn’t happen all that often.

The pond was more or less hidden behind the three-story wooden barn, a shabby structure with weathered planks. Earlier, more prosperous farmers had probably painted it red. Some of the wooden slabs still had traces of that paint, though many of them were now missing. The current humans didn’t seem to be concerned with appearances.

Fred had always been impressed by the structure. It was significantly larger than the machine shed or the farmhouse. These human creatures might be clueless about many things, but they did construct striking buildings.

The sunlight was getting dimmer, and so Fred started thinking about supper. There were no clouds, and so it might not rain, which didn’t matter. His thick, gray fur protected him from hypothermia, and he quite enjoyed gyrating briskly to get the thick raindrops off his bristly hairs.

There would probably be some new, semi-feral farm cats blocking the door to the farmhouse. It was tiresome, always having to assert his opossum’s privilege and chase the cats away. He had nothing against the cats. They were free to eat as much as they wanted, but only after Fred was finished.

However, it was a nuisance having to re-establish the pecking order every time a new cat appeared. New cats had to be shown that Fred was in charge of all non-resident mammals on the farm.

While the cats did on occasion catch and kill aged or slow rodents, they never bothered to eat them. Instead, they lined up for the delicacies from the farmhouse. The humans who fed animals at the door were kind-hearted despite being generally incomprehensible.

The food they offered the visiting animals was excellent. He never was sure when exactly they would offer it to the outside guests each day, but Fred was flexible. He knew the food prepared by humans was worth waiting for. It was just as tasty in its own way as the carrion and insects that Fred munched on between meals.

Fred appreciated the humans in the farmhouse but had no desire to spend time with them. It was common knowledge, or perhaps inherited memories among opossums, that some humans consumed opossums, calling them tasty vittles. He didn’t have the feeling that the humans in this farmhouse wanted to eat him, but caution was a useful virtue.

So Fred scampered around the barn and down the hill to the two-story, old-fashioned farmhouse. At one time, it had probably been painted white, but now there were more gray boards than white.

His timing was correct. Just as he got to the farmhouse, the screen door opened and a tall, female human, followed by her child, brought out bowls of meat and milk and water. Again, the child seemed to understand that Fred was saying “hello.”

When the adult headed back into the house, Fred jumped up the steps to the door. Fred growled as he shoved his way through the crowd of cats, who, fortunately for them, quickly made way for him.

“Fred’s here,” the child shouted. Fred wasn’t afraid of the child. Fred, as a matter of fact, did have his own, genuine opossum name, but after the child had started calling him “Fred” a few years ago, Fred decided to claim it for himself. Now he associated the name “Fred” with pleasant memories of the food the humans provided.

The food made Fred feel energetic for the first time today. Although he had no real hope that the microbes could help him remedy his past mistake, he decided to return to the duck pond and ask. He thought he could see tiny waves on the surface of the pond water.

“Hey microbes,” Fred began his telepathic message. “Were you able to come up with anything?”

“Indirectly, perhaps,” the microbe group mind said. “There’s nothing we can do; we are just microbes, after all. However, we were able to send messages up and down the chain of structures in the universe, and dark energy has agreed to help you. It is grateful to you for informing it about the previous danger to the universe.”

“Help me how?” Fred asked. He didn’t want to indulge in too much wishful thinking. That only depressed him.

“You can’t travel into the past,” the microbe group mind transmitted patiently. “But we can send your brain waves out to the dark energy that is expanding the universe, and it can jump the thoughts back, though not very far. When exactly was this mistake you wish you hadn’t made?”

“Three years ago,” Fred said. “I still don’t understand. My thoughts go back in time, but I don’t?”

“Right,” the microbes said, this time not quite as patiently. “With the power of our group mind and dark energy, your thoughts can enter the mind of your previous self and perhaps influence him. There aren’t any guarantees, of course. If you recall, you were quite stubborn back then.”

“But will I know how much my thoughts today influence the actions of my previous self?” Fred asked.

“We’re not sure,” the microbes said. “Try to understand the situation. Depending on what effect your current thoughts have on your previous self, you may experience changes in the here and now, changes brought about by influencing your previous self. However, dark energy will prevent your possible actions from reversing the changes it made in the universe. Dark energy prefers the universe as it currently exists.”

“Fine with me,” Fred said. “Can anything go wrong?”

“Nothing can go wrong with the process,” the microbes said. “We and dark energy have investigated all eventualities. You just may not be happy with all the results, though, if there are changes you have to deal with due to new actions of your previous self. You could find yourself blacking out occasionally when your new memories conflict with the memories you have stored as of now.”

“But can I control the thoughts you send back?” Fred asked. “They aren’t that complicated. I just want to apologize to the female opossum and tell her I would be happy to share this farm with her.”

“Got that,” the microbes said. “We’ll send your brainwaves on to dark energy to be transmitted back to Fred the Opossum on this farm three years ago.”

* * *

Fred felt like he had passed out briefly, but then he felt like he was floating. He saw his previous self in the cornfield, munching some insects contentedly. My goodness, he had looked good back then; he never realized how good. He was slim and yet muscular with a thick, shiny fur.

Not sure exactly how to proceed, Fred, or rather his thoughts, floated above his previous self as previous self got up and scampered over to the farmhouse. When his previous self climbed up the porch stairs, he saw that the female opossum was already there.

The door opened, and the child yelled, “Fred’s there, and so is his girlfriend. I’m going to call her ‘Frieda’.”

Fred felt the jealous anger in his previous self’s mind. That was the reason he had driven the female opossum away. He had been jealous of the attention she got from the humans and that was why he hadn’t wanted to share anything with her. His previous self was putting a few choice words together to chase the female away.

“No,” he thought, hoping his thoughts would enter his previous self’s brain. “Be kind to the female. Make her feel at home. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

His previous self shook its head violently, and so Fred hoped that meant the message had gotten through.

“Trust me,” Fred thought. “You know the value of kindness. Kindness creates more kindness. Think of the future, the world you want to live in. Get out of your own way and be kind to another opossum.”

His previous self seemed to inhale deeply. Then it barked softly to the female, “You are welcome here, both with the humans and on the whole farm. I know it’s frightening at first, but I’ve been here for over a year now, and I can recommend this location as a home. And, in my opinion, the young human gave you a pretty name. I like ‘Frieda’.”

The female looked skeptical but didn’t run away. Fred’s previous self then motioned for her to eat out of the meat bowl with him. When they finished, the previous Fred told the female she might like to follow him to the cornfields where they could find some tasty insects as dessert.

The two of them turned and left the farmhouse, at which point twenty feral cats stormed the porch and ate everything that was still there.

Fred was relieved. He really owed the microbes and dark energy for this favor.

* * *

Fred shook his head. “I must have passed out,” he called to the microbes. “Did it work?”

“Yes, of course,” the group mind answered. “We wouldn’t have suggested it if we didn’t calculate at least a fifty-one percent chance of success. Dark energy says you persuaded your previous self to be kind to the female opossum instead of scaring her away.”

“Thank you,” Fred said. “I never realized what a burden this memory was to me. Now I feel truly at peace with myself.”

“Naturally,” the microbes continued. “There have been a few changes in your life due to this change in behavior.”

“Huh?” Fred asked. “The changes have to be good, though, right?”

“The results are interesting, and not inopportune,” the microbe group mind transmitted. “It might be easier for you to discover them for yourself instead of asking us questions, though. We can’t always determine what is important to you because we have more pragmatic standards than you emotional creatures with no group mind to mediate your feelings do.”

“Okay,” Fred said. “What do I need to do?”

“Waddle down to the end of the lane and check out the new sign,” the microbes said.

That seemed to be odd advice. Fred, however, had taught himself to read human language long ago. He marched down the lane, well maybe not as fast as he once did. Underneath the mailbox was indeed a huge sign that said “Opossum Preserve. No Hunting!”

“That had to be good,” Fred thought. He had never had any trouble evading the clumsy hunters on the farm before, but it was good to know that they were no longer a threat.

He strolled back to the farmhouse. Strange, there weren’t any cats prowling around, but they were probably out checking out the food at other farms. Cats always suspected there was better food somewhere else. They were wrong, but cats never listened to Fred.

Suddenly a mob of young opossums dashed out of the cornfields and stood in front of him. “Are you all right, Dad?” one of them asked. “Mom was worried because you were so absent-minded after supper.”

“Yeah,” another one said. “Mom hoped we could find you in the cornfields or back at the duck pond. That’s where you always go to rest your mind.”

“You promised to show us your old hunting grounds in the woods,” another said. “You claimed we could find the best-tasting amphibians there.”

Fred tried to make some sense out of this unexpected turn of events. Obviously, he and Frieda had gotten on well, but now what? Fred had previously never considered giving up his solitary lifestyle, but apparently, he had changed his mind during the past three years.

“Uh,” he said. “I want to go to the duck pond first and clean off my claws. Wait for me at the farmhouse, and then we’ll go.”

The young opossums cheered and ran off. Fred charged up the hill to the barn and back down a different hill to the duck pond.

“What the,” he began.

“Yes,” the microbes said. “You and Frieda are quite a prolific pair of opossums. Every year there are at least ten new little opossums here on the farm. The humans noticed this a year ago and were able to get recognition and funding for making this farm an opossum preserve, where opossums can live safely and where researchers show up now and then to see what they can learn. This saved the farm from being sold.”

“Okay,” Fred said. “But what about me?”

“You have turned into an extroverted, happy father of many, many children,” the microbes said. “Apparently this was something you always wanted but never admitted to yourself.”

“But I don’t remember anything after Frieda and I walked to the cornfield,” Fred said.

“And you won’t,” the microbes agreed. “But you can create new memories, and Frieda can fill you in on what you don’t remember. She is used to your memory lapses. She thinks it is part of your personality.”

“I don’t know,” Fred said.

“We calculate that this will continue to go well,” the microbe group mind said. “Besides, you can always ask us for advice.”

“Then, thanks, I guess,” Fred said. “It’s all just a little much for me right now. But maybe you’re right. Maybe this is the kind of life I was yearning for.”

He turned around and walked back to the farmhouse where some thirty opossums were waiting for him. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

Still, he had one question. “Do any of you know what happened to all the cats?” Fred asked the group.

“Don’t you remember?” one opossum said. “Mom told them to leave the farm. She didn’t want any competition for food.”

Well, Fred could live with that. Now he had to find a way to learn all his kids’ names.

 

* * *

About the Author

Mary Jo Rabe grew up on a farm in eastern Iowa, got degrees from Michigan State University (German and math) and University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee (library science). She worked in the library of the chancery office of the Archdiocese of Freiburg, Germany for 41 years, and lives with her husband in Titisee-Neustadt, Germany. She has published “Blue Sunset,” inspired by Spoon River Anthology and The Martian Chronicles, electronically and has had stories published in Fiction River, Pulphouse, Penumbric Speculative Fiction, Alien Dimensions, 4 Star Stories, Fabula Argentea, Crunchy with Chocolate, The Lorelei Signal, The Lost Librarian’s Grave, Draw Down the Moon, Dark Horses, Wyldblood Magazine, and other magazines and anthologies.  You can find her blog at: https://maryjorabe.wordpress.com/

by Kelsey Hutton

“Its parents had made an excellent meal a few days before, hot and smokey like a well-charred flamingo, the meat still warm after a long flight home.”

Water droplets still glistened on each of the griffin’s feathers, catching light on dark brown wings and tossing it about like they were old friends. Each stroke of the wing beat back gusts of air forceful enough to talk their way into any closed-door affair; enough crows had been caught in their turbulence to know to stay away, although a few young’uns liked to surf the griffin’s currents, on a particularly daring day. Wind whistled a jaunty tune as it streamed by, while the sun nestled deep into the griffin’s satiny lion haunches. She kept her powerful back legs pulled in tight, for better aerodynamics, but let her long tufted tail swish about.

Lady Griffith didn’t hold back. It felt deliciously good to pump her wings — as wide across as a ten-year-old ash tree, its sapling days long gone — and luxuriate in the smell of a fresh kill — meaty and tangy, like all good tropical fowl — still hooked in her beak. A clear runway of sky, a few picturesque snow-topped mountains in the distance, her eaglet safe in his nest atop the spear-like Douglas fir just over the next ridge — what else could a griffin want?

It had been a long incubation period with the eggs. Over a month. Even with nest exchanges, allowing Sir Griffith to occasionally take his turn perching on two agate eggs the size of good-sized gourds, her powerful front talons still craved something to crush in their grip.

One would think the fluffy ball of orange feathers currently in her powerful clutch would be a good contender. Its parents had made an excellent meal a few days before, hot and smokey like a well-charred flamingo, the meat still warm after a long flight home. Although, their long tail plumage was a little annoying to eat around. More than a few feathers had gotten caught in her throat, and she’d coughed up flame-colored pellets for hours. Still — Sir Griffith had said it was the best meal he’d had in months.

She’d gone back for the fiery little chick, since it’d be the perfect size for the eaglet. And since eating the little Firebird’s parents, Lady Griffith had already been lucky enough to catch several lazy trout swimming too close to the surface of the lake, and spotted a dozen nuggets of gold gleaming in a riverbed nearby to line the edges of her nest. Firebirds were said to bring good fortune, and she intended to share this consumable bit of luck with her oldest progeny — whether he appreciated it or not!

Really, she could have killed the little juvenile at any time as she flew it home. It was even getting uncomfortably hot to carry; though, immature and untrained as it was, it was not likely burning her on purpose. But the eaglet liked a bit of chase to his food. A bit of pep. At least, he used to… he’d been getting pickier and pickier lately.

Despite this, she would have squeezed down harder on the gleaming gold and mandarin-peel orange bundle of feathers, so bright it was as if it were lit from within, if only it would stop talking.

“… dark and shadowy over there, our nest had fallen in, you know, until you just swooshed it aside, like BAM, it was SO COOL! Did you have to train to get so big? Like, I dunno, lift rocks or something? Sometimes I try to crush things in my mouth just to strengthen the ol’ jaw muscles, you know, keep my bill ridges clean, too, but I do, like, lizards and stuff, not like whole BRANCHES like you did! I bet you were born super strong. If I was born super strong, I’d crunch through…”

It didn’t seem the least bit frightened. Which was fine with her — she and her family had to eat, but it wasn’t like she relished terrifying other creatures before gulping them down, and always tried for a clean kill — but this seemed to be taking things a little too far. To show a little temerity, at least, would have been appropriate?

“… but I’m so bright my eyes never really adjust to nighttime, it’s hard to really get to know any of the nocturnal bugs, ‘nocturnal’ means they sleep during the day, but yeah, they scuttle and hide when I come ’round ’cause the whole forest floor is suddenly like, noon! Light! So I figured out I could dim my downy feathers a bit, like this….”

The juvenile did, in fact, seem to dim a little in brightness, although it hardly mattered in the middle of a clear day. But its body, though not as burning hot as its parents’ had been, noticeably cooled. Lady Griffith relaxed a tiny bit and loosened her talons a fraction of an inch. This let a little wind in to soothe the lightly-cooking skin of her feet, just as she caught sight of her own eyrie at last.

“… yeah, thanks! Like that! Wasn’t that cool? Want me to do it again?” the little juvenile squawked.

“That’ll do for now,” she surprised herself by responding.

The little Firebird didn’t mind being dropped from ten feet above into the eyrie (“Wheeee!”) even though it was too young to have fledged yet. It deftly rolled in a bright bundle, — long, fiery tail feathers kicking up a small dust bath, before popping up proudly at one edge of the treasure-lined nest.

The eaglet, previously curled up and licking clean his back paw, now stood up hungrily on all fours. It had been a whole day since his last meal, though rejected bits of sea serpent, macaw, even water buffalo — that had been a very long trip to procure — littered the edges of the nest, scattered in with red and blue shards of agate shell from the hatching.

A loud rumble came from the eaglet’s direction. There— Lady Griffith took satisfaction in hearing the undeniable grumble of her eldest’s feline stomach.

“I brought you a special treat for dinner tonight, dear,” she said, landing on one sturdy edge of the nest, which had been twined together out of stringy poplars (for their flexibility), white birch (for their pretty pale color) and spruce (whose scent mingled nicely with the Douglas fir’s).

“Oooh! You did?” said the little Firebird, looking around curiously. “What is it?”

Lady Griffith paused.

The eaglet seemed entranced with the small, perky bird in front of him. He was still a few weeks from fledging himself, so he was only about the size of his favorite foods these days:  a deer. (Deer! Which were not only bland and tasteless, but had no special qualities to pass on — unless you counted the ability to bore your predators to death.) His wings were still short and stubby, and his plumage was a mottled brown, as it would be at least a decade before his bright white head plumage would come in. If Lady Griffith were being completely honest, his brown-and-tan coloring did look a little plain against the ever-changing brilliance of the Firebird’s feathers, even if the Firebird was barely half his size. But the eaglet’s hooked beak and diamond-sharp claws should have no problem making a meal out of the smaller bird.

Eventually. When he got hungry enough, at any rate.

The Firebird didn’t seem to notice anything awkward with Lady Griffith’s silence, as she tried to think of something to say (and yet, what did it matter what she said? One didn’t explain oneself to food). It was now nosing around the nest, admiring the treasures Lady and Sir Griffith had collected over the past few years, which went beyond simple gold nuggets to include gleaming pearls, rubies the size of pinecones, and silver coins of all sizes liberated from careless humans abroad.

“Oooh, wow, what a beautiful home you have,” it said. “This where you live, right? It’s got to be. Is this an amethyst necklace? Oh, and CEDAR! I love cedar boughs, they’re so soft, way softer than scratchy twigs and leaves, you know those ones that get red in the fall and make you itch like crazy? Don’t use those! Ever get any voles around here? Mom says I’m too old for baby food like that, but I told her I’m never gonna be too old for voles. You should try them, you’d like them for sure! Hey, can I snack on some of this salmon over here if you’re done with it? I’m FAMISHED!”

Another little stomach growl rumbled through the still air, but this time it wasn’t the eaglet’s. The Firebird stood over a bit of silvery skin and bright pink meat, waiting politely, looking back and forth between the eaglet and Lady Griffith.

The eaglet was blinking rapidly. His beak hung open, then snapped shut. “Sure,” he croaked out finally. Then: “What’s your name?”

This was going too far. “Dear, you know we don’t play with our food like that,” Lady Griffith cut in.

“Don’t have one,” the Firebird said happily, in between noisy gulps of salmon. “I was thinking ‘Alyona.’ It means ‘shining light,’ but maybe that’s a little too on-the-nose. Or maybe ‘Valentin.’ It means ‘strong.’ What do you think?”

“Well,” said the eaglet, sitting back on his legs and swishing his tail in thought. “I guess that depends. Are you a boy or a girl?”

The Firebird laughed, a light musical trill. “Oh, gosh!” it said. “I haven’t even picked my name! It’s going to be a while before I get to gender. It’s probably hard to tell, cross-species and all, but I’ve still got a lot of growing to do.”  The little bird blinked its enormous black eyes, which glowed welcomingly like gently crackling embers. “I know you’re not little little, but do you still have a lot of growing to do, too? I mean, I’m assuming—” The Firebird cocked its head toward Lady Griffith, almost conspiratorially. “With a mom as big and strong as that, you’ve gotta grow up to be the biggest, strongest thing around, hands down, right? I mean, what other option is there even?”

The eaglet puffed out his chest proudly, but Lady Griffith’s stomach suddenly clenched, as if swiped by one of her own talons. She couldn’t help but glance at the biggest pile of agate shell pieces, their second-laid egg, still kept carefully to one side of the nest. An unlucky, unfortunate jumble of semi-precious stone, which never quite hatched on its own.

Enough.

“He won’t grow up to be big and strong unless he learns to eat his dinner,” Lady Griffith cut in, just as the eaglet lay down on his belly and put his chin on his folded front talons, as if settling in for a good chat. She took two steps forward and reached the little fluffy bird, a mere snack for her, but a potential source of magical, life-saving good fortune for her remaining offspring. She lifted one taloned foot, still slightly hot and tender, but ready nonetheless to squash the fiery bundle of feathers with one stomp.

“Did you forget how to eat? Let me show you,” the Firebird said, still talking to the eaglet. It turned and looked straight up at the bottom of Lady Griffith’s poised foot, the taloned back hallux ready to steady while three front claws prepared to shred the little chatterbox to pieces. “Like this!”

The Firebird tilted its head back and exposed its throat to her with no hesitation whatsoever. It opened its short golden beak, its cute little gullet begging for food.

“Cak-cak-cak!” it called out, a high-pitched guttural squeak. Then it closed its beak and turned back to the eaglet again. “See? Like that, you see? Cak-cak-cak!”

The eaglet was far past needing Lady Griffith to beak-feed him his food, one torn morsel at a time. But he laughed — his first real laugh, ever — and in doing so, opened his beak to the sky.

“That’s it!” said the little Firebird. “You’ve got it!”

Lady Griffith put her foot down gently. “Yes,” she said. “That’s it. Now both of you, can you caw like that at the same time?”

The eaglet looked at her quickly, a little thrown off by her using such a gentle tone with “the food.” But he went along with it. Both the nestlings — her slightly fuzzy, picky eater eaglet who had maybe missed having a nestmate more than she realized, and the brilliant tangle of light and warmth in front of her  — cak-cak-cak-ed at her in unison. What started as a food call quickly turned into giggles, but not before she quickly nipped a stray shred of leftover rainbow eel into both their beaks.

“Mmm-mmh,” said the little Firebird, its head fringe popping up in excitement. “Was that the special meal you brought us? It was so good! Fishy and kind of sweet and the scales just add the right crunch!”

The eaglet looked expectantly at Lady Griffith, flapping his wings with an eagerness that had nothing to do with days-old eel. The Firebird’s light glinted handsomely off the eaglet’s dark feathers, while a gentle warmth settled over the eyrie.

At the same time, a steady breeze swung to life. The great fir that was their home swayed contentedly in place, like human lovers dancing. Lady Griffith hadn’t even noticed, but the clear blue sky was now deepening into a velvety dusk. Very far off, too far for the nestlings to hear, Sir Griffith piped a call to let them know he was on his way home. And even lower, a faint purr — perhaps coming from her own chest?

“Yes, it was,” Lady Griffith said to the little Firebird. Good fortune, after all, came in more ways than one. “Now go get settled in while I go catch us all some more.”

 

* * *

About the Author

Kelsey Hutton is a Métis author from Treaty 1 territory and the homeland of the Métis Nation, also known as Winnipeg, Canada. Kelsey was born in an even snowier city than she lives in now (“up north,” as they say in Winnipeg). She also used to live in Brazil as a kid. Her work has appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Fantasy Magazine, and Analog Science Fiction & Fact. When she’s not beading or cooking, you can find her at KelseyHutton.com, on Instagram at @KelseyHuttonAuthor, or on Twitter at @KelHuttonAuthor.

The whole crew is here and talking about pups and some of the surrounding misconceptions! What are the hoods for? What’s a headspace? Is it all just sex related? Do furries and pups actually have anything in common?

This episode was originally livestreamed on YouTube. Light editing has been done for our podcast listeners. You can watch the original here: Livestream

NOW LISTEN!

SHOW NOTES Thank you!

To those that were able to join the livestream!

To all of our listeners! And your continued support.

PATREON LOVE

THANK YOU to our patreons! You help us keep the show going!

A Cookie Factory – OwO

*empty*

A Pallet of Cookies

 

Barnaby Panda, Nuka, Lou Duck (Pic Pending)

A Case of Cookies

Basel the Dragon, Black Baldrik, Ichigo Ookami (Pic Pending), Lufis the Raccoon

A Jar of Cookies

 

MephistophEli, Plug, Tenax

A Box of Cookies

• Lygris

A Delicious Cookie

• Ausi K
• Christian
• Citrus Fox
• Icy Solid
• Ralley
• Sage Lightfang
• TyR
• Victor Mutt

MUSIC

• Intro: Cloud Fields (Radio Mix), USA: Unpublished, 2018. ©2011-2018 Fur What It’s Worth. Based on Fredrik Miller – Cloud Fields (Chill Out Mix). USA: Bandcamp, 2011. ©2011 Fur What It’s Worth
• Patreon: Inflammatus – The Tudor Consort, Creative Commons 2019
• Closing: Cloud Fields (RetroSpecterChill Remix), USA: Unpublished, 2018. ©2011-2018 Fur What It’s Worth. Based on Fredrik Miller – Cloud Fields (Chill Out Mix). USA: Bandcamp, 2011. ©2011 Fur What It’s Worth

S11E19 – Pups and Hoods - The whole crew is here and talking about pups and some of the surrounding misconceptions! What are the hoods for? What's a headspace? Is it all just sex related? Do furries and pups actually have anything in common? -

Ursa art by Foxenawolf.

Ursa Major Awards voting deadline is APRIL 19

The Ursa Major Awards feature the furry fandom’s favorite media published in the past year. Anyone in the community is welcome to vote for movies, short films, series, novels, short fiction, nonfiction, comics, games, websites, magazines, illustrations, music, and more…

You only have until Saturday April 19, so go to the voting page and do it now!

For nonfiction, please consider the Fur and Loathing podcast. Reporter Nicky Woolf and the team at Brazen worked hard to produce a podcast series investigating the Midwest Furfest 2014 chemical attack. They gave respect to the community and would appreciate recognition.

Follow the Ursas on Bluesky. Behind the awards, Rowedahelicon is new on staff and taking suggestions, and there’s a new policy about AI generated content. The awards are organized by a small team of devoted volunteers, and there is a cost to maintain this – you can donate to support them:

Nominations Open for 7th Annual Good Furry Awards

The Good Furry Awards recognize members of the furry community who help others and improve it through charity and friendship. You may nominate as many furries as you wish at the GFA Nomination form.

Prizes go to three categories:

• The Good Egg Award: for doing charitable or volunteer work, such as supporting furcons, raising money, or other service.
• The Image Award: for presenting a positive image of the fandom in media like YouTube videos, documentaries, websites and more.
• The Furtastic Award: for good works that don’t easily fit other categories.

Anyone active in furry fandom is eligible, and can be voted on by peers to win trophies and $200 cash.

The Lifetime Achievement Award is a special award presented by a select committee. Previously it has honored Mark Merlino and Rod O’Riley (joint), Reed Waller, and Steve Gallacci.

Nominations are open from now to July 31, then voting will begin, and awards will be presented in September.

The award is hosted and sponsored by Uncle Bear Publishing, and will be presented at Another Furry Con in Ontario, California.

Like the article? These take hard work. For more free furry news, follow on Twitter or support not-for-profit Dogpatch Press on Patreon.Want to get involved? Try these subreddits: r/furrydiscuss for news or r/waginheaven for the best of the community. Or send guest writing here. (Content Policy.)

TigerTails Radio Season 16 Episode 12. Join the Discord Chat: https://discord.gg/SQ5QuRf Join the Telegram Chat: https://t.me/+yold2C77m0I1MmM0 Visit the website at http://www.tigertailsradio.co.uk. See website for full breakdown of any song credits, which is usually updated shortly after the show. Credits: Opening music: Magic by Hedge Haiden (Double Hedge Studios) Character art: Fitzroy Fox - https://www.furaffinity.net/user/lunara-toons / https://bsky.app/profile/fitzroyfox.bsky.social Background art: Charleston Rat - https://www.furaffinity.net/user/charlestonrat / https://bsky.app/profile/charlestonrat.bsky.social If you like what we do and wish to throw some pennies our way to support us, please consider sending a little tip our way. https://streamlabs.com/tigertailsradio/tip * Please note, tips are made to support TigerTails Radio and are assumed as made with good faith, so are therefore non-refundable. Thank you for your support and understanding.

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What happens when you mix Mirror’s Edge with the movie The Running Man and throw in killer animatronics? You get Finding Frankie: A surprisingly decent, if short, mascot “horror” game that doesn’t overstay its welcome, but has some little issues that prevent it from being anything more than just an OK entry into the ever-growing Mascot-Horror genre.

Join Roo, Charlie, and Klik as they explore VRChat with special guests, Boots and Reyess.

Just what are furries are doing with VRChat? How does VRChat work? How can one join in? What tech or other items are needed to hop into VR?

This episode was originally livestreamed on YouTube. Light editing has been done for our podcast listeners. You can watch the original here: Livestream

NOW LISTEN!

SHOW NOTES Thank you!

To our guests: Boots and Reyess!

To those that were able to join the livestream!

To all of our listeners!

PATREON LOVE

THANK YOU to our patreons! You help us keep the show going!

A Cookie Factory – OwO

*empty*

A Pallet of Cookies

 

Barnaby Panda, Nuka, Lou Duck (Pic Pending)

A Case of Cookies

Basel the Dragon, Black Baldrik, Ichigo Ookami (Pic Pending), Lufis the Raccoon

A Jar of Cookies

 

MephistophEli, Plug, Tenax

A Box of Cookies

• Lygris

A Delicious Cookie

• Ausi K
• Christian
• Citrus Fox
• Icy Solid
• Ralley
• Sage Lightfang
• TyR
• Victor Mutt

MUSIC

• Intro: Cloud Fields (Radio Mix), USA: Unpublished, 2018. ©2011-2018 Fur What It’s Worth. Based on Fredrik Miller – Cloud Fields (Chill Out Mix). USA: Bandcamp, 2011. ©2011 Fur What It’s Worth
• Patreon: Inflammatus – The Tudor Consort, Creative Commons 2019
• Closing: Cloud Fields (RetroSpecterChill Remix), USA: Unpublished, 2018. ©2011-2018 Fur What It’s Worth. Based on Fredrik Miller – Cloud Fields (Chill Out Mix). USA: Bandcamp, 2011. ©2011 Fur What It’s Worth

S11E18 – Furries and VRChat - Join Roo, Charlie, and Klik as they explore VRChat with special guests, Boots and Reyess. - Just what are furries are doing with VRChat? How does VRChat work? How can one join in? What tech or other items are needed to hop in

Furgeddaboutit is coming to New Jersey on May 2-4, 2025. Info: Furgeddaboutit.org. There’s also The Big One furmeet. More about this shortly…

Many New Jersey furries have been demanding more honest events while protesting Garden State Fur the Weekend, the corrupt convention with a history of favoring nazi-furries. This has new developments.

• How often does a community create not one, but two alternative events to make up for a toxic one?
• Ever seen a con struggle to deny a toxic reputation — while officially operating on a pro-nazi site?

How Garden State Fur the Weekend disgraced itself

The problems with Garden State Fur the Weekend go back to its founding in 2020. Their May 2024 launch could have been a chance to set things right. Instead, if you attended, you were exposed to the management escorting Fox News cameras while they filmed nazifurs praising Trump on national TV. This was a surprise to innocent attendees and performers on stage who were NOT happy to find themselves in the crosshairs of hate. GSFTW issued excuses while critics were banned from con groups for complaining. Nazifurs are still welcome at the con today after boasting about this on Kiwifarms.

It was part of a parade of mismanagement, with ongoing reporting:

• January 2024: First article before the con. GSFTW was engaged and had a fair chance to answer, but broke their promises.
• October 2024: During and after the con, there was more deception, like switching a Chair who “stepped down” to be the owner.
• December-now: Monitoring thread where the con will not stop lying. (LONG!)

Con staff tried in vain to hold management accountable and avoid endangering attendees. It led to repeated staff revolts, losing guests of honor and artists, resignation of two chairs, and condemnation by other cons, but nothing could bring honesty. Now GSFTW will always be Nazi Con to those who saw it happen.

I’m so beyond disappointed by GSFTW I was so hyped for an NJ con and now it’s overrun by Nazis and Nazi sympathizers. It’s a shame because I had fun (besides being ’d but that’s a separate issue) and had high hopes. But I refuse to support a con that allows hateful people

— Ghøstwere (@ghostwere.bsky.social) December 4, 2024 at 7:51 AM

Curious Florida and Indiana connections

After Garden State Fur the Weekend lost many staff, many of their key people come from Florida, for some reason. (Like their third Chair in a year.) They are still appealing to the community as if they are a typical local con that deserves support.

Cons raise funds for charity, and Furgeddaboutit picked Cedar Run Wildlife Refuge. The New Jersey-based charity displays a commitment to Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion on its home page.

Garden State Fur the Weekend picked a charity based in Indiana, for some reason. It has a mascot, @cryptogroundhog, who predicts cryptocurrency prices and solicits crypto payments.

Charity from Furgeddaboutit helps baby skunks in New Jersey — GSFTW would support a place in Indiana.

[Editor note: updated to omit a detail about websites that is calculated for drama that doesn’t deserve to be fed.]

Guest of (dis)honor

Garden State Fur the Weekend had to get replacement guests for ones who quit. NIIC the Singing Dog stepped up, bringing the same kind of baggage as GSFTW’s owner… NIIC had gone on the Furry Raiders podcast. That’s for nazis to reach other nazis, and nobody else; a very dubious move to excuse, especially when moving on to support a disgraced convention now.

If you might wonder if this nazifur stuff was mistakes or accidents — and if you feel like excusing people for not knowing what they were doing over and over, check out what GSFTW did next…

ah I see that the jersey fash con found some entertainer for their venue after most jumped ship. NIIC, yeah I’m aware of that name. One would think given optics alone, why involve yourself. but then again hmm, yeah that tracks. Tell me GSFTW, how’s that whole “removing of nazi furs” going for ya?

[image or embed]

— Kojak (@kojakcoyote.bsky.social) January 3, 2025 at 3:55 PM

Official alt-right channel on Rumble

Garden State Fur the Weekend just opened a channel on Rumble, weeks before their next scheduled con. It’s definitely them. It uploaded videos before or at the same time as their other official channels.

Rumble is alt-tech; a would-be YouTube competitor listed by Media Matters this way:

Rumble — Extreme, right-wing video-sharing and web services company

Founded by Canadian tech entrepreneur Chris Pavlovski in 2013 and backed by various high-profile right-wing figures, Rumble plays an important role in the alternative digital infrastructure that caters to the extreme right, including far-right figures that have been banned on mainstream platforms for misinformation and hate speech. The platform is rife with QAnon content and other dangerous conspiracy theories, harmful medical misinformation, misogynistic and anti-LGBTQ hate speech, and white nationalist and antisemitic rhetoric.

A pro-nazi platform. After a year of controversy about supporting nazis and denying it… what were they thinking?

As deliberate as a Hitler salute

Searches of Rumble found zero other furry conventions using it. Results for “furries” are full of hateful attacks labeled “freaks”, transphobia, etc. Most channels titled Furry are for scammy, clout-chasing reuploads. There is no sign of any legitimate fan presence on Rumble. GSFTW has 2 followers there.

Making the channel accomplishes nothing but aligning with outsider malice, and giving a Fuck You to people who oppose nazis. Instead of pretending to care about fixing the reputation, GSFTW embraces it as surely as going on stage and throwing a Sieg Heil.

Remember that they recently welcomed back the nazifur who praised Trump on Fox News and boasted about it on Kiwifarms.

You don’t need to be exposed to bad management when you can pick events that leave no doubt that nazis are not welcome.

CHOOSE BETTER: Furgeddaboutit.

Furgeddaboutit has unique bona fides named on their site. It may be one of the only cons created by multiple pre-established groups, joining together with a common cause for the community.

Two of their Guests of Honor are Gadget and Gizmo, New Jersey fursuiters who met through their jobs as character mascots, designed and built their fursuits, and use professional mascot experience to entertain.

Their charity, Cedar Run Wildlife Refuge, has long history. It was started in the 1950’s by Betty and Jim Woodford, dedicated conservationists. Generations later, the family legacy lives on in a team and network who don’t just nurse injured/orphaned wildlife back to health for release, they also provide educational opportunities. They worked with the furry fandom in 2016 by teaming up with fursuit makers to build a mascot, Scout the Red Fox, who will be at the con.

Learn more and register at Furgeddaboutit.org.

The Big One furmeet

A two day event where there will be panels, fursuiting, dances and more.

The Big One is a furmeet rather than a full-fledged con, and they aren’t in competition with Furgeddaboutit, the con supports them. The Big One is supported by the former staff artist of GSFTW and many New Jersey furs. It comes from Pawsouls, the former PR lead for GSFTW, who joined the second wave staff revolt and went on to make a new event as proof of commitment to community.

Learn more about The Big One here.

You have the knowledge and options, and now the rest is up to you.

Like the article? These take hard work. For more free furry news, follow on Twitter or support not-for-profit Dogpatch Press on Patreon.Want to get involved? Try these subreddits: r/furrydiscuss for news or r/waginheaven for the best of the community. Or send guest writing here. (Content Policy.)

Have you ever started playing a game as a gremlin and looked at almost every interactable and wished you could eat it? WELL, do I have good news for you. If you can pick it up in Mother Machine, you can eat it, and that may be my favorite part of the game, trying to dodge small enemies attacks and grab them to gobble them up, or finding a glow slug on the ceiling and farting my way up to grab it, so I too can glow. Mother Machine is good fun with friends, and I definitely recommend trying to get a full party (up to 4). The more the better!

MOOBARKFLUFF! Click here to send us a comment or message about the show!

Bearly’s away having a birthday dinner, but fear not (or fear a lot) the pup is back after being lost for almost a month. We chat about things Taebyn doesn’t understand, get Zen with some Furmations, discuss where the fluff Taebyn has been, talk about our Media, get some Furry News, a Movie Review from Cheetaro, and finally in lieu of a story Taebyn graces us with some limericks! It’s a fun action packed episode.  

Links for this episode: 

The Varcross Key: 

www.theliteratebeast.com 

www.patreon.com/TheLiterateBeast 

Furry Wedding News Story: 

https://www.reddit.com/r/furry/comments/1jlu1f1/we_just_got_married_in_full_fursuit/

https://bsky.app/profile/teryxc.bsky.social/post/3llgt7lvqtc2t

This podcast contains adult language and adult topics. It is rated M for Mature. Listener discretion is advised.

Support the show

Thanks to all our listeners and to our staff: Bearly Normal, Rayne Raccoon, Taebyn, Cheetaro, TickTock, and Ziggy the Meme Weasel.

You can send us a message on Telegram at BFFT Chat, or via email at: bearlyfurcasting@gmail.com

Bearly Furcasting S5E22 - Birthday Bear Jamboree

At last, voting begins! We had a lot of nominations this year and as a result, our ballot is a bit larger than usual to make room for those 2024 works with the most nominations.

Guild members can vote using this form:
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScRdFoobt62L0gSbJBECYDtIcakUTF9lT1qH1_98mBcuf4nmA/viewform?usp=header

Please remember to include the name and email address that we have on file for you in the guild records! Only guild members may vote.

Voting will continue through April 22, 2025. We’ll announce the winners sometime in early May, details to be announced.

Rattles the vulture has had a taste for frogs ever since "Frogtown" but thankfully, there's a sequel "Return to Frogtown". Merch, Sweet Tees and stuff: https://culturally-fd-merchandise.creator-spring.com/ Support Culturally F'd: https://www.patreon.com/culturallyfd Listen in on TEMPO TALKS with Tempe O'Kun https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIPk-itLl1jPyIK2c7mK-LpbvfDNqfcSW Check out Tempe O'Kun's books "Sixes Wild" and "Windfall" here: http://furplanet.com/shop/?affillink=YOUTU2907 Here's a playlist of his other Culturally F'd videos: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIPk-itLl1jPS7tnT4hdJwBI-CeLF8Kb_

Is there anything more whimsical than watching squirrels run around in the park, finding little treasures and chirping at birds that get too close? Maybe becoming squirrels and running around the gardens yourself? Squirreled Away is a sleeper find that almost slipped by. It has plenty to praise on too, multiplayer co-op, exploration as a squirrel, adventure, and a nice little story with quests. As a player I also enjoyed achievement hunting to 100% the game, which my friends could help with while they played alongside me. We especially liked unlocking the different colors of the squirrels, and there were plenty to unlock.

Nintendo finally showed off the long speculated Nintendo Switch 2 in a highly anticipated Nintendo Direct on April 2nd, 2025. What they had to offer surprised a lot of people, with several new game announcements, features and other info specifically relating to the Switch 2 and the future of Nintendo. There’s plenty to get excited about for gamers, both furry and non-furry!

TigerTails Radio Season 16 Episode 11. Join the Discord Chat: https://discord.gg/SQ5QuRf Join the Telegram Chat: https://t.me/+yold2C77m0I1MmM0 Visit the website at http://www.tigertailsradio.co.uk. See website for full breakdown of any song credits, which is usually updated shortly after the show. Credits: Opening music: Magic by Hedge Haiden (Double Hedge Studios) Character art: Fitzroy Fox - https://www.furaffinity.net/user/lunara-toons / https://bsky.app/profile/fitzroyfox.bsky.social Background art: Charleston Rat - https://www.furaffinity.net/user/charlestonrat / https://bsky.app/profile/charlestonrat.bsky.social If you like what we do and wish to throw some pennies our way to support us, please consider sending a little tip our way. https://streamlabs.com/tigertailsradio/tip * Please note, tips are made to support TigerTails Radio and are assumed as made with good faith, so are therefore non-refundable. Thank you for your support and understanding.

And speaking of dogs who have a different take on things, let’s join some gamer-dogs as DnDoggos — Get The Party Started. “Magnus is tail-waggingly excited to share his favorite role-playing game with his friends! They’ve picked their characters and favorite dice, and are ready to set off on the adventure Magnus has created for them. Pickles, a rough-and-tumble fighter; Tonka, a playful and fun-loving bard; and Zoey, a wise and caring cleric, are given a quest to fetch a magical dog collar from a nearby swamp. But when they triumphantly return, they soon find that the collar isn’t the only thing that has gone missing from Tail’s Bend. All the squeaky toys in town have disappeared and Squish, the mayor’s young son, has set off on his own to find them. It’s up to the Doggos to rescue Squish, track down the missing toys, and save the day!” This graphic novel by Scout Underhill is illustrated by Liana Sposto, and it’s available now all over.

image c. 2025 Feiwel & Friends

Note: Most of this review has been written during the initial 1.000.02.00 launch

I am very new to the Monster Hunter series. I know it has been going on since the original Playstation 2 back in 2004 and I have only played Monster Hunter 4 as a demo on my 3DS. I enjoyed my time with it but was not in a good financial situation to buy the full game. I skipped over Worlds for the same reason. However Wilds came in at a time when I had some spare cash to spend and turns out I was assigned to review it! So let's boot it up and see if the series can get a hold of a newbie to the series.

Here’s a short graphic novel we just stumbled across: Life Is An Open Door, a full-color one-shot by Mason Mendoza, with art by Alonso Molina-Gonzales. “Have you ever worked in a cramped office, looked at the exit door, and felt that urge to get up from your desk and make a break for it? Al, the working class Dalmatian, channels his animal impulses in this fun comic book short story about giving into instinct and going remote.” Check out the preview pages.

image c. 2025 Critical Entertainment