December 1, 2001
Dear FiberNetters:

Shadowy veils of despair snagged on the branches of trees around the watering hole and grief hovered like a thick fog over the pond. News of Princess One's death seemed to still every breeze, silence every walking creature and hush every bird.

Word from the New York Aquarium that One had been found lifeless in her pen left Shipping Method and Destination mute with uncomprehending shock. Tests indicated that she had ingested an unfortunate combination of the pills she was so reliant upon. Her gentle reptilian heart had given way under the continued punishment we had thought only humans inflicted on themselves.

Short Pants came east immediately. Conservatively dressed, minus the gold rings and with skill and sensitivity I would not have given him credit for, he consoled his parents and took charge of arrangements. I stayed mostly out of the way, wracked by the guilty knowledge that I had been instrumental in One's relocation and therefore in her ultimate ruin.

Princess Two tormented her mother with telephone calls from Florida, whining that she could not come north because of the children and indulging in a litany of pointless speculations, accusations and recriminations. Destination finally hung up on her and took no more of her calls.

As much as they needed time to grieve, Shipping Method and Destination could not allow themselves to be distracted from their duty to a new generation of wooly lizards that now demanded their parents' attention.

Tiring after years of child raising, Destination had not looked forward to this new brood but in retrospect she thought she understood why they were here. They were a much more solemn little group, perhaps feeling the weight of sadness around them. Watching them engaged in their active but sober play, Shipping Method and Destination would sometimes exchange glances that said these quiet, intelligent youngsters may have been their finest work.

Nevertheless, when they reached the toddler stage they were perfectly normal little wooly lizards. Destination began to feel her age as she ran heavily after them to clamp her jaws on one short tail after another, dragging the squirming adventurer to safety only to have it scamper off again in search of new mischief.

On a morning like this in May, Shipping Method was stretched out beneath a spreading pine tree. He made it a point now to find shady places that kept direct sun off his back where his fleece had thinned. Startled out of deep thoughts by the sharp sound of a car door slamming, he looked up to see a young man walking in his direction, slung over with a heavy backpack and carrying a briefcase.

Shipping Method was instantly on his feet and charging. Most people are intimidated by the speed these huge lizards can achieve when aroused, even an aging male with a sagging gut, but the new arrival stood his ground calmly. As Shipping Method skidded to a halt in front of him, the visitor shrugged out of the backpack's straps and holding it by its bottom, shook out boxes of Twinkies.

Snorting and lashing his tail, Shipping Method ransacked the pile until he found his favorite. Lemon! Snatching the box in his big jaws, he marched off with dignified haste to the watering hole.

Destination had been watching this familiar routine with loving exasperation and she now stacked the remaining boxes neatly. She greeted Wendell warmly and he admired the youngsters who crowded about his feet. Awkwardly, he offered his condolences to Destination who lowered her eyes and said nothing.

He was a part of the lizards' family now even though they had given up on pronouncing his last name. It was of Welsh origin, a long series of consonants with only two vowels, and even Wendell laughingly said that he could hardly spell it. And so to the wooly lizards (and to us, though we'd never admit it) he was Wendell Whatshisname.

Wendell was a graduate student at Penn State and was writing his thesis on giant lizards. In an attempt to research the rare Mongolian wooly lizard he had traveled to Mongolia only to return home crestfallen after six months, not having encountered even one of the reclusive creatures.

When he learned that a colony of the rare lizards was living just a few hours' drive from him, he was in his car and speeding north even before he had accurate directions and was halfway here before reaching me on his cellphone for further guidance.

His visits to the lizards' watering hole became frequent and everyone looked forward to them. He asked lots of questions, paid compliments and recorded conversations. The youngsters lined up happily to have their growth measured by Wendell as he made cuts with his penknife on a long log. His study included every element of the lizards' life including the shearing and after some lubrication by Jack Daniels, Uncle Bill the shearer turned into a shameless lens hog.

Wendell engaged Shipping Method and Destination in many serious conversations about the future of their growing clan. He had hoped to bring another pair of wooly lizards from Mongolia, presuming he could locate them, to add a new bloodline to the community. However it soon became clear to him that the wooly lizards had already outgrown the space we provided for them.

When he felt he had earned their trust, he broached the subject of moving the community in its entirety to a new location. He had in mind a place where the current residents would have more room to raise their families and new lizards could be introduced. Shipping Method snorted angrily at the idea and stomped away but Destination had remained, quietly asking questions.

Later, Wendell sternly sat Shipping Method down beside Destination and got to the point. The university was willing to establish a grant under which he could set up a new home for the wooly lizards. Wendell would study these little known creatures first hand and in return for their cooperation the lizards would receive a large, new watering hole with an adjacent swamp instead of a little pond.

Shipping Method seemed unconvinced so Wendell delivered the clincher: not only would this program offer lifetime security for the American branch of Mongolian wooly lizards, but there would be unlimited education for new generations and relocation assistance later on if they wanted it.

He looked directly at Shipping Method. One word from the patriarch and Wendell could put all the power of the university to work.

He waited.

Shipping Method shifted from foot to foot, made a great show of snuffling up Twinkie crumbs, and at last looked to Destination. Their gazes locked for a long moment; then Shipping Method turned to Wendell and nodded.

Word spread almost instantly throughout the community around the watering hole. Skepticism soon gave way to excitement and then to impatience as it seemed to everyone that it was taking the university forever to get their new home ready.

When the time came, Shipping Method and Destination insisted on being the first to go into the crate that was to be hoisted onto the big transport. They wanted to reassure any of their children who might have had misgivings about being crated and they also wanted to be waiting at the site to receive the new arrivals.

Shipping Method regarded the crate with suspicion and for a moment it looked like he would refuse to enter it. The sight of it brought back fears that Destination thought they had long forgotten, but she put on a cheerful face and urged Shipping Method aboard. When the truck moved onto the interstate, its gentle rocking motion lulled the old lizards into drowsiness. Destination curled up beside Shipping Method and was comforted by his quiet snore.

University officials made the lizards welcome and then left them to Wendell and his staff. Their quarters were even more wonderful than Wendell had promised and there was lots of running about, exploring and exclaiming. The new wooly lizards had arrived from Mongolia, a handsome pair but very shy, and Destination did her best to help them over the language barrier.

It took several weeks to get the lizard families settled in their new home but they easily became accustomed to Wendell with his clipboard and to the photographer with his camera bags and lights. By late fall, life had settled into an agreeable routine.

As the holidays drew near, one of their teachers suggested to the young wooly lizards that they should present a little Nativity play in their school auditorium and invite parents and friends.

The little lizards tore into the idea with enthusiasm. The classroom turned into bedlam as suggestions and conflicting opinions were thrown about. After long, loud discussion it was decided by unanimous show of claws to take over the university theatre to produce "Nutcracker Suite".

No choreographer they interviewed would even consider mounting a production of the ballet casting wooly lizards, toe shoes being only one of the obstacles. Destination finally persuaded Everett Everdoll of the university theatre guild to give it a try, explaining that it would be less a matter of stage management than traffic management - all he would have to do was keep the young lizards from colliding with each other and tearing up their tutus.

Destination felt horribly betrayed when Everett decided that humans should dance the starring roles. She had dozens of daughters and daughters-in-law who would have been perfect for the role of Clara. "Humpf", she sniffed. "If it weren't for a couple of extra pounds, I'd dance it myself!"

It was finally agreed that the young wooly lizards would form the corps de ballet. This set off a lengthy round of auditions that ended, again with Destination's intervention, in every single one of the hopefuls being accepted. Places were assigned and costume fittings began.

Criticizing costume design was only one of the things that turned Shipping Method into the worst of all possible stage mothers. He fussed with headdresses, coached the little dancers with their steps and took up most of the space in the dressing room while he tried out stage makeup. He followed Everett everywhere, reading from his list of suggested changes, and his great tail upended more than one carefully built stage set.

Finally, Everett and Destination put their heads together for a whispered conversation. Then they casually mentioned in Shipping Method's hearing that a person who had referred to Tchaikovsky as 'the second worst composer of the nineteenth century'* intended to visit the rehearsals.

Incensed, Shipping Method sped out to the lobby and stretched his great length crosswise in front of the glass entrance doors. He remained there, fiercely vigilant, every day until the rehearsal schedule was over.

On the night of dress rehearsal, Shipping Method and Destination were backstage when Wendell and his photographer arrived. Wendell explained that the university wanted a picture of the two senior lizards for use in holiday greetings.

Destination beamed and Shipping Method scowled as Wendell produced a red velvet Santa Claus hat and placed it on Shipping Method's head. It immediately slipped down over his left eye and Destination gently nudged it back.

The orchestra was warming up as Wendell moved them into position in front of a velvet curtain and the photographer set up his lights. A tiny Sugar Plum Fairy dashed toward them on her way to join the other dancers. She'd made a last-minute visit to the bathroom but hadn't been able to refasten the pins that secured her costume to her fleece. As she hurried, she tripped over her hem and landed flat on her back. All four legs flailed helplessly at the air and her tail beat against the floor.

Shipping Method leaned forward, eased his snout under the fuzzy back and gently flipped her over. Relieved to be again on all fours, the flustered little ballerina hitched up her tutu and scuttled toward the stage.

Shipping Method and Destination gazed after her and saw the rows of their progeny lined up in their beautiful costumes, eager and nervous. The elder lizards were still for a moment as they took in the entire scene and then turned brimming eyes to each other - they had both been looking for the long-ago child who was not there.

As the orchestra began the overture, Wendell urged Shipping Method and Destination closer together and the photographer turned on the lights. Squinting at the glare, Shipping Method jerked his head and his red hat fell over his eye again. Destination patiently pushed it back. She leaned close and whispered to him. He grinned his huge toothless smile and kissed her gently on the snout.

"Merry Christmas to you too, my dear."

THE END

* Every year on May 7th, Fiber Net receives a message from its founder with this signature line:



"Ron Parker noting: The second worst 19th century composer,

Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky, was born on this day in 1840."