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     It was a blustery day in Cronkey Cove when a mysterious, foreign beaver deigned to move into the small, isolated and yet distinct community.  Actually, it was quite a lovely, windless, and only slightly cold day, but Ernest had all the fans on high, blowing at him so as to give his cape the appearance of flight (with him leading, of course).  Yes, today was a good day; the cape was briskly flapping along, and Ernest was once more delved deep into an imagination suitable only to someone who lives in a deep, dark cave, has nothing to do, and only hears about the greatness of the world and its inhabitants.  Yup, that pretty much explains Ernest's world as a pupa.  Dark, lonely, and yet unnervingly comfortable…or maybe that’s just his imagination going again…
     Anyway, I believe I mentioned something about a beaver…ah, yes…Sir Callaghan, knighted by the Queen Beaver in his beloved motherland of England, was gracefully (not to mention tactfully) removed from the country to colonize the "New World", which had, unnoticed to him, been new for just under a millennia now.
     Just three days ago, on the morning of February 11th, 2003, the Queen and her most loyal subject, Johnaby, a nice, sensible British man with ruddy cheeks and crooked teeth, had been discussing a national crisis that threatened to pull the queen out of her lofty chair at the next Queen Election Bonanza – Sir Callaghan.  That name could not be uttered by anyone in that country, even if they were alone, without a distinct wail being sent up by a small group of nervous females.  So, the Queen devised a strategy…the whole shtick I mentioned in the last paragraph.  The only thing that needed to be decided on…other than how many undies he could bring…was WHERE.
     The Queen, a quick thinker, immediately drew out a map of the New World's smaller centres of population, took out her pinky finger, shut her eyes, waved the delicate digit about and then jabbed it at the page, spraining it and at the same moment dooming the meagre population of Cronkey Cove.  Without knowing it, Callaghan had, through the sprain which was no fault of his own, cursed the prim land of England one last time.
     Now back to Ernest who, by this time, was getting a tad chilled, but was not yet daunted; The Great Unbelievablymagicallysuperfantastical Wonder Turtle wouldn't cave in because of a slight draft…Although, pupas have such bad balance that it’s amazing he’s lasted so – and with that, Ernest fell to the floor, onto the switch that controlled the power to all the fans (and amazingly the entire village which suddenly and inexplicably lost all power), and wriggled outdoors for a wiggle (walk).
     Ernest the Cape-Wearing Pupa took his usual route along the path that wound from his small house of leaves to the main road.  It was at this intersection that Ernest got very, VERY frightened, for coming at him was a large, seemingly intoxicated beaver.
     "I've got you, you dirty heathen!" yelled the beaver, whose foreign accent and strange behaviour caused the quaking pupa to think him drunk.  "I mean to colonize this area, for my queen and country, and no untamed beast will roam its lands while I, Sir Callaghan the Beaver, breathe."
     Now Ernest KNEW he was drunk, and Ernest was getting a bit mad, what with some strange beaver putting on airs and deeming HIM a heathen…But, Ernest decided to humour him, and act the part of a kind hero.
     "Oh no! You've caught me," feigned Ernest in an only slightly mocking tone.  "Will you now take me to your fort to conform me of my ways?"
     Sir Callaghan, pleased with his easy success, attributed, of course, to his unshakeable talents with infidels, prodded the small pupa towards his so-called "fort".
     And what a "fort" it was.  Tiny twigs and huge oak trunks, criss-crossed in an alarming manner, formed what could only be called an extremely dilapidated shack.  However, there was no end to Sir Callaghan’s pride for this shack, since it was obviously the first building in the New World, and HE had built it with amazing handiwork.  Which would be true, if he had hands instead of paws, and since he didn't, it is safe to say that the shack was a piece of…well, you get the idea.
     Callaghan decided he would begin the heathen's lessons on the most important figure in Britain – other than himself.  "Now heathen, the Queen –"
     "Uh," interjected Ernest, who had to draw the line at two name-callings of heathen.  "My name is Ernest.  Please, call me Ernest."
     "Heathens don’t deserve good, English names until they have learned how to be excused from the table in order to go to the loo, and you certainly have NOT learned such," spluttered an outraged Sir Callaghan.
     "If you call me heathen one more time I’ll –"
     "Heathen!  Heathen!"
     "Why you…!" and with that one exclamation, Ernest hopped out of the "fort" and kicked one of the many sticks composing it.  From sheer luck, that stick happened to be the keystone of the building by somehow managing to be on one side of the precariously built shack and yet also support every other piece of wood.  In a split-second, the first building in the New World went from a Somehow-Standing Health Hazard to a Fallen Health Hazard, which caused Sir Callaghan, who was still inside, to be knocked unconscious.
     "Crazy beaver," muttered a once-more composed pupa with a shake of his cocoon. "Unless his parents were scary-beyond-all-reason, I suspect he's the result of some serious gene mutations."
     And thus Ernest and Sir Callaghan began their life-long friendship.  Few were the days in which they would not reflect back on this event and either laugh… or continue the argument.

THE END