Francis' Not-so-Good Day

A tumble of yellow leaves greeted them as they rounded the bend over to the house that morning. Another day of perfection – loaming rain clouds over the already gray-brushed skies. And the trees – crowded foliage of herbal, earthy colors, brushing together in wind-swept corners of the woods. They were comforting, warm.
As they walked up to the front porch, Collette could see Buddha’s little ceramic house still sat nestled under the rose bush.
“Where’s breakfast?” Francis bellowed. “I’m starved!”
“Have a bowl of cereal,” Carrie had told him.
“Ahg,” said Francis. “Puck is fortunate. He’s is a hybrid – he can eat anything. I only eat high octane fuel.”
He continued looking through the refrigerator and pantries, until Carrie told him to finish the dishes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Francis declared loudly.
Puck was oblivious to Francis’ woes. He was in the living room madly pummeling a hand pump which had been left behind from the bicycle armada in the garage. Francis later joined him with a blinking red L.E.D. light, which Puck tried to blow out. Then he picked up a missing bicycle handlebar and began blowing into the end of it like a long-horn.
“Quiet!!” Carrie bellowed.
She was in the kitchen practicing dental vowels in Italian, but later switched back to Spanish. Collette shared a couple of ginger snaps with Puck, who then stirred up his toy drawer with the large wooden salad spoon from Hawaii. And Joe left for work just before the rain came sweeping into the neighborhood. Francis brought Puck into the kitchen and set him in an upside-down kitchen bench.
“You’re a choo-choo train, Puck,” he said.
Things still weren’t going so well for Francis at lunchtime. Carrie had allowed him to make orange cinnamon rolls for lunch, as an unconventional meal. Francis, however, was only left with one cinnamon roll when all was said and done.
“What?” he exclaimed. “Come on!”
He settled on a leftover cheeseburger and a piece of chicken.
“Go get the mail, Francis,” Carrie commanded from the kitchen.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Watch this,” Carrie whispered to Collette. She called back into the living room, “You might have some birthday cards in there.”
“What?”
“What month comes after October, Francis?”
“November.”
“No – February.”
“It does not.”
“Go through your months, Francis. October, February, June, August, December…”
Francis got the mail anyway. There were no birthday cards. Unfortunately, there was something missing upon his return.
“What?!”
Trooper had eaten the rest of his chicken, left unguarded in the living room.
Later, while Carrie spent the afternoon on the roof in the rain with a glass of tea and a book, Francis sat at the dining room table spreading saltscapes on his notebook. He was not a happy camper.
Back at home, Collette opened the windows to the blue breezes of rain and wet leaves. She prepared lentil stew, sweet potatoes, and sliced strawberries for Puck’s dinner.
When he saw her take the strawberry carton from the fridge, he exclaimed joyously, “Behwr-oh-wehr-oh-wehrees!!

“Would is spoil some vast, eternal plan,
“If I were a wealthy man?”
– Tevye, Fiddler on the Roof