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October 13th 2010    Tim Candler

    I can see it now.  Tears and foot stamping.  The suitcase packed.  And a father stern as an axe man.  "You will go to welding school," he commands, while the little Mole sniffs and snivels.

     The school itself is run by Beagles and sometimes young Moles do not return to their home places.   There is temptation of course to assure anxious parents that Beagles are vegetarian, but this no longer washes round here.   Rather reassurance comes from fostering an idea that Ornamental Perennials discourage grubs, and worms and other essential things that dislike sunlight.  Mole Barriers have become a matter of national security, no sacrifice is great enough.

    There will be teasing and other such disagreeable antics, so taking the pillow might not be such a good thing.  Better to leave it home and hope to see it again.  At night he'll sleep trying not to cry.  Through the days he'll learn his trade.   And if he does come home, and if he does cut through my hard work,  I'll be tempted to hate him or love him.

    Either way I wish him luck because I have been where he is going.

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