Our Bond by the River

It was late summer and the river waters were low. Today was the day Professor B. Fuller and I would go and collect our riches from the stream. We did this on a regular bases, hiding our treasure in the hills above a dry B.C. city, because we didn't want our ladies to love us for our money.

As we walked up the river, Professor B. Fuller pulled out his scientifically proven tuning fork, cell phone, and a bag of trail mix. "This is it," he stated in a proud, calm voice. "I envisioned this place at the exact moment Lis' was taking my picture for the millionth time. The flash propelled me into a deminsion of space and time I call, "Blind." We made our way through the snake invested bushes and zip lined across the river to our place of destiny. When we arrived I remember stating to the Professor, "Wow, that trail mix is good."

We slung off our packs and set up our stools. Being men of science we always set ourselves up at least 15 feet away from eachother. Professor B. Fuller said, "this way we don't scare the treasure away and our magnetic forces will not cause us to tumble into a worm hole." More trail mix flew into my mouth.

Shovel after shovel we panned the life out of the sand and rock. The snuffer container was filling rapidly with our treats and the sun decreased behind the valley hills. Occassionally the Professor and I would move locations, but the results were always the same. Sometime the noise of the river was broken by the verbal intriguing thought of B. Fuller. "Did I ever tell you about my cats?" he said. Uhhhh... well I have seen you with them but go on. "It was nearly 7:00pm and the little fellers had come in for the night. I, (B. Fuller), was in my lab working on a new drink which combined both caffiene and tobacco, when I decided my mind hurt so it was time to enter my domain. The living room was empty but I heard the giggling and high pitched tonne of my lady in the kitchen. She was calling the cats. To my horror she had the cats on the counter and a litre worth of yogurt spread on two plates. I quickly jumped in saving my babies from a night of bowel problems. My sweet lady didn't understand way I was upset, so I pulled out my best selling book called, "My Dancing Cats and their Sensitive Bowel Syndrome," and read to her as she gazed in loving amazement at me. "Wow," I said. "That sounds like it was a really romantic night?! I think you should write a romantic book for all those people looking for ideas." Professor B. Fuller responded with a chuckle and the air returned to the sound of the river.

After filling our minds with memories, our bellies with mix, and our snuffer with treasure we decided it was time to disrupt the space/time continuum and head for caffiene. It was at this moment that we realized we were not alone. The Canadian Governement had sent out it's top spy to keep an eye on us. Lucky for us this spy wasn't really good. The buck toothed, leather tailed spy swam right in front of us and stopped by Professor B. Fuller for a chat. With click-clacks, and the odd bum shake, Professor B. navigated his way through the linguistic relm of the spy. In shock I screamed, "Wow." The conversation ened and the creature made his way up the river.

As we walked back to the G8 Rocket, I asked the Professor what he said to the spy. He said, "I told the creature that I had seen his Dad as a hat in the city of Ottawa. The spy said he would never bother us again."

"Wow, that trail mix was good."