Christopher Robin Held in Custody For Alleged Trophy Kill

SPECIAL NEWS ALERT

[PICTURES AT 11:00.]

[The alleged perp poses with his trophy kill. Robin is on the left.]

The way I see it through my news-weary eyes is that Robin made the mistake of posting his kill on Facebook. A friend recognized him and using GPS coordinates pinpointed the exact location as somewhere in the region of Ulaanbaatar, capital of Mongolia. The glacier in the background has been photoshopped in to make it look like the Himalayas. Another attempt at deception.

So, here I stand somewhere in the Hundred Acre Wood. Robin looking like a desperate man…and a depressed one at that. While the constables milled about, I approached the sad figure.

“You were always so kind and protective, Chris. Why this?”

“It was all for nothing, Mr…”

“You can call me Krebs.”

“Mr. Krebs, it was all a fantasy. How long can a paradise like the Wood last. Listen.”

I heard the roar of a dozen chainsaws in the distance. I knew what he meant. Moments earlier I’d seen a panel truck drive by, nearly getting stuck in the mud. On the side of the truck it read:

YOU PLANT ‘EM–WE CHOP ‘EM

YOU PLANT ‘EM AGAIN–WE CHOP ‘EM AGAIN!

IT’S CALLED RECYCLING!!!

I Lowered my head. Something caught my eye. Then I saw them. They were penned into a small space with little room to turn around. As our eyes met, I could name them all: Roo, Eeyore, Kanga,  Rabitt, Tigger, Piglet, Gopher, Lumpy and of course, Winnie (the Pooh Bear.)

“What’ll happen to them, Mr. Krebs?”

I knew but I held my tongue. One by one they would find a “home’ in a small circus, a fair, a poor farm or a down and out petting zoo that you often see in the parking lot of your local Waitrose Supermarket.

“Whatcha got, Matt?”

I turned to face Libby. We were the only two reporters who thought it was worth the trip.

Me? I’m just a washed-up news hack who gets a story where I can. Right now I have a regular column about Nature that runs in the National Inquirer…when they find the room. The last piece I wrote ran four months ago. Title: A Day in the Life of the Queen’s Corgis.

Libby? Now she get around. A very versatile journalist who snagged a gig when she got on the staff of Girls n’ Guns. Her last piece was Thirty Ways to Beautify Your AG-043.

She smashed out the butt of her cheroot on the fresh flat stump.

“Well, not much to do here. Wanna go anywhere?”

“Sweetheart, you’re in the middle of Ashdown Forest in East Sussex. Ain’t nothing open around yet. But I have a huge hollow log where I’ve been self-isolating. Care to join me?”

“Why not? We’re both in the same business, ain’t we?”

I had a pocket full of baby carrots. I went over to the pen and gave one to each of Robin’s friends. I shook hands with Christopher.

“Good luck, mate. You won’t get much time. Next thing you know, you’ll be back in these parts tending saplings.”

I heard the chainsaws…closer this time.

A tear welled in my eye. “I hope I meet you again…and your friends,”

“Krebs. I’m as near as the nearest shelf of good books.”

[The Hundred Acre Wood.]

[All images are from Google Search]

 

 

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