Julius

The two-lane highway twisted and turned through the hills of the northern part of the state. On this quiet summer afternoon, the heat waves made the road look alive. The leaves on the trees hung still. There hadn't even been a puff of wind the whole day long. The sound of locusts was heard from near and far, and an occasional hummingbird buzzed from flower to flower, competing for the nectar with the bees and the butterflies. A mockingbird went through its impressive repertoire of trills and songs.

Suddenly there was a distant rumbling sound. Slowly, it grew louder, and pretty soon one could make out the sound of music, and then motors laboring in the afternoon heat. To the south, seven motorcycles rounded a curve and came into view. They were all large, and all had full fairings and were pulling trailers. Five of them had big, triangular decals that said "CMA - Christian Motorcyclists' Association." All of the trailers had various stickers from places all over the nation applied to them. On three of the motorcycles the stereos were on, playing popular Christian music. The leader spoke into his helmet microphone. "Watch out, guys, there is a big hole and some loose gravel here, we don't need to wreck our rigs this close to the camp." In spite of his warning, the last cycle's trailer wheel hit the hole. Unseen by the driver something fell off, bounced off the road and tumbled down a steep embankment.

The motorcycles continued, and soon all that told of their passing was a faint smell of exhaust in the still air.

Half hidden beneath some bushes at the bottom of the steep embankment lay something brown and blue.

The seven motorcycles pulled into the camp area twenty-five minutes later, and the drivers and passengers prepared to set their tents up.

"Oh no, I've lost Julius," the driver whose trailer had hit the hole exclaimed, "I have to go back and look for him!"

"Don't bother, the leader said, it will soon be dark, you wouldn't stand a chance of finding him. Let's go back up there in the morning and look for him." They agreed to that.

Just as the sun was setting behind the western mountains, a scruffy and hungry looking small dog came tripping around the same curve the motorcycles had rounded more than an hour earlier. It walked down the slopes next to the road, then back across the road and up the slope on the other side, stopping to sniff here and smell there. Soon it discovered the brown and blue thing sticking out from under the bush. It cautiously put its nose close to the thing and sniffed, then backed up. The dog sat down and scratched vigorously behind its left ear. Then it cocked its head and looked at the thing it had found. Again the dog moved closer and sniffed. Carefully it extended its tongue and licked the thing a few times. Deciding that the thing probably was not dangerous, and definitely not food, the dog grabbed it in his mouth and tugged. This might be something nice to chew on while the night lowered its black velvet blanket over the woods. The thing got stuck on one of the thorny branches of the bush, but the dog tore it free. Carrying the thing in his mouth, the dog sauntered along to a clearing in the woods and lay down next to its trophy. Idly, it started chewing on the thing, because that is what dogs do.

Suddenly something hit the dog hard on its hind leg. It yelped, jumped to its feet and ran a little way before it turned around to see what hit it. Barely visible in the rapidly disappearing light, the dog thought it could see a very small man standing next to the thing with a slingshot in his hand. The dog decided it didn't want to feel that pain again, so it chuffed and kept going and disappeared into the woods.