Back in the old days, when hardy pioneers lived in log cabins built from logs they had hewn themselves from trees they had painstakingly assembled from toothpicks, people used to love to tell the story of How the Raccoon Got His Mask. They hated like anything to hear it, but they loved to tell it. And this is how it went:

The raccoon was the most elegant creature in the forest, and he used to strut along the bank of the creek all day, first one way and then the other, but never both at once, saying, “Look at me, I’m hardly elegant at all.” He said that because he was fishing for compliments. So one day the vole, who in those days was eight feet tall, came along and said, “I agree that you are hardly elegant at all. And do you know why that is?”

“No,” answered the raccoon, who was more than a little annoyed that the vole had agreed with him instead of paying him the compliment he had expected.

“It is because you are not wearing a tiara,” the vole explained. “Everyone who is truly elegant wears a tiara.”

“Wouldn’t I look a bit silly with a tiara?” asked the raccoon.

“Or cufflinks,” the vole added. “Cufflinks are very elegant, especially if you have cuffs.”

“I don’t have cuffs,” the raccoon said.

“You know what else is elegant?” the vole continued. “Proposition 47 in Book I of Euclid. That is a seriously elegant demonstration.”

“But can I wear it?” asked the raccoon.

“Well, I have seen the figure silkscreened on a T-shirt,” the vole responded. “But then one must admit that T-shirts with printed figures on them are not very elegant, and where does that leave us?”

“Where indeed?” the raccoon agreed.

“I think it leaves us back at the tiara,” said the vole; and, bidding the raccoon good day, he lumbered off into the forest, accidentally knocking over a few saplings as he went.

The raccoon still thought he would look perfectly ridiculous with a tiara. But later that day, he happened to pass the opossum’s annual spring-cleaning yard sale, and on the front table was a rather dashing black mask, and the opossum only wanted a quarter for it, so the raccoon figured, hey, why not? And that, dear, children, is the story of How the Raccoon Got His Mask.

From Dr. Boli’s Fables for Children Who Are Too Old to Believe in Fables.

—

Once there was a boy who had a keen pair of eyes and a particularly loud and piercing voice, so he was employed by a syndicate of sheep-owners to watch over their flock. “And if you see a wolf among the sheep,” the leader of the syndicate told him, “you shout ‘Wolf! Wolf!’ at the top of your lungs.”

The boy solemnly swore that he would keep a careful eye out and warn everyone the moment he saw a wolf, and he went to work watching the sheep with unflagging vigilance.

He had been watching most of the afternoon with nothing to report, when suddenly a wolf sprang out of the underbrush and, to his horror, began devouring one of the sheep.

“Wolf! Wolf!” the boy cried at the top of his lungs.

Immediately the leader of the syndicate came running.

“Look here, boy,” he said sternly, as the wolf continued his meal, “what are you trying to do? Do you want the whole village to think we don’t know how to take care of our sheep?”

“But the wolf is eating them!”

“That’s no excuse for such an unseemly ruckus. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” And the leader of the syndicate turned and walked away, leaving the wolf to eat mutton until he was satisfied.

The next day the boy was in position again, and once again the wolf leaped out of the brush and began tearing a sheep to pieces.

“Wolf! Wolf!” the boy cried in his piercing soprano.

The leader of the syndicate came running even faster than he had the previous day.

“Now, what did I tell you?” he demanded angrily. “You’re making the whole village think there are wolves about! Do you think that makes them feel secure?”

“But the wolf is right there,” the boy explained.

“I don’t want to be bothered with details! Now, not another peep from you, or there will be serious consequences.” And he turned and stomped away angrily, once again leaving the wolf to eat sheep until he could eat no more.

The next day, the boy was in his place, and once again the wolf leaped out of the shrubbery and began gobbling up sheep.

The boy was not at all certain what to do. He seriously considered just letting the wolf go about his business unmolested. But in the end he remembered that he had sworn a solemn oath to watch over the sheep, and he did what he knew was his duty.

“Wolf! Wolf!” the boy cried.

This time the leader of the syndicate simply called the police and had the boy arrested, and he is now serving six years in juvenile detention for disturbing the peace.

The wolf, meanwhile, ate all the sheep at his leisure; but the members of the syndicate decided that they had never liked sheep very much and were better off without them.

Moral: A comfortable lie beats immoderate truth any old day.

Hello, happy children! Did you miss your Aunt Lizzy? Well, I’m back, and once again it’s Happy Crafty Time!

Today we’re going to do something special. We’re going to make a birdhouse for all our little birdie friends. When we’re done, the little birdies will have a nicer house than your Aunt Lizzy has, not that that’s saying much.

Now, the first thing we need for a birdhouse is some wood. And we’re in luck! I’ll bet there’s wood all over your house. Like the table in your dining room, or the dresser in Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom—they’re probably made of wood! Just like this French provincial coffee table I found in the studio next door where they do the Morning View show. All you need is to get the wood out of them. And that’s why I brought this chainsaw. Can you say “Husqvarna”? I don’t even know if I’m pronouncing it right, but it sure does the job. All we have to do is [- – – – inaudible – – – -] and there we are—all the wood we need for our birdhouse!

Now the next step is to glue these pieces together so that they form a birdhouse. All you’ll need is some of that instant-stick super-glue. But you have to be careful with it. Otherwise you might end up accidentally gluing your little brother to his bicycle seat, and while that would be very funny, you might get in trouble if you’re stupid enough to get caught.

So here we are! Isn’t this a pretty birdhouse? This is one I bought down at the Metro Mart, because all the birdhouses I tried to make looked like a pile of lumber glued together by a five-year-old.

Well, that’s all we have time for today on Happy Crafty Time. And just remember, children, do your best in school, because you don’t want to end up in a job you despise where you can’t get out of your contract unless they fire you while you watch the people you grew up with land all the cool shows where they get to interview the mayor or dress up like a vampire and introduce scary movies or even cook stuff guys like to eat and you’re stuck in the same rut year after year until all you dream of at night is scissors and construction paper and you can’t get a date because people think you’re some kind of cross between a nun and a fluffy stuffed bunny. That’s all for now! Tomorrow, unless they fire me, I’m going to show you some really fun things you can do with just an ordinary gas stove. So till next time, have a happy crafty day!

IN HONOR OF the fifth anniversary of his celebrated Magazine on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting some favorite articles and advertisements from the past five years.

—

ONCE THERE WAS a puppy whose mother loved him very much. She taught him how to wag his tail and how to beg the people for food, which are the two best things a dog can know.

One day she decided to teach him about the other animals on the farm.

“You can tell what kind of animal it is by the sound it makes,” she told him.

The puppy tilted his head and lifted his ears. He loved sounds.

“A cow says ‘moo,’” his mother said. “Dogs are friends to cows, because they are very big and do not eat our food.”

“Moo,” the puppy repeated.

“A rooster says ‘cock-a-doodle-doo,’” his mother continued. “Dogs are friends to roosters, because roosters help guard the farm.”

The puppy tilted his head the other way to show he was still listening.

“A sheep says ‘baa,’” said the mother dog. “Sheep are a bit dim, but easy to get along with. Dogs are friends to sheep.”

“Baa,” the puppy repeated.

Now his mother’s face grew dark, and she spoke in grave tones. “A cat says ‘meow,’” she told him. “Dogs hate cats and chase them whenever we can, because cats are evil and manipulative, and they steal our food when we’re not looking. If you see a cat, you chase it.”

When the lesson was over, the puppy trotted off into the fields to play.

On the way, he met a cow.

“What kind of animal are you?” the puppy asked.

“Moo,” said the cow.

“You must be a cow,” the puppy said, “because you say ‘moo.’ My mother told me that dogs are friends to cows.” And he wagged his tail in a friendly way as he passed the cow.

Next he met a rooster. “What kind of animal are you?” the puppy asked.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” said the rooster.

“You must be a rooster,” the puppy said, “because you say ‘cock-a-doodle-doo.’ My mother told me that dogs are friends to roosters.” And he wagged his tail in a friendly way as he passed the rooster.

Next he met a sheep.

“What kind of animal are you?” the puppy asked.

“Baa,” said the sheep.

“You must be a sheep,” the puppy said, “because you say ‘baa.’ My mother told me that dogs are friends to sheep.” And he wagged his tail in a friendly way as he passed the sheep.

Next he met a cat.

“What kind of animal are you?” the puppy asked.

“Oop oop spickety wickety higgle wiggle splot,” said the cat.

“I’m sorry,” the puppy said. “I didn’t quite understand that.”

“Picka wacka quicka macka spuckle muckle fleep,” said the cat.

“This is very puzzling,” the puppy said. “You can’t be a cow, because cows say ‘moo.’”

“Ring rang vippity vop,” said the cat.

“And you can’t be a rooster, because roosters say ‘cock-a-doodle-doo,’” the puppy continued.

“Skee-beet zu-rack flack be dack wack vo vack,” said the cat.

“And you can’t be a sheep, because sheep say ‘baa.’”

“Blibber blap cobble snap,” said the cat.

“And you can’t be a cat, because cats say ‘meow.’”

“Bitterby batterby wittil drip,” said the cat.

“I’ll have to tell my mother that I’ve discovered a new kind of animal,” the puppy said. “Won’t she be proud of me!” And he wagged his tail in a friendly way as he passed the cat.

The cat watched the puppy romp off into the field. Then he turned and went back to his own mother, who had been watching from a patch of weeds.

“You see, it’s just as I told you,” said the mother cat. “Dogs are a bit dim, but easy to get along with.”