Free Webster by Ellen Emerson White Page A

can pry it off, it’s yours.”
    The little raccoon stood on his hind legs, and twisted and pulled and tugged at the bright red tag. It wasn’texactly comfortable, but the Bad Hat waited patiently for him to finish. Finally, though, the raccoon stopped, out of breath.
    â€œThat’s really hard,” he panted. “Maybe my thumbs aren’t opposable enough .”
    The raccoon’s brothers and sisters came tumbling out of the den to try and help. When that didn’t work, the parents and the grumpy grandfather raccoon also pried at the stubborn metal fastener, without success.
    This time yesterday, the Bad Hat had not expected to start off his day standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by a family of vocal and frustrated raccoons.
    â€œTell you what,” he said, since he was pretty tired of having his neck poked and prodded. “It was very hospitable of you to let me spend the night. Why don’t you take the whole collar, and then you can play with all of the license tags?”
    The young raccoons jumped up and down with excitement, shouting in their squeaky little voices.
    â€œAll right, but just this once,” their mother said. “And please thank the nice oversized dog for the present.”
    The little raccoons tugged on his collar until they were able to pull it over his head.
    â€œThanks, Mr. Huge Dog!” they all said. “You’re nifty . We like you!”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” the Bad Hat said, just as politely.
    He watched for a few minutes while the young raccoons formed a small circle and began throwing the collar back and forth, playing catch with it. They laughed and cheered and erupted into tiny giggles as the tags jingled together in the air.
    Well, whatever floated their little boats, right?
    The dog felt sort of—naked—without a collar, but, maybe that was a good thing. Now, he was truly a Creature of the Wild. Technically, yes, he had a microchip, which Dr. K. had put in, but it didn’t show, and he certainly would not mention it to anyone.
    As he trotted away, the baby raccoons yelled, “Thank you!” and then went back to their dancing and giggling.
    He wandered through the woods for a while, not sure where he was going or what he was going to do next. There were so many possibilities! Not that he could think of anything specific right now—but, well, he knew the possibilities existed .
    He noticed that his stomach was growling, and that he was very hungry. That was a serious problem, since hedidn’t have a bowl! And so, no one was going to come along and put food in it.
    The concept of that was so horrifying that he had to sink down into a pile of wet pine needles to absorb it.
    No dish. No breakfast. No homemade biscuits.
    Wow. This was a serious flaw in his plan to be a rebellious loner.
    Should he become a big, bad hunter? Stalk through the wilderness, attacking helpless prey, and surviving by his own wits and skills?
    Except, what if the prey turned out to be cute little animals, who snickered and frolicked and were much too adorable to pounce on? That would be awful.
    Okay, he would simply forage in trash cans for scraps. It wasn’t dignified—but, it would be delicious. To make the plan work, though, he would have to find some houses, first. So far, this part of New Hampshire seemed to be pretty deserted.
    He wasn’t completely sure where New Hampshire even was , except that he knew that it was up north, and that the people—and animals—had funny accents. So, he decided to explore. He walked through the woods for what seemed like a really long time, until he found aroad. It was much easier to make his way on pavement, so he trotted along, jumping into the bushes to hide whenever he heard a car coming. Mostly, because he was afraid of cars, but also so that he wouldn’t be captured, if anyone came out looking for him.
    At first, all he passed were woods and farms,