Heron Lake Plateau I'm a police officer. I'm a police officer and I want a cup of tea.

Praahmishahnaw, said Owen, doubtless doing little to revise his father's estimate of his son's intelligence upward one jot, particularly while Owen hampered what little intelligibility he had by attempting to squoosh his face into the big black treetrunk of a leg he was clinging to. Owen peeked out at the spindly white thing as it sat there lurking menacingly watching him, then smooshed his face into the back of his father's leg again. Mmmpph! he said, frustrated—how long would that thing sit there and stare, if they let it?! The blood drained from his face for a moment as another, more dire possibility occurred to the kid: gosh, surely it wouldn't, it couldn't sit there watching until he slowly starved to death, could it...? Owen's tummy gave a small, distressed rumble at the mere thought.

This, at least, was enough to lift his face clear in order to throw his father a desparate, beseeching look. Mayyke i' movvawaaay! he pleaded in his whiniest, most wheedling voice. - Tell it leave, MAKE it leave, right now! -Though how exactly Quixote was supposed to do all that with this puppy-shaped hobble trying to velcro itself to his limb was anyone's guess, really. Owen wasn't sure how likely it really was that this, this antler would do such a downright mean thing—but one thing was for certain-sure: he definitely didn't want to find out the hard way if his best guess was wrong. And this dumb antler had surprised him before, after all.