In Which We Are Told What Became Of Mr. Sanders, Before The Stories Began.
Chapter 0:
In Which We Are Told What Became Of Mr. Sanders, Before The Stories Began.
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It had begun, if he were to put his finger upon it, when that rabbit had moved in just down the way. That was when things had begun to go Southward for him.
Of course, others had come to the wood before that rabbit had, but he hadn’t had much in the way of contact with any of them. The donkey lived a good ways away, and in a part of the wood he himself rarely ventured to be much of a bother. The owl had seldom flown this far out from his home on the other side of the forest. And that small pig? Why he was so timid he would never have the heart to walk anywhere near his home, let alone up to the front door.
That was the way he liked it, them keeping to themselves as he kept to himself.
Then, the rabbit had moved in.
Which is to say of course, that a rabbit had decided to dig out a warren for himself in a part of the wood just a bit of a ways North-West from his own humble abode. On its own merits, this would not have presented much of a problem of any sort. But, unfortunately, it was in itself just the beginning of the end for old Sanders.
Mr. Sanders, which was his name and the one by which he lived under- that is to say, he had the name over the door in gold letters and lived in the house beneath them- was a miserable old fellow. He had lived in the wood for as long as he could remember, for he liked to keep to himself. And for a long time, no one else had called these woods home save for him.
Of course, there were the usual wild animals running about, but they did what they had to do and generally did not present much of a bother to him.
One day, however, that all began to change.
Now Mr. Sanders hadn’t paid it much mind when the first signs that others were beginning to move into the wood had sprung up. Or rather, he hadn’t even noticed them when he’d gone for his daily walks through the glens. The very thought that such a thing could happen had occurred to him once upon a time however, but he’d taken steps to prevent that. Sort of.
He had erected a sign a little ways South from his home by a rather large beech tree that read “Trespassers Will Be Shot” in big black letters for all to see. Mr. Sanders was not a hunter by nature nor did he as much as own a gun, but he felt the sign itself would be enough to detour anyone from getting too close to what he had up until then considered his part of the wood.
He was, of course, wrong. Though not by any fault of his own. Instead, the very whims of nature herself chose to prove otherwise.
Some weeks before the first signs of new arrivals had sprung up, a great and heavy storm struck the wood and the winds blew all about and the rain fell and when everything was said and done and dry again, the sign was in tatters. All that remained solid were the words “Trespassers Will” and Mr. Sanders decided not to try and mend it or put a new one up in its place.
This would prove to be a mistake.
It was not long after that great and blustery day had struck the forest that Mr. Sanders noticed a door had been installed in the trunk of the beech tree, and by extension, that a house was likely now inside it. Standing behind a nearby fir tree, he watched the door open and a rather small pig in a green sweater exit with a rake in hand. The pig began to clean up the leaves that had not blown away after being knocked off the branches during the storm, and, when he finished his chore, hurried back in and shut the door.
Now Mr. Sanders was not pleased by this development in the slightest. He had no interest in neighbors, and he did not care if they were a pig or a tiger or a kangaroo. The old man enjoyed his solitude and wished to remain that way. The appearance of a newcomer would not do.
Such as it was, he strolled over to the neatly raked pile the pig had left behind, and violently kicked it, sending the stray leaves all about and past the window beside the door.
From inside he could hear the pig begin to panic, stammering something about another storm and how it was going to blow away his house with him in it. Mr. Sanders smiled, noting that the pig -while an unwanted addition to his part of the wood- seemed much too easily frightened to give him much in the way of trouble. Thus, he went along the way, believing that would be the end of it.
He likely never would have known about the donkey had he not noticed it’s tail.
The appendage was certainly something to behold- hanging as it was in the middle of the wood one morning, snagged on a bush- short and grey with a black tip and a small pink bow wrapped around it. Mr. Sanders examined it thoroughly when he caught sight of it one morning while looking for acorns- which had become harder to find recently for some reason- but could not fathom where it had come from nor what animal may have accidentally left its tail behind.
He didn’t spend much more time pondering the tail, but on his way back home later that afternoon he caught sight of it once again. Only this time, it was no longer hooked on a bush, but instead hanging off the backside of a large grey donkey that ambled slowly towards the thistle patch. The donkey either did not see him or chose not to acknowledge Mr. Sanders at all, for which Mr. Sanders was rather happy about. This was a neighbor he could appreciate, one who understood the idea of keeping to one’s self.
The owl he saw flying about not long after but didn’t as much as spare him a thought. At least until he noticed it near the beech tree one morning.
Outside, Mr. Sanders could see the pig and the owl conversing about something or other, though what exactly they were discussing he neither knew nor cared to know. He was not one to eavesdrop, and frankly, whatever they were talking about was none of his concern. They were nowhere near his house, and he was fine with that. As long as these animals kept to their business and out of his, all would be fine.
Then, of course, the rabbit arrived. The rabbit did not keep to himself, not in the least.
Mr. Sanders encountered him not from afar, but instead right outside his own door. He was sitting outside eating his lunch upon a log he kept there for such occasions when the rabbit bounded on over and, without a second thought, began to speak to him.
“Good day to you sir. Lovely afternoon is it not?” The rabbit babbled, and Mr. Sanders tried his best to ignore him. It did not work.
“This wood is certainly a fine place. Such beautiful trees and flowers, and plenty of space to grow things. I’m a gardener you know, family tradition and all that. I do believe I shall be able to grow a splendid garden come spring.”
Mr. Sanders continued to eat his lunch without a word as the rabbit prattled on, either oblivious to his distaste towards his presence or simply uncaring.
“Tell me, have you met the pig who lives over in the beech tree? Such a nervous fellow that one, worried his house will blow away and take him with it. But just as well, a little worry never hurt anyone, keeps us on our toes eh?”
The rabbit continued to speak even as Mr. Sanders rose from the log and entered his home, shutting the door behind him.
It took his unwanted visitor a few moments longer to realize he was gone, and even that didn’t seem to stop him for another minute or so. “Splendid to meet you, sir,” he said to no one, “and have a lovely day!”
And with that, he bounced back the way he’d come. Mr. Sanders hoped that would be the last of it, but, alas, it was only the first of many similar encounters. All of them unwanted.
All throughout the late days of Fall and the cool afternoons of Winter, Mr. Sanders ran afoul of the accursed rabbit a number of more times. Sometimes, when he walked through the wood as he always had, the rabbit would cross his path and invite himself along for a stretch of the trail. Mr. Sanders would raise the collar of his jacket up over his ears and try to hurry his pace, but the rabbit could more than keep up with him.
Other times, he would be outside working on his home and the rabbit would wander over from wherever he’d been coming from or going to and begin to chat with him about this or that. Not once did Mr. Sanders respond to his chatter even in anger, but it never seemed to matter. The busybody of a bunny just kept at it.
This, of course, was nothing compared to what happened when Spring at long last arrived. That was when things began to get much worse.
What had up until then been sporadic encounters slowly became regular, almost daily ones. The rabbit would come by whenever he as much as noticed Mr. Sanders and talk of the weather and the growing season and seeds and vegetables and when it may rain next and how much sun certain plants needed.
And more and more, he was not alone. No, he’d bring along the rest with him. At some time during the previous season, the rabbit and the pig and the donkey and the owl had met and seemingly befriended one another. And whether by his lead or by a vote of committee they decided they would try and do the same with Mr. Sanders. Mr. Sanders did not want nor need any friends. He simply wanted to be left alone.
Alas, his neighbors refused to take the hint, and many a once quiet evening spent sitting on the log outside his door would be interrupted by that lot. The nervous whinings of the pig, the dour cynicism of the donkey, the smug superiority of the owl. And the nosiness of the rabbit who’d started it all. It was enough to drive a man all the way to the North Pole, and some nights the thought crossed his mind as being a better alternative to his current circumstances. What had once been a quiet hundred or so stretch of woodland now felt much smaller, and sounded much louder than it had been when he’d first called it home.
And then, one spring morning, he, at last, had enough.
The day had begun, as most had before, with the rising of the sun and the singing of the birds. Things Mr. Sanders was familiar with and could always depend on even as everything else around him began to change. But this morning brought along with it something else. Something he did not wish to wake up to. A knock at his door.
Now up until this point, his neighbors- annoying as they could be- had kept away from his space when he was inside his house. Outside, whether in the wood or sitting on the log, it was fair game of a sort. But his house was an entirely different story altogether.
He rose, weary and sleepy-eyed, and opened the door to find himself once more face-to-face with the dreaded rabbit. It was the first time the door, which had previously kept the animals at bay and out of his home, was opened to them. It would also be the last time.
“Good morning sir,” the rabbit declared, “hope I didn’t wake you. Do you happen to have a jar I could borrow? You see I noticed a honey tree some ways up the path and thought to see about procuring some for my pantry, and yours being the first house I came upon I thought-”
Mr. Sanders did not give him the chance to finish his thought. Instead, he shut the door and barred it, then went straight to his room to wait out the rabbit.
It was one thing to endlessly harass him out in the wood, but now to try and borrow something from him? That was more than he could stomach.
When at last the rabbit’s voice faded from outside the door and he felt it was safe, Mr. Sander set about packing up all his belongings. Much as he did not wish to admit it, the time had come for him to go.
He stood outside his door a little later, bags in hand, and gave his home one last look. It had been a fine house, just as it had been a good, quiet wood once upon a time. But that was no more, and he knew it was no longer the place for someone like him.
As he prepared to leave though, he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he was worried the rabbit had returned, but this appeared to be a new voice. It had a slight hum to it, and Mr. Sanders turned around slowly to see it was coming from a small, golden-furred bear.
The bear smiled. “Hallo,” he said. “Is this house yours?”
Mr. Sanders looked at the bear, then back at his former home, then back to the bear once more. “It was,” he replied sadly, picking up his bags. “But it’s yours now if you want it.”
And with those few words, Mr. Sanders walked away from the house, and far away from the wood, out into the great unknown. As for the rabbit and all the rest? Well, they were that bear’s problem now, not his.
But then, that’s another story.
