I have a small friend called Mickey. In another time on this planet, say for example, the time of Mark Twain and his roustabout boys on the river, Mickey would have fitted right in - fishin' and trickin' other kids and runnin' around with bare feet.
But Mickey lives in Brisbane in 2011. With all the expectations of the high-falutin' digital age upon him.
This story is from when Mickey was about four and he had a fierce sense of protectiveness.
Mickey's mum came down to the car one morning to find the front seat of the car smeared and covered in a mixture of food colouring, oil, blueberries and other things from the fridge. When captured and questioned about what had happened in the car Mickey replied in his defensive statement,
"It was so burglers didn't steal our car".
Good thinkin' Huckleberry.
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