‘The trouble with your porridge, Mummy Bear, is that you always serve it far too hot and the three of us have no alternative but to go for a walk in the woods until it cools down. Do you agree, Daddy Bear?’
‘I certainly do, son, and that always leaves open the possibility that we will forget to lock the door and some small golden-haired child will wander in and start sampling it.’
‘Any such golden-haired child will almost certainly want to sit in my chair and eat my porridge, Daddy Bear.’
‘Why’s that, son?’
‘Because your chair is too hard, Mummy’s is too soft, your porridge has too much salt in it, Mummy’s doesn’t have enough, and any small golden-haired child – should one by some chance happen to wander by – is much closer in age, size and inclinations to me – the child of this family – than to two hulking great adult bears.’
‘And what, my clever clogs of a son, do you think this golden-haired child will do once she has had her fill of your porridge?’
‘Well, if it was me I’d wander upstairs for a lie-down and discover that only one of the three available beds was to my liking.’
‘Any idea which that might be, as if I couldn’t guess?’
‘Well, mine of course. Not too hard, not too soft, just the right size.’
‘You could be right, son.’
‘And then no doubt she’d fall fast asleep and we’d discover her when we got home from our walk.’
‘It could just happen, son, which is why, every time we try this trick, we always forget to lock the front door. One day things might turn out just as you suggest.’
‘You mean you want us to find some golden-haired child in my bed after she’s broken my chair and eaten my porridge?’
‘We certainly do.’
‘But why?’
‘Tell me, son, do you really like porridge?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘And do you know why that is?’
‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘It’s because, son, you’re a bear. It’s only in kiddies stories that bears eat soppy things like porridge. Bears much prefer to eat meat, ideally freshly torn from some creature that they’ve caught and ripped apart with their fearsome teeth and claws. It’s high time that you diversified your diet and started eating like the carnivore you really are.’
‘And you reckon that a small golden-haired child might be just the right size for a small bear like me to start on?’
‘Exactly son, you’ve got it in one. Now just get off that chair and join your mother and me for a walk in the woods. With any luck you might get something decent for breakfast when you get back.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
© John Welford
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