Bronson the Big Mouth Bass stuck his head above the bayou's motionless surface and looked around. What the hell was going on? It was mid-day and too damn hot for any respectable fish to be feeding. Even the dumbest human must realize that. So why had those two in that fancy fishing rig slipped past the screen of willow branches and tied up against the trunk?
The event was so surprising, even Freddie the Frog and Pasquale the Possum had stopped bitching about how humans were the only animals not required to have alliterative names. From their usual spot on the limb of a nearby cypress, they silently studied this phenomenon.
No one ever said humans were smart. But Bronson hadn't gotten where he was by taking them for granted. Maybe the humans were going to fish for crappie. But that didn't seem likely. Even the dumb, if passionate, Paula the Perch, wouldn't be nibbling in this heat, at least not on food.
Bronson was certain there could be no greater calling in life than to be a bass, especially a big bull bass. However, except for an occasional brief, and exhausting, leap out of water, being a bass meant your air-world viewing angles were limited. So he decided to slip over to the cypress and let Freddie and Pasquale fill in any action he might miss.
From his new vantage point among the cypress roots, he looked up at his two friends and asked for a report. "They're like, you know, feeding," said Pasquale. He'd spent time on a hippie commune and found the subject of human food very interesting.
"And drinking something in cans," added Freddie. "It looks like beer. The big guy's on his third. The little one with the floppy hat is still on number two."
Even from his low angle, Bronson had seen all that and was not impressed. In his opinion, watching mold grow would have been more exciting. "Is that all? You two long-winded, worthless excuses for friends are supposed to--."
His diatribe was interrupted by new activity on the boat. The smaller of the two humans had just removed the big floppy hat. With a shake of the head, a whole bunch of long dark hair came tumbling down. The longhaired human then turned and gave the big one a smile that, to Bronson, seemed to make the water even hotter.
There was no doubt, the one with longhair was most definitely a female-type human. And what a female. Even Bronson, who looked upon all air-breathers with a certain disdain, was impressed.
The female's smile got even bigger when the big male moved up and sat beside her in the middle of the boat. No one at the cypress could believe what happened next. The humans began making like sucker fish, going mouth-to-mouth while the male messed with her top.
When their mouths finally parted, the female gave the male a look that made Bronson's tail curl, and removed the shirt. The male seemed to like what was underneath. At first he had his hands all over two bumps he'd spotted. Then he leaned over and did something like the mouth-to-mouth thing, but on them. Judging by the look on her face, the female seemed to enjoy all this.
"Psst. Hey, Bronson." It was Pasquale.
"Yeah, what is it?" Not wanting to miss any of this odd behavior by humans, he hated to look away.
"You won't believe what else that dude's up to."
"Wadda you mean?" This time Bronson's curiosity got the better of him and he looked up. Pasquale was hanging by his tail. That wasn't so unusual considering his specie. But on his face was a grin unlike any ever seen on a possum. His forepaws were busy doing something Bronson felt certain he didn't want to know about.
