"I've been thinking," announced Smush one clammy Sunday morning, "that we should repave the drive."
"Capital idea," Mogey agreed. "What shall be our substrate of choice? Tarmacadam? Cement? Grass?"
"I've got something better than any of those in mind: Gravel."
"Gravel, you say? How peculiar. The biscuit kind or the mashed potatoes kind?"
"That's gravy," said Smush. "Gosh, Mogey, does everything come back to food with you?"
"What else is there?"
"For the love of blubber," Smush said, shaking his head. "Gravel is just a load of really small rocks. But I don't think we should use just any gravel. Not on our drive. For our drive, we're going to use fruity pebbles."
"But--"
"I know what you're worried about," Smush interrupted, "all that breakfast cereal will mean ants. And ants will mean anteaters. And we can't afford another aardvark war, not after how Aardvark War III decimated the local economy. But just think how lovely and crisp fruity pebbles will sound beneath the buggy's wheels. How delicious our drive will smell on a hot summer afternoon."
"But, Smush," Mogey said at last, "as delightful as that sounds, what about May Day? Toucan Sam will never bring us May Day presents if we decorate our drive with the products of his sworn enemies."
"Bosh!" exclaimed Smush, plopping a case of fruity pebbles onto the table (of course, consulting with Mogey about repaving the drive had been a mere formality all along). "How many silly tales did your Pappy tell you? There's no such thing as--"
There Smush was interrupted by an ominous tapping at the kitchen window. Its source was a toucan beak: Curved, cruel, and clearly in pursuit of rampant vengeance.
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