I spent the Sunday of that weekend sweeping the soil away and the grass
and the plants I had covered the clearing with.
Carefully removing this artificial topsoil, putting it into wheelbarrows
and scattering it like compost around the forest hoping it might nourish something,
do some good.
By the end of that day I had a dirty clearing made up of flowers and
grass flattened and mixed with dirt impossible to completely remove. Before going home I carefully wheeled the
cage bottom back to the roadside and transferred its little garden to create a
new one by the roadside to greet me each week on my arrival. I stored the cage bottom under some tarpaulin
at the forest’s edge. Ultimately I left
the clearing that day in the hope that wind and time might help restore.
Which it did amazingly. The
clearing looked resplendent, had regenerated beautifully, the next weekend when
I returned with the cage bottom and placed it, with the axe and four jacks,
just outside the clearing before setting up a new pile of oats. My plan now was to drop the cage onto the
unicorn without the cage bottom. That
part of the plan had probably been flawed anyway. The chances of the top falling in just the
right place was extremely minimal.
Instead I would jack up two sides of the cage and gently slide the
bottom under. Again, this was risky as
the unicorn was unlikely to play along.
If she refused to budge I had a load of tranquillisers ready to put her
out. I know that hadn’t worked before
but I had more this time and was determined to make use of this goddamn cage
after making the effort to build the darn thing.
Around the same time as the previous week, the unicorn entered the
clearing, and, pleased with its appearance, walked across to where the mound of
oats was located, looking around for a moment or two before tucking in
gleefully. I exploded into action,
bringing the axe into the air and then sliced through it and the rope.
The top half of the cage came down quickly with an almighty crash, the
hollow bars ringing for a full thirty seconds as I approached to examine my
caged friend. She was a little shaken by
the ringing, I think, and when she saw me, gathered herself quickly together
and looked as blasé as ever, and awaited
my next move.
Which, as you know, was to raise the cage a little and slide its bottom
underneath ready to take the unicorn home.
She watched me eagerly as I put the four car jacks into position, as if
waiting for a trick. All she got was me
slowly raising up the cage by working each jack a little at a time until it was
far enough off the ground. Then I
fetched the cage bottom and gently slid it under, removing each jack as I got
to them, allowing the bottom to take the weight and sliding it along to the
final position once all the jacks were out and locking it in place. To my surprise, the unicorn was extremely
willing to go along with all of this.
She simply stepped up onto the platform and continued watching me,
waiting to see what I was to do.
Finally, I tied a rope onto one side of the cage and prepared to haul it
home.
The moment the rope was taut she made her move. Just as the wheels were about to turn the
bars of the cage began to vibrate. Only
very slightly at first (but noticeable as the vibrations sent their waves up
the rope), then more and more violent until I thought the cage might fall
apart. Fortunately it didn’t and the
vibrations stopped. I smiled a smug
smile and turned to start the transportation again.
That’s when I first heard the
ringing of the bars, all the side bars, as they cried out. Cried out because they were slowly and
forcefully being twisted anti-clockwise until they first began to resemble the
spiral pattern on galloping horse’s poles, lowering the cage’s roof a little,
before cracking and ripping and tearing loose from the cage and falling to the
clearing’s floor.
For a glittering and shiny half a second
I thought the unicorn had made a foolish error, that the top would fall
and knock her out. What a tit! It was, of course, still hovering in midair
and didn’t fall until she had walked out from under it on her way back into the
forest. Sometimes, though, I wish she
would do that sort of thing a bit sooner and not leave me thinking it was done.
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