fascinated.

Through the chewy taffy, Baloo mumbled, “The older kids are shoppin’ with my wife. Want one?” He offered the taffy to the man.

“You’re lucky,” the rabbit said, refusing the taffy. “Only one quiet little girl to look after.”

Baloo snorted. “Cassie ain’t exactly quiet.”

As if to prove his point, the toddler wailed, “Dad-dee! Can-dee!”

Just then, the rabbit shouted, “Hey, Donnie, no, Johnnie...oh, whoever you are! How many times do I have to tell you not to hit your brother in the head with trash?”

The septuplets were in constant motion. They were up and down in their seats, hitting each other, pulling on hair, ears, and clothes and playing tug-of-war with their toys. It made Baloo dizzy just to watch them and listen to their deafening shrieks.

“Seven,” said the man dismally.

“Seven what?”

“Children. That’s Lonnie, Donnie, Ronnie, Connie, Bonnie, Johnnie, and Burt, Jr.”

“How do ya keep ‘em straight?” Baloo said in amazement.

“I don’t.”

Cassie, meanwhile, was creating her own mischief. She was now trying to cram handfuls of taffy - wrappers and all - into her little mouth.

“Give the candy to Daddy,” Baloo said patiently, holding out his paw.

Cassie said one of her favorite words. “NO!”

Baloo pried the candy from her hands, causing her to cry. “Sorry, kid, but it’s for your own good. You don’t want a tummyache later on, an’ I don’t want an earache from your mama blastin’ my ears out.”

One of the septuplets latched onto the taffy sack and ripped it. Some taffy fell to the ground, but most found its way to the little boy’s mouth.

“Oh...” moaned Burt, Sr. He took out his wallet and handed Baloo a few bills. “Sorry about that. See what I mean? That kind of thing happens all the time. If they’re not fighting, they’re breaking something.”

“Must be rough,” Baloo said sympathetically, trying to keep Cassie from squirming out of his arms. She wanted that piece of taffy on the ground.

“Rough isn’t half of it.”

A plump matronly rabbit approached them with a set of six-year-old quadruplets - two boys and two girls - tagging along. The quadruplets were arguing amongst themselves. Her haggard expression matched Burt’s. “We’re ready to go, dear.”

“You’ve got more?” Baloo exclaimed.

“Yep,” Burt Sr. sighed wearily. “Eleven in all.”

“Wow...that’s, um, wow,” was all Baloo could murmur.

Cassie, who had stopped crying, echoed, “Worw.”

Just then, Weazel approached them. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said in a deep voice. “Ho, ho, ho. Would you like a candy cane, little girl?” He handed a candy cane to Cassie.

“Say, that’s real nice of ya, Santa,” Baloo said, grinning. “Say, ‘thank you’, Cassie.”

“Tank-u,” Cassie murmured shyly, burying her face in her father’s shirt.

Weazel reached for his revolver. “Now, you can give Santa a present in exchange.”

“Huh?” Baloo said, confused. “Ain’t that backwards?”

“No, it’s a little thing I like to call revenge.”

But before Weazel could pull his revolver from his jacket, eleven little rabbits swarmed all over him, clamoring for candy.

They reached their grubby little hands into his pockets, shouting in their shrill voices:

“I wanna candy cane!”

“I wanna candy cane!”

“That’s my candy cane!”

“No, that’s my candy cane!”

Weazel, his Santa coat torn from him by the little hooligans, escaped with his life. He fled down the street, his bright red Santa cap bobbing up and down.

“Let’s go round them up, Muriel, dear,” Burt said wearily.

Baloo watched as the chaotic crowd retreated and the noise faded. “Well, that’s somethin’ ya don’t see everyday, eh, Bugaboo?”

“Boo!” Cassie said, covering her father’s eyes with her little paws.

“Where’s Daddy’s little bugaboo?” Baloo asked. When Cassie removed her paws, he gasped with mock-surprise, “There she is!” and cuddled her close.

Cassie giggled.

Baloo chuckled along with her, then his smile faded. “Wonder what Santa meant by revenge...?”

He snapped out of his reverie when Rebecca waved a bag in front of his face. “Okay, ready to pull chocks, Baloo.”

“Wanna see the ornament Mom picked out for you, Daddy?” Molly said, holding up a small box, which had a picture of the Kitty Hawk Kids’ airplane on the side.

“Yeah, that’s real nice.” Baloo grinned, then he kissed an extremely surprised Rebecca on the cheek. “Have I ever told you thanks for only havin’ three kids?”

Rebecca stared at her husband, dazed. Her eyes narrowed. “No...why? Is this a trick, Baloo?”

Baloo shook his head, stood up, gathered the sacks, and started down the street.

“Why on earth does Cassie have pink goo all over her face?” Rebecca asked. She spit on her finger and wiped the toddler’s face, causing the little girl to squirm uncomfortably. “And what happened to the taffy that I just bought? Did you eat it already? Baloo! Answer me, Baloo!”

For once, Baloo actually enjoyed the scolding. It was preferable to the din that he knew Burt, Sr. had to endure day after day. “Ah...music to my ears.”

Hiking Trail from Bhaer Lake to Faerie Lake
Two Hours Later

“If ya wanna catch a big bear, ya gotta set a big trap,” Weazel averred, throwing an armful of leaves over a mesh of sticks, thus concealing the large hole that he had dug. “There. That oughtta do it.”

“Now, for the bait.” The bait was a jar of honey. He removed the lid, tiptoed to the edge of the trap and carefully placed it in the middle. He stood back to regard his handiwork with pride. “This gives a new meaning to the phrase ‘tourist trap’.

Hearing voices approaching, Weazel whispered excitedly, “Here they come!” He quickly hid behind an aspen tree.

“Do you think real fairies live at Faerie Lake?” Kit asked as he easily trekked up the mountain path. Cassie rode on his shoulders.

Molly, who had to take three steps for each of Kit’s long strides, said incredulously, “How old do you think I am? Cassie’s age?”

“Well, you do believe in Santa Claus,” the teenager said teasingly.

“That’s different,” Molly said with an indignant toss of her head. “Isaw him.”

Kit grinned. “Sure, Short Stuff, and I’ve got the Sea Duck in my pocket.”

“Ask Mom and Daddy. They saw him, too.”

Kit stopped and looked back at Baloo and Rebecca, who were forty paces behind. “Poor Papa Bear. Walking definitely is not his favorite exercise.”

“Look, Kit,” Molly said. “Someone left a jar of honey here.”

“Huh.” Kit circled the honey as well as the pile of leaves it sat on. “What a strange thing to leave in the middle of a trail.”

“Definitely strange,” Molly murmured, watching an ant climbing up the side of the honey jar. “Wait up, Kit!”

Twenty paces behind, Baloo huffed and puffed as he laboriously made his way up the mountain trail. “Why...are we...doin’ this...Becky?”

“If there was treasure or food at the end of the trail, you wouldn’t think anything of this climb, Baloo,” Rebecca said, eyes twinkling mischievously. She, her arms around his, half-led, half-pulled him up the mountain.

“Hardy-har-har,” Baloo gasped.

She motioned to their rustic surroundings - the birds singing overhead, colorful wildflowers that nodded their heads along the trail, aspen trees whose leaves quivered in the soft, summer breeze, stately pine trees reaching towards the clear, blue sky. “We’re doing this to have a real mountain experience, to convene with nature...”

“To...find...a jar...of...honey,” Baloo panted. He stopped and clutched his aching side, unknowingly standing on the trap.

Weazel’s eyes flamed with eager anticipation. He stepped out from behind tree to witness the capture of his prey.

“A jar of honey?” Rebecca exclaimed. She, too, stood on the trap.

Weazel could hear the sticks cracking beneath their feet. “Just a few more seconds,” he whispered, rubbing his hands together.

“Whattaya suppose the honey’s doin’ here, honey?”

More popping and cracking from the sticks.

“Stayinghere. Come on, Baloo,” Rebecca said, catching hold of his hand and dragging him away from the honey before he could think of eating it. “We have to catch up with the kids.”

Both bears walked across the tiger trap safely.

When they had gone around a bend in the trail, Weazel went over to examine the trap. “What...what the heck happened? Why didn’t it work?”

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