The Trailing Edge

    Humans and animals have always talked to each other.  Lest you think this untrue, consider if a human were walking by a pig pen and were to say to a pig therein, hello , the pig would wag its piggly wiggly little tail and come running over.  If a pig were to grunt, hello at a human walking by his pen, the human would look over and keep walking by.  What is never clear is did the human not understand the pig or simply ignored the lower status pig. Humans are like that - ignoring lower status animals while courteous to higher status animals.  If a lion were to roar, hello to a passing human, you can be assured that the human would stop, look at the lion, and gently and as sweetly as possible say, nice lion . Humans are animals too.  We talk to each other, all too often, with not much worthwhile to say. If a rich human is passing by, the other huma...

It wasn’t the half-eaten heads littering her backyard that upset Grandma. Nor the splintered backdoor. It was the bad manners.    "Ugg!" shuddered Grandma. She retrieved her lace fan from her bag and with a disgusted look on her face, cooled herself. "Those unruly zombies ate with their hands. There is no call for them to be eating with their hands at all. I shall teach them the benefits of knives, forks, and napkins." "Grandma, I don't think zombies are interested in improving their table manners." "Pish," she said. "They are in dire need of training." Pointing her fan at me, "I am appointing you as my Aide-de-Camp. Go get the bear traps and shotguns. We are going recruiting students." I scrunched up my face, "What's an Aide-de-Camp, Grandma?" "It's a fancy name for a ten-year-old granddaughter helping her grandmother catch zombies." I couldn't help but smile. Me, an Aide...