Tucklet

Dear Harriet,

Hoping that all is going well for you, including sorting the galleys of your latest novel which I am looking very forward to reading in due course. As always, my offer to read and respond to any of your early drafts is open.

I can say with satisfaction that life is good here, the writing tolerable, and I shan’t complain of the rain which saves me the labour of watering the garden which, like other mundane tasks, I would ideally delegate if I had the means to do so.

As to your query, I am in no way the expert that you so kindly imply, but I will do my best to provide the information you are seeking. Researching by consulting those with direct experience is worth much more than consulting the interwebs or browsing dusty tomes if such things even exist any more.

Some people who have never seen a tucklet think of it as rather like a hedgehog.

It is not. Not in size or shape or colouration or even in personality.

Other people who have never seen a tucklet tend to believe they are something like a unicorn or a dragon. A creature which might have existed long ago but you aren’t going to see one these days anywhere outside of a story, a particularly blissful dream, or your own imagination.

They are wrong.

Let me try to explain that tucklets are rather like dinosaurs in that, for the most part, you aren’t going to come across any today until you realise that “turtles are known to have originated around 230 million years ago during the Triassic Period, but what exactly they evolved from is still debated.” [1]

I didn’t know that fact as precisely as I’ve shared it with you but Google has provided us both with a fragment of information and allowed me to ornament this letter with a footnote which is never a bad thing, though I know you may disagree on this point.

Besides which, there is the rather interesting theory that modern birds are all descended from dinosaurs. I will let you research that for yourself if you weren’t already aware. It was all the rage a few years ago and being dragged in to illustrate various debates which had nothing to do with dinosaurs or birds. But I digress and must beg your generous patience.

Tucklets probably have never been exactly numerous. They get along well enough with each other to prevent their kind from going extinct. However, they are hardly likely to form gigantic communities like humanity has done.

In fact, there is no specific collective noun for a gathering of tucklets to the best of my knowledge because they so rarely associate with one another, even though they bear no ill will amongst themselves.

Distribution, so far as I have been able to ascertain, is worldwide, though sightings are labelled as tall tales or imagination or, in some cases, believed to be a symptom of mental aberration.

They remain, moreover, largely unseen by the majority of people – to such an extent that some people say they don’t exist. Perish the thought!

My notion is that a tucklet chooses to whom and in what circumstance, it will appear. And there is no bait that can be used to lure it out of hiding. Self-sufficient and resourceful, it generally has no need of humans which, from what I can tell, seems to be mutual between the two species, though I would say this is to the detriment of humans who are missing out.

A tucklet, when it is standing, is about as tall as the measurement between the tip of your middle figure and where your elbow bends, which was called a cubit in Latin reckoning, approximately eighteen to twenty-two inches.

I am not particularly metric myself, though I suspect you might be. However, as WiFi is down as I type this, I will let you ask Google if you need that translated. For a rough guesstimate, you can, of course, use one of your arms for reference.

As ever, I only use WiFi when needs must, such as for my professorial duties or to check on any writing related emails once a day. And no jokes, please, suggesting I use a typewriter. I’ve heard them all and, to be quite honest, I would be doing so if somebody else could supply the ribbons and sort out any mechanical hiccups.

I was extremely tempted when I saw one in a charity shop window the other day, but doubted I would ever do more than admire it, plus where would I locate it in my book-strewn study? Apologies for another digression, my mind is as apt to go off on tangents as it always was.

On second thought, I would say that a tucklet is somewhat the size of a cat, though I know that the volume of space a feline occupies varies to some extent, even for the self-same catling depending on how narrow a gap the creature wishes to investigate. Also, they range, of course, from petite to magnificent in size.

If I remember correctly, you cherished such companions when we lived close enough to visit each other. Perhaps you still do. I confess I am at a loss to picture your surroundings to the point that I am mulling over the idea of engaging in one of those Zoom sessions sometime if you were of a similar mind. But, of course, I would never intrude and, ultimately, would prefer you to continue to think of me as I was in my younger days rather than view the visage which disturbingly surfaces in my mirror every morning.

Hopefully, you might have a measuring tape in your sewing basket with which you could confirm this notion. I assume you still enjoy applying needle to fabric in various ways. Eighteen to twenty-two inches. Whether or not you include the tail depends on the length of the head and body, I would expect.

I won’t bore you with a tangential discussion about how the tallness of horses is measured in “hands”. You can understand now why I tend to write with the Wifi turned off as, besides my notion that the gadget causes my headaches (which I have proven to my own satisfaction by keeping track for six weeks), persisting without it avoids diving down one internet rabbit hole after another. I sometimes ask my students whether War and Peace would ever have been written if mobile phones existed, but, needless to say, I don’t believe they are much bothered even if they have read the book.

Perhaps, rather than continue in the factual modality (considering the many times I have diverted from my intended course) with which I began this missive, I should relate an actual encounter for you. This requires a cup of Yorkshire tea, proper milk, no sugar, a few chocolate-topped digestive biscuits, and a pause for thought, which I trust you will indulge me with, considering that for you there will be only the briefest of interruptions to the words you are kindly perusing.

***

It was the very height of summer. Being in Yorkshire, this meant, on that particular day as luck would have it, raining and cloudy, with a pesky cool wind that reminded me of early April. I was fed up with the weather and my companion, a Staffordshire Bull Terrier named Lucy, accomplished her walk in the direction of home more quickly than the outgoing journey so could be said to be in the same mood as myself.

I provided her a chunky bone stuffed with cheese purchased from the family-run local pet shop earlier that day and, after washing my hands thoroughly, boiled enough water in the kettle to make myself a brew. Both of us were very much minding our own business when an unusual chirrup in the back garden attracted my attention. Lucy ignored the sound, being much more interested in extracting the cheese from the middle of the bone.

I did not rush to observe, being of a methodical persuasion generally. I finished making the cup of tea, dropped the teabag into the compost container, and had an initial sip as I strolled toward the window.

I thought at first that a gust of wind was animating the branches of the pear tree. This is one reason why humans often don’t see a tucklet. To be brutally honest, many times we merely see what we expect to perceive. The majority of people never anticipate viewing a tucklet because they think it is a myth or an old wive’s tale or something of that sort.

Tucklets are also good at blending in, though not in the same manner as a chameleon. This one, rather than be limited by imitating its immediate surroundings, picked up not only the colour of the leaves and branches, but also mirrored something of the greyness of the day, as though it had absorbed the inclement weather to some extent.

No question but that it knew I was looking. Those round, watchful eyes focused on me so entirely that, briefly, only the tucklet and I existed without anything whatsoever surrounding us.

Awareness of the cup of tea in my hand brought me back from that void, as if some primeval safety measure activated as though more was at stake than the consequences of me dropping the cup of tea. Perhaps there was since, when I blinked reality back into focus, the tucklet was gone.

Would it have taken me with it? Had it wanted to? Intended to? Even . . . needed to?

***

Of course, that was not the end of the story, but must suffice for the time being as I have the delightful obligation to visit with and walk with Josie, a friend’s Border Collie while the rest of the sweet canine’s family are on holiday.

I did offer to introduce her to my abode as I felt that Lucy and she would get on famously, but this was met with resistance as Josie is used to being alone during the day and would find new surroundings disturbing. Or so her humans informed me, who supposedly know her best.

Apparently, a neighbour previously checked on her in other holidays like I am doing, but that retired couple, too, are away. I attempted to press the issue, thinking of the long nights when the Border Collie might be lonely, but they rejected my offer of introducing the two dogs on a mutual walk beforehand to see how it went.

Probably due, of course, to the unbridled fierceness which any Staffy is assumed to exhibit by ignorant people. I didn’t try to educate them, though Lucy is such a gentle creature that I fear she would perish of starvation if she ever had to hunt for herself. Fortunately, she has me – and even more blessedly, I have her, a bastion of comfort in my writerly solitude.

I usually linger longer than they instructed, especially in the evening, but take a good book with me rather than attempt to enjoy their widescreen television and complicated cinema-quality sound system.

With five remotes, the usage of which they patiently endeavoured to explain, I feel completely outfaced even if I had any interest in viewing anything, which, as you know well, I don’t. I remember how you used to say that I should have been born in an earlier century. I totally agree for so very many reasons which I won’t trouble with as you could doubtless list most of them yourself due to the length of our acquaintance.

No radio on the premises – or, rather, they listen to the radio by means of their sound system including turning the television on. Seems bonkers to me, but there you are, the world is changing continuously around us at lightspeed these days. And don’t get me started on their attempt to educate me in the ways of summoning Alexa or Siri or whatever bodiless voice their household employs. I closed my ears to such an extent that I can’t remember what it was named. I would rather summon a house elf if that existed outside of fantasy.

Lucy, naturally, can smell a strange dog on me, but she is not that jealous of Josie so long as I come home to her. Like having a mistress tolerated by the wife, if you will forgive my probably non-politically correct comparison.

So, I shall be walking Josie and staying at what I think of as her house for a while. After that, I have domestic tasks to undertake here, but will aim to send you a sequel to this first instalment of the story tomorrow if, that is, you kindly indicate whether you would like to read further. Obviously, not an ironclad promise because life, as we both know, sometimes gets in the way of writing more often than writing interrupts what one must do in any given day.

No obligation. And no requirement to enthuse. A simple Yes Please will do – just the two words if you are pressed for time. I won’t be offended if you don’t care to continue, though obviously a yes will give me an excuse to write more.

Please don’t bother yourself to send any reply if it is a No, as I would find that rather discouraging. Silence, I can interpret as you simply missed reading my amazing email because you were inundated with rubbishy ones. That you did inquire about the true nature of tucklets makes me hopeful that you will wish to continue reading the next instalment.

You of all people, being a writer yourself, understand the multiplicity of unfinished stories tugging at my shirtsleeves and even banging on the inside of my filing cabinet. Does anyone have those anymore? I dare say it is well on its way to being an antique, as am I.

I do find it harder to write about my own experiences, naturally, than to immerse myself in some fantastical tale where I make it all up as I go along. Also, if it was anyone else other than you reading this, I am completely certain they would say it is merely another of his fantasies, nothing more. I would not deign to get into an argument with them since readers are always right, whether or not I, as a writer, agree with them.

But this is one of those rare times when I write the exact truth of the matter, as far as I can remember it anyway. And, sadly, I am faced with another of those frustrating prospects which make me wish I was like other writers who confide their daily adventures to a diary.

Oh, I could write until the cows come home and continue writing until they are sent out to graze again in the morning or whatever happens with cows at the early end of the day, so I must proffer my sincere apologies for the long-winded tailing off of this electronic missive. It is especially difficult whenever I write to you, but then you know this and why, so I will not delay any further.

I shall print this off straightaway, lest I either be tempted to clarify or ornament what I have written. If for any reason, once you have perused my letter, you wish to receive a virtual copy, let me know. I have started a new folder labelled Tucklet.

You remain in my thoughts, as always, and ever in my heart, though we are only friends,

Stefan

Postscript. I would have liked to sign off with one of the inventive and accurate nicknames you bestowed on me back in the day, but will probably remember half a dozen appropriate ones once I have pressed the Print button. Inevitable.

[1] https://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/news/2020/may/turtles-230-million-years-will-they-survive-climate-change.html#:~:text=Turtles%20are%20known%20to%20have,evolved%20from%20is%20still%20debated.