My heart will go on.

Even though they claim their innocence, I know the kids are secret fans of Fox hunting. You know that "sport" that Gentleman play that involves having dogs chase a fox until either one of three things happens.

A) The fox gets cornered and eaten by the dogs.
B) The fox is shot by the men on horseback.
C) The fox's heart explodes.

I am convinced that whenever the kids want me to go to play in funnyland, what they actually want is to get me into a game of "Fox Hunting". The game we play here is remarkably similiar, minus the horses and guns, and substituing me for the fox.

The kids all gather around me and grab articles of clothing and yell "One, Two, Three" in unison, then their bloodlust reaching a frenzy, they yell "GO!" and let go of my clothes and give me a push to give me a head start. Then they frantically begin chasing me, yanking at anything they can get hold of as I run for the fireman's poles because they can't climb them and it gives me a lead to hide with. It doesn't matter how much I hide though, I simply can't escape. They sometimes let me get a way for a minute or two before they hunt me down, find my molded plastic hole and begin to call their fellow hunters in pursuit. Then I guickly realize I have only two options left. I can either fight or curl up and die, with running no longer an option. I might fight for a little while, but all their hands will eventually overwhelm me, and instead, I will be beaten to the ground, defeated.

But in some cruel twist of fate, my would be hunters have a change of conscience and spare the killing blow. Instead I am allowed to stand and catch my breath. They give me water and words of encouragement. But then, their bloodlust gets the best of them again, and their chart starts anew..."ONE, TWO, THREE, GO!"

I lust for a swift death, like a fox once again.

Wait. Nevermind. It's all just for fun and exercise. (Stares meekly with black beady eyes) Isn't it?