Amsterdam

Once, a dog named Pierre decided to go on a journey for a banquet. His life of ease needed disruption, it was becoming too balanced and the scales were in need of tipping. Too much time eating treats and sunbathing had left him despondent and soft. Places he had walked, things he had seen, trees he had peed on, it was all the same. Despite outside appearances the banality of existing within a déjà vu was wearing on Pierre. “Why not”, he said, when given little information other than a time and place for his adventure “maybe the butts will smell different over there”. The only thing Pierre knew for certain was that he could not go it alone.

Alwa the squirrel had only begun his evening of scavenging when he came across Pierre. “Dude”, he said, in his unmistakable tone, “where the hell are you going”. 

Pierre was, for a moment, cautious about letting Alwa know his intentions. For he knew that where Alwa went activities only a much younger pup could handle ensued. 

Did Alwa know how to have a good time and when to cross lines? Yes. 

Was Pierre still capable of handling those times and coming out the other side? He wasn’t so sure. 

But this is a story about adventure, not about caution, so Pierre said “I’m going to see the land below lands to attend a banquet, where I hear the treats hold magical properties”. Without hesitation, permission, or any of the squirrel documents required, Alwa packed his bags and knew their fates were intertwined.

If this parable ended here these two creatures might not still be alive. They had energy, they had malintent, but they lacked integrity, reliability, and the modicum of decorum required to navigate these new lands.

Pierre confided in Alwa, “Alwa, this path we walk, we will not make it alone”. Alwa knew much the same, and nodded in agreement. As darkness fell, our intrepid mammals realized their short legs would only carry them so far and the journey, if made, may possibly be only one way.

Axio the horse had just left the stable for an evening walk alone. He had just raised another $80,000 for ponies in need, while fending off his share of intended riders. His path, while often crowded, required more and more time of withdrawal. His saddle fit better than ever, his mane was well groomed, and despite a lingering issue in his hoof, he had just decided to run the New York City Marathon in 2025. Why our narrator found this important to mention I am not sure, I am merely a vessel for their tale.

On this walk, comforted by the thoughts one is only able to think while alone, he pondered “with this much decency, how can I be sure I am still myself. What has become of the traveler?”

At that moment the squirrel and the dog were bickering, for the dog had just learned that the squirrel had only brought with him a restless spirit, not the required documents for travel. Axio, being the respectable hero he is, galloped over on his 3.5 good hooves. “Prey tell, what is the matter here?”

“This fucking squirrel has been planning this trip with me to the land below lands and I’m just now learning he never submitted his nuts to be stamped”

Like a bolt of lightning Axio knew “this is it, this is my intended chaos realized”.

“Get on my back losers, I’m taking us to the land below lands”.

And with this they were off.

*It should be noted that shortly before departure the squirrel went at 6am to Hughston and successfully had his nuts stamped after paying a little extra.

Now, it was no secret that the horse was a reliable friend to those in need. Just how much his compatriots, especially the dog, were in need of validating their own existence and worth one can only guess the depths at which Axio was aware.

Through air and water and land they traveled, but true to his word Axio the horse brought his friends to the land below lands. 

“What now” they wondered, and were given only a name in response. This name was mentioned only in passing to Pierre as a group of racoons living in the land below lands that could help. “Petrov and Parsley” whispered Pierre.

Petrov and Parsley, as it would turn out, would both be rescuers and foibles. Upon viewing the raccoon's den it became immediately apparent that it was not designed to house three additional creatures, especially not a horse. Within moments Axio had both won over Petrov and Parsley, but also managed to spill flour all about their den.

Petrov and Parsley were young, and while our travelers fashioned themselves young at heart (especially Mr. Squirrel), being with them only reminded our crew of their current bead on the abacus scale of life.

A curious thing happened though. Call it fate, call it adventure, call it joie de vivre, but our travelers found this mirror of youth not depressing or overly impressive. They found it a challenge.

By nightfall Petrov and Parsley were taken aback. Despite the grey in the manes of Axio and Pierre there was not a pause in their cadence. Every step forward was a step towards an unknowable fulfillment. Joy? To say it outloud in the moment would be like trying to catch a butterfly with tongs, you’ll kill it. It’s the joy that is felt in the moment, but retrospective in nature. It is the joy that led Alwa to determine he must instigate our new found compatriots with hearty butt grabs. Racoons, unsurprisingly, are not accustomed to butt grabs, but they acquiesced. 

Age, regardless of happiness, will inevitably be a character in your story. It is both a part of each of us yet somehow in the self it is removed, it is other. It is a fact that does little good to recognize in a joyous moment. In a truly fulfilling moment you transcend age. In a truly fulfilling moment age is merely a punctuation. That punctuation tends to occur, as so often it does, the morning after.

But our story is not only of one night of ass grabbing and mess making in a raccoon's den. Our heroes' ages are not the defining character in this chapter of our book. Age, at this point, is merely a curious voyeur biding his time.

As the morning sun rose, few truths were to be found.

One, the boys must explore the town.

Two, Axio’s hoof was twice the size as the day before.

Three, Alwa had that twinkle still in his eye.

A squirrel invariably must find its nut, so off our travelers were.

The banquet was still at arms length away so time was forgiving to our travelers. Axio, despite having a hoof like a water balloon, stepped out into the open air and directed our boys into the streets. These were lands with waterways and Pierre had been known to love a good travel, but hate not getting lost. For Alwa, having forever no set end point, meant being lost was an impossibility as a whole.

The tightness of Axio’s hoof was only met by the tightness of Pierre’s ability to relax, though he did not want to show it.

The travelers visited famous sights, where the local beverages were made and rented bicycles to make traveling easier.

Now how a squirrel, a dog, and a horse rode bicycles is none of your concern. This is my fable, not your scroll. They rode them and they rode them well.

The day was unlike others, that twinkle the squirrel had was infectious and with Axio directing our boys throughout the city they felt endless.

This toxin of adventure, at times, can do funny things. It is a jester of its own and it, unlike age, is not a persona non grata. 

Having tried local beverages and deciding they would be a long term impediment (plus they may have already sampled with Petrov and Parsley) our travelers decided to try a local sweet instead.

Now, the jester of adventure, let’s call him Steve. Steve decided to step into the movie frame. Steve decided to tell Axio to confidently request an amount of sweets that would put a bear down. Besides, Axio had navigated the city so well, so confidently, of course he knew how much sweets to get.

Pierre, in a trance from Steve’s intoxicating allure, was eager to submit. Pierre also, it should be pointed out, did not have his wits about him.

Alwa however knew damn well how many sweets they should eat, and that the amount Axio was purchasing exceeded that number by a factor of 10. Alwa though, having shared many beverages with Steve the night before, decided to put his arm around Steve (metaphorically speaking) and let this play out.

The boys wasted no time throwing an immeasurable amount of sweets into their mouths and carried on with their day. They had big plans you see. Art, food, culture, they were there to take it all in before the banquet. As they stepped out into the streets with their bicycles little did they know that Steve peered from the alleyway, ready to intercept the boys with a dose of adventure that they were ill-prepared for.

The sun shone brightly, or was it a grey overcast day? The narrator does not fully recall, for he had also eaten similar sweets. 

As the boys began to attempt to ride their bicycles they locked eyes. Pierre and Alwa knew this feeling, they knew they had just taken their first steps into a very long journey. Axio was not so sure. This was different. He told Pierre and Alwa that his hoof suddenly felt great, Pierre and Alwa suspected that Axio could not feel his hoof at all. 

The effort to pedal the bikes became equivalent to life or death. Each downstroke even more laborious than the previous one. Each stranger’s face becoming more and more hideously beautiful. “Am I breathing?” Pierre asked to no one in particular “what the fuck were in those sweets?”. 

Alwa knew, Alwa had always known. Alwa smiled.

Maps became illogical crossword puzzles and were abandoned all together. Whether our friends rode miles, or meters, it is unknown (again, the narrator cannot recall). What is known is that they made it to the art gallery just after closing. 

Sometimes life interjects and ensures that you do not get arrested for sleeping on or defacing irreplaceable artwork while absolutely bombed on sweets. This is one of those times. Had the art gallery been open Axio would have cried poetically and drenched a Renaissance era piece, Alwa would have touched Mona Lisa’s face (or the land below land’s equivalent), and Pierre would have peed on something. Speaking of Pierre, where did he go? What happened to him? Axio and Alwa had found a comfortable concrete slab to rest their physical form, but he was nowhere to be seen.

As one could have deduced from the revelation above, Pierre had to pee, and had to pee badly. It did not matter that the gallery was closed. Words were exchanged with some questionable doormen and Pierre was allowed to a subterranean level where a bathroom existed. Despite being a dog, he did have manners. However, once downstairs trouble erupted. Pierre, exalted by finally urinating, exchanged words with a large bear that was none too happy to see him. 

What occurred in that bathroom we will never know. What threats were exchanged, and why, are a complete mystery to the narrator even to this day. This narrator is confident however that if you ever attempt to see the Van Gough museum in the land below lands and you encounter a bear in a bathroom you should run. Finish peeing, then run. Getting in trouble for peeing is like getting in trouble for jumping in a pool. You can get mad at me all you want but so long as I already jumped in the pool you lost. Peeing while on sweets is a lot like that.

Pierre emerged from his subterranean purgatory completely lost. Near tears he canvassed the entire area looking for Axio and Alwa. At one point, he considered simply making the waiting area outside of the art gallery his new home. His feet would not allow him to go much further and the bear was hopefully resigned to live in the subterranean basement. 

Just then, as if realizing Pierre had only “canvassed” two square meters, Alwa and Axio emerged triumphantly. Their concrete resting place had been mere feet away from Pierre and the boys were reunited. The thoughts that went through Pierre’s mind only moments before shall never be mentioned again, for they are too dark for paper.

Did one of the boys place a foot on the pedal of their bicycle? I am not sure and I doubt they could tell you. What I can say is that they chose a new destination for rest under a tree. A destination that can never be discovered again but will live forever in memory. Pierre and Axio shared a nap on the grass, while Alwa chose a bench to rest. It was later revealed that due to the potency of the sweets Alwa simply was unable to reach the ground where the rest of the party lay. 

Where each of our traveler’s minds went to during this rest is for them to know. The only thing that is revealed is that each awoke with a bit of their burden lightened. There were no longer any bears to be fought, hoofs to be mended, or nuts to be stamped. 

As you get older you lose sight of yourself more and more. The things you promised to yourself become blurry and you tend to meld into conformity out of exhaustion. Melding to conformity is the end goal for many animals, the complacency masking itself as a creature comfort. There are those however, where conformity means the loss of self. Now whether the grieving period of the loss of self due to societal conformity can be categorized as lowercase “D” depression, I am not qualified to say, I can only relay what was felt. What I can say is that sometimes you have to get absolutely ripped with your friends to remind yourself that you are still the hero of your own story, and that life is not simply what happens to you. It’s the realization that you always have a choice. Sometimes, life should be impressed by you. Sometimes, you have to be the ruler of your own existence.

Staring at a leaf while waking up from his nap Pierre realized all of these things at once. And, whether they recognized it or not, this narrator believes to some degree his compatriots realized it as well. They had all come for a reason, and in reality the banquet itself was not it.

The remainder of this traveling day was a lesson in perfection. Nothing was out of reach. Raw beef at a tourist trap restaurant? Sounds great. From what this narrator was told everyone loved the raw beef and was super happy that Pierre ordered it for the table. Some say it would be worth going back to the land below lands just to eat this delicacy. A Michelin level restaurant at the bottom of some stairs that could never be found again? Absolutely. A little bit of wine to cap it all off? What am I a heathen of course I’ll take a glass to end it.

The next day found the boys scrambling for the banquet. In their haste to unburden themselves from life they neglected to remember that they actually were in the land below lands for a reason. By bike, by car, by foot and by hoof they arrived. Axio was amazed and horrified to see that the banquet was being held inside of a horse stable. He resisted the urge to free his brethren but made a mental note of it for future travels. 

Parsley, having grown un-fond of Alwa’s butt grabbing, was not in attendance. Petrov however did show up and brought with him the makings of a wonderful banquet feast. The facts blur with dreams during the banquet but this noble narrator can tell you that once it began the boys proved to be worthy attendees. To this day Petrov still continues to tell tales of the horse, the squirrel, and the dog and how they brought a banquet in a foreign land to their feet.

Now, I could continue to tell the story from here. The day spent on a boat on the water, the afternoon spent with Santa Claus, and the night spent reveling in a feast with new friends. But Axio’s younger brother has told this narrator that his deadline for this story was three days ago, and that some stories are better remembered than written, so I will simply leave you with this.

Sometimes you need to let chaos, good, and yes, even a little bit of villainly into your life lest you waste it always behaving, cause who the fuck would want read a story about that.