Like the temple of Abu Simble, the Gronlund’s attic permitted a narrow strip of sunlight to enter only twice annually. As Alvin sat collecting dust on a shelf of items forgotten by the Gronlunds when they vacated the home, he hoped, and calculated, that this would be one of those occasions. Although he always felt somewhat a freak compared to other dolls for his ability to locomote, on that particular day his was desperate for this to happen, and thus prayed for the ray of golden sun which would enable such movement.

One hundred and twenty six days ago, when the Gronlunds first left, Alvin assumed that another familiy would soon replace them, and delightedly discover him—the gimcrack coveted by children and adults alike at the Hoe and Hose Fair.

Alvin was produced quite accidentally by the conflicted Emile Shchogol, who was ever attempted to appease both of his warring parents at once. His father was a taylor who expected Emile to continue his business for him as he passed into retirement, while his mother, the botanist, flew into a violent rage anytime she saw Emile so much as thread a needle, for she was adamant that Emile should assume full responsibility of her award-winning gardens once arthritis had comfortably and thoroughly settled into her joints.

It was during a heated debate between his parents about the superiority of yellow pear tomatoes versus self-expanding pants that Emile, in his absent-minded anxiety, stuffed one of his father’s muslin dolls with a handful of his mother’s beans. A few days later, the Madame Shchogol happened upon her husband’s creation and disgustedly threw Alvin from a window, not realizing that he housed some of her most prized botanical treasures—her Instant Grow Burgundy Beans. There, on the Shchogol’s lawn, Alvin was exposed to sufficient sunlight and water to cause his innards to bloom, and it was the pressure of containing these growths that caused Alvin’s movement. While this did not solve Emile’s quandary of which parent’s business to inherit, it created quite the spectacle and made Emile slightly wealthier the day he sold Alvin to Eric Gronlund at Hoe and Hose that year.

Now as Alvin sat in the Gronlund attic, he came to reconcile himself to the reality that it could be many more hundreds of days before another family occupied the manor, and that it was probably worthwhile to investigate his prospects of work elsewhere. The leaking roof above him allowed adequate water to pass into his beans, but without sunlight, growth—and thus movement—would not be possible.

But the gods of accidental inventions looked upon Alvin with favour that day, and as a beam of sunlight hit his belly, Alvin felt that old familiar growth and knew he would soon be on his way to the Market Square.

As he clumsily stumbled towards the grimy attic window, Alvin worried how he would open it in order to leave by it—yet once again, he was regarded favourably: a soft green tendril shot of one of the tears in his fabric and pried the window open for him. Over the shingles, through the eavestrough, and onto the grass Alvin tumbled, trembling with excitement and developing legumes.

As he padded along the pathway to the Market Square with his stubby sausagesque legs, Alvin pondered how he would market himself. It was always a topic of sensitivity discussing what animal exactly Alvin had been modeled after. His long floppy ears, affixed to a head too proportionately large for the body bearing it, gave rise to suspicions that Alvin was sewn in the image of a miniature ass. However, whenever this thought occurred to people, they suppressed it and said to themselves “no, this can’t be. He must be a mis-shapen dog.” And so Alvin came to think of himself in the same way. Pinning down his naturally upright ears so that they dangled as a dog’s, Alvin also considered how seriously people would take him as a doll. Although he lacked the traditional batting stuffing, Alvin felt, with great conviction, that he belonged to the class of invented, not biological creatures, but convincing others of this was sometimes a challenge. Then too, he may be required to explain why he was bipedal.

As these questions swarmed Alvin’s thoughts, a young voice cried out, “Father! Look at that funny cloth dog with a shiny green tail growing out of it!”

The interjection hurt Alvin, but he quickly forgot the injury as the view of the Market Square before him grew clearer and clearer. When he was finally in the midst of it all, Alvin found he was overwhelmed with the decision of which vendor’s table to perch himself upon. Despite the sheer volume of trinkets for sale crowding the Market Square, few of them were as unorthodox as Alvin, so had trouble locating a cart to which he truly felt he belonged. However, he finally settled on a table filled with the most ordinary looking dolls, reasoning that he was more like these than he was like framed paintings of cheese, for example. The dolls who already occupied the table greeted him warily but politely, after which there was no conversation to speak of. When hostility did happen upon Alvin’s booth, its source was not the native dolls at all, but rather, two live, intrusive skunks.

“Shift and make room for us!” one of them barked at Alvin.

“If you please, sir,” a startled Alvin responded, “this is a table for dolls. I am sure, though, that in this whole market there must be at least one vendor of natural animals.”

“Do not patronize us!” snarled the second skunk. “We shall enjoy the life of indulgence you dolls have. You sleep in sheltered human quarters and do nothing all day but count the granules on the popcorn ceilings of your tasteless owners. Why shouldn’t we enjoy the same luxury?”

“Well how shall you market yourselves?” Alvin asked, bewildered.

The first skunk answered smugly, “It has recently become fashionable for women to warm their feet in devices that are both shoes and dolls shaped as animals. Surely anyone dense enough to observe such a fashion can be fooled into believing we are simply sunk-doll shoes!”

“Your hostility and contempt for others is completely unnecessary,” Alvin pointed out, but the skunks ignored him and pushed themselves forcefully onto the table beside Alvin. In listening to their conversation, and through his olfactory capacities, Alvin came to know them as Phee and Yew.

Gradually, Alvin noticed that Phee and Yew were less and less beside him, and more and more on top of him. This alarmed Alvin because he was certain this would obscure his chances of being noticed by passers by. He tried to poke his way out from under Yew and Phee’s bottoms with his stray tendril, but as these were animals of the wild, the sharp leafiness did not bother them in the least. Alvin could only hope for a rummaging sort of customer; one who would turn the contents of the cart upside down to ensure she had seen all it had to offer. No sooner had Alvin wished this than a customer arrived, who was a rummager indeed.

“G’day Mr. Stringer!” the woman said cheerily to the vendor.

“Top of the morning to you, Mrs. Hawley!” he returned.

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Hawley lifted the pair of skunks for examination. “Look at these fancy doll-shoes!” she exclaimed admiringly. “I’m trying to help my Sarah self-learn doll-making, so I’m looking for fine examples to bring home to her,” she told Mr. Stringer, would nodded approvingly.

Although Alvin’s beans were grateful for the fact that they were no longer blocked from the sun by the skunks’ bottoms, he was disturbed that the artificial dolls had seemingly manage to snatch the position that should have been his. However, just as he was about to sink into unfathomable depths of self-pitying, his bulbous snout caught the attention of Mrs. Hawley, who shifted the weight of both skunks to one hand in order to lift Alvin with the other, and examine him more closely.

“How extraordinary!” she murmured. “A doll with stalks growing out of it!” Alvin felt himself blush with self-conscious pride.

Then, as Mrs. Hawley stood there apparently trying to make a decision, Yew did a very low thing…it was so subtle that it could have easily been attributed to the wind, but Alvin was certain that the flicker of Yew’s glossy tail was intentionally done in order to lure Mrs. Hawley’s attentions back to the skunks. And as the light bounced off of Yew’s lustrous tail, this was precisely what happened. Mrs. Hawley decidedly handed Mr. String a fifty pence coin in exchange for ownership of the villains. However, Alvin was not to be disheartened, for Mrs. Hawley had already resolved to purchase him as well. She rumaged about her purse for a quarter (second-dolls were often less costly than freshly sewn ones), then stuffed her latest acquisitions into her purse and headed home.

While Alvin was pleased to have found work that day, he was certainly less than thrilled at having to share a purse with the skunks for the whole walk home, and dreaded the prospect of having to coexist with them forever at the Hawley’s residence.

Upon their arrival home, Alvin realized he had not been watered for some time and so took advantage of Mrs. Hawley’s fumblings through her purse in order to retrieve the house key. He flung himself out of the purse directly into a puddle below.

“Oh dear!” cried Mrs. Hawley, lifting Alvin out of the puddle. “I shall have to place you in a sunny place for you to dry quickly.” Alvin was pleased.

Inside the home, Alvin was settled in the window sill above the kitchen sink, where he absorbed plenty of light. As his beans grew, his spirits lifted and he engaged in a humble celebratory dance. Just then, Sarah Hawley skipped into the kitchen, catching the final movement of Alvin’s performance. She giggled delightedly. “Oh how wonderful Mother! Is this one of my new examples? Do you really tink I am skilled enough to sew a dancing doll?”

But Alvin could not notice Mrs. Hawley’s replies, for terror gripped him as the skunks shot him a seething glare. They did not dare compete with him and dance themselves, for they knew their movements would look far too natural, and betray their identities as natural animals.

When the Hawley ladies left the kitchen, Yew and Phee slunk towards Alvin. “We desire a reconciliation,” Phee declared nonchalantly.

Alvin was suspicious, but also desirous to put an end to the animosity. “Yes,” he agreed. “That would be fine.”

“Shall we to the parlour to discuss the resolution of our differences?”

“That seems the civilized thing to do,” conceded Alvin.

He inwardly jiggled his stalks to follow the trotting skunks into the parlour, where the three creatures regarded one another expectantly.

Finally, Yew spoke. “We should have refreshments,” he suggested. “Wouldn’t you like something to eat Alvin?” Alvin’s distrust for the skunks increased. He was uncertain as to what they were planning, but knew it must be something sinister.

Phee reached for the candy dish on the coffee tabl, offering its contents to Alvin. “You must have one,” he urged.

“No thank you,” Alvin responded firmly. “Those are Mrs. Hawley’s fancy brandy chocolates. I am sure she offers them only to important company.”

“Eat one!” insisted Phee, pressing a brandy bean against Alvin’s belly.

“I will not!” came Alvin’s reply.

“You must!” Phee bellowed aggresively, pushing the brandy chocolate ever more forcefully against the cloth ass-dog.

The confection could no longer bear the pressure of such rough handling, and its chocolate walls collapsed, spilling brandy all over Alvin’s midsection. The brandy penetrated his fabric, presumeably destroying his beans. Alvin shed a tear. And although this tear was likely an oozing excess of ethanol, it was as heartfelt and genuine as any saline emission produced by a natural being. “Oh, my poor beans!” he sobbed frightfully.

At that moment, the ladies Hawley bustled into the parlour. “Oh there they are, Sarah!” remarked Mrs. Hawley. “How strange. I thought we had left them in the kitchen. Come now, bring your stitch ripper here. We shall disassemble these dolls for you to see how they are made, so you can make such fine toys yourself.”

“Oh wonderful!” exclaimed Sarah. “I do believe that the dancing doll is filled with live, growing burgundy beans. I’m curious to know how he would move if I replaced his beans with some of my automatic string beans. May I try this mother?”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” returned Mrs. Hawley.

Alvin’s ethanol tear evaporated, and glee filled the spaces between his old beans. He would have new plants! He would continue bobbling and dancing!

“But Sarah,” continued Mrs. Hawley, “does it seem a rather difficult project to make as your first? Perhaps you can learn to make the doll shoes first, by taking apart the pair I brought home to examine their construction. Go on.”

As Sarah excitedly neared Phee and Yew with her stitch ripper, the aroma of skunk panic filled the parlour.

All eyes turned accusingly at Phee and Yew. “Oh Mother!” cried Sarah, horrified, “these aren’t doll shoes at all—they are real, live skunks! Oh, how obscene!”

“Indeed!” gasped Mrs. Hawley, pale with fury. “Quickly! Open the front door!” she commanded Sarah. Sarah ran to the front of the house in obedience and opened the door. Then, from the distance between the parlour and the main entrance, across the length of the long corridor, Mrs. Hawley sent the skunks sailing with a hefty kick. They landed with force in the thorny recesses of voluminous blue spruce, which, even for an animal of wild, can be quite uncomfortable.

Despite the rumblings of his alcoholic photosynthesis, Alvin was at peace. Never again would he be tormented by these vile creatures, for they did not dare attempt such deception a second time. They had learned, through their humiliation, that such duplicity would always be uncovered. They could not hide what they were, for nature exceeds nurture.