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The new born of any species has no choice, as to what it will develop into. It’s existence is determined by generations of genetic changes. WE...humans who consider ourselves to be normal, do not always understand the different ones. If we took time to try to understand them, we just might see a humorous side to their existence. My Dad would tease me when I was little, that he wasn't sure what I was. He kept me under a wash tub until I was figured out. Thus, I wrote this poem for the "different ones" whom I shall call "Whatzits." "Whatzit" I was born fuzzy and ugly, at the age of nearly three. Would’ve been born sooner, but the stork was afraid of me. He dropped me off at a barber’s shop, to the barber’s chagrin. He didn’t know whether to diaper me, or shave my face and chin. I was put under a washtub, with a bowl of milk and a bone, to wait for a trapper, to explain "Whatzit", when I was shown. a burly man in hobnailed boots clomped in with a mangy hound. the barber banged on the tub, but I didn’t make a sound. The tub was lifted from the floor, so his dog could take a sniff, it flipped upside-down, and all four legs went stiff. roaring, "Whatzit" you got under there?" The trapper reached for me. I opened my mouth two feet wide, and gobbled a finger... or three. The barber got in a frenzy, he rushed to the big man’s side. with his razor, he swung at me, but took trapper’s ear and hide. "Whatzit?" they hollered; I rushed quickly out the door. made me sick being there, amidst the blood and gore. Into the woods and hills I ran, 'til I came upon a hollow, I thought I would be safe there, certain no one would follow. for a while I was lonely...then SHE came into my life; so lovely, she captured my heart; I asked her to be my wife. We’ve lived here many years; little "Whatzits" we had galore. it must be eighteen or nineteen now, or maybe twenty four. we don’t ask for anything, except to be happy and free, if you find a "Whatzit’s" cave, only contentment you will see. Don’t be afraid of us; or any of our “Kith and Kin.” we’re share this earth by HIS choice; the same world you live in. don’t pick on us, or get us riled, because you don’t understand, it’s possible, you’ll lose a finger or two, or maybe even your hand. YarnSpinner