scs Fairy Tales

By Authors Unknown

A Happy Story

Once upon a time there was a wee fairy named Happy who lived in a small Faerie Cottage carved from a toadstool, near a magical rowan tree growing by the blethering burn which meanders through the Faerie Glen. And true to her name, Happy was, well, happy! She loved to frolic and sport through the Faerie Glen, flitting and flying and tripping along (for she was also very clumsy), singing Faerie Songs and painting the flowers gay colours with her Faerie Magic. Indeed, the one source of unhappiness in Happy's life was her nemesis, her bête noire, this being a particularly energetic Border Collie named 'Jim' (who was only partially 'noire,' his coat being a motley of black-and-white).

Jim had far too little patience and far too much time on his paws; he loved nothing better than the time-honoured sport of Chasing Fairies. He chased them up and down the Faerie Glen, and in and out of it as well. He chased them as they flew over the chill waters of the blethering burn. He chased them round the magical stone circles atop the Faerie Knowes. He chased them hither and yon through the flowers of the glen, causing the magical paint to come off the petals. In short, Jim was a real glaikit arsehole.

And of all the fairies he loved to chase, he derived the greatest enjoyment from chasing Happy. He loved the way she shrieked in horror at his bounding, flop-eared approach. He loved the way she spiraled in confusion, scattering Faerie Paint colours everywhere, when he surprised her. He loved the way he was able to take advantage of her rather unusual clumsiness. And most of all, he loved making her cry. If he saw her before any other fairies upon entering the glen, he would actually lie in wait, quieting his normal ebullience and laying low in the tall grass, until she was just within range of a surprise attack - and then *leap* into action, barking and galumphing towards her, in hope of causing her distress.

And distress it caused indeed; poor Happy was terrified of and terrorised by Jim. His assaults - particularly the suprise attacks - reduced her normally joyful and merry demeanour to a veritable font of misery. Her pleasant and gay Faerie Face would cloud up, torrents of wee Faerie Tears welling from her eyes as she fled in terror to the relative safety of the old rowan tree which grew by the blethering burn. And this of course led the Blethering Burn itself to observe aloud (as magical brooks may do, if they so choose):

'She never cries but when the Collie is seen!'