The Moth-eaten Migration Of

Dorothy Dormouse

by Andrew Binks

illustrated by Kathryn Shoemaker

“Once is all you need to push,” said Foxglove to Rebecca Dormouse. And once was all she did push to produce the most adorable little Dorothy Dormouse to grace the places of Moth-bare Meadows. And in that very short sliver of once-upon-a-time, Dorothy Dormouse grew to a healthy fifteen grams of fluffy fur-ball. It was a matter of seconds before the mouse-mayor of Moth-bare Meadows read the rules to Dorothy Dormouse.

           “Dorothy Dormouse,” squeaked out the Mayor, “in the land of Moth-bare Meadows there are but few rules to obey, the only one really being that you must never on any occasion visit the dwellers of Moth-full Moor.”

           “Why?” squeaked Dorothy.

           “And you must never upon any occasion ask questions,” squeaked the mayor.

           “Oops,” whisper-squeaked Dorothy.

           With the rules having thus been read, the dwellers of Moth-bare Meadows held a welcoming feast to celebrate the birth and healthful maturation of Dorothy into a fifteen gram fluffy fur-ball of a dormouse. But the fest was short, since the dwellers of Moth-bare Meadows had but little to eat—the odd dingly-dangly or a thing-a-ma-gob. It made for very thin dormice. But the dormice, not being familiar with any other way of life, didn’t know that they were thin, as dormice go, or why.

           “Why can’t I go to Moth-full Moor?” queried Dorothy to her mother Rebecca.

           “Dorothy, you must whisper when you talk of Moth-full Moor,” said her mother. “Come with me to the button box and I will explain it to you.”

           In the button box, Dorothy sat on a stool-spool and her mother began. “Many mouse-years ago, the land of Moth-full Meadows was ripped asunder by the Leisure Lord.”

           “The Leisure Lord?”

           “Shh! Yes the Leisure Lord. The Leisure Lord has great grey eyes and a red mouth and long red claws. If you see the Leisure Lord, chances are your chances are too late. It carries a great sharp needle and from time to time uses this needle to work the land, but nothing ever seems to grow.”

           “Our land?”

           “Our land.”

           “But what do we do, where do we hide?”

           “Sometimes here in the button box, sometimes on the edge of the flat forest between Moth-full Land and our own.”

           “Why don’t we go to Moth-full Land?”

           “Because Moth-full Land is inhabited by Church-mice and moths, and the moths eat all the Church-mice’s food, so as well as being poor, their land isn’t half as pretty.”

           Dorothy wanted immediately to visit the Church-mice. She was intrigued to know that others like her might live elsewhere.

           “Why isn’t it as pretty?”

           “It is made of dull cotton dales, coarse wool streams and silken-y, linen-y fields and gardens.”

           “Does that make it ugly?” said Dorothy.

           “Look around you, my mouse, what do you see? I’ll tell you, our land is many times more beautiful. Look at the sheen and the colour and texture. Neons and Freons. No pastels or plaids. It is all because of our genuine Naugahydes and supple Pleathers and oh-so-smooth Ultra-Suedes.

           “But the Naugahyde makes my mouse ears itch and the other things burn my elbows and paws.”

           “Silly Dormouse.”

           Dorothy left the button box, feeling sad, and hungry, too. She wanted to meet her distant relatives in Moth-Full Moor. She, not watching her step, slid on the Naugahyde and tumbled down onto a patch of Pleather, hurting her rear end in the fall.

           “It is pretty,” she sighed, but then she said, “What is pretty and what isn’t? Is it pretty because they told me so? Or is it really pretty?”

           From the edge of the Pleather, she could see clear across the flat forest to Moth-full Moor. “I need to go there,” she thought.

           No sooner had she spoken than a talking moth startled her, his great big eyes looking over the edge of the Pleather. “I will take you there, Dorothy Dormouse,” the Mothy Moth said.

           “But you’re a moth, and the moths are eating the mouse food of Moth-full Moor.”

           “There is food for all, don’t kid yourself, Dorothy. You must come and see, but you must make ready for your trip, lest we are spotted by the grey-eyed Leisure Lord.”                                 “What should I do?” said Dorothy, excited that she would get to fly, as she hadn’t flown since she’d been born some hours ago.

           “You must bring the magic token from the button box. It is the only amulet known to distract the Leisure Lord and keep his grey eyes grey.”

           “How will I know it?” said Dorothy.

           “It is the shiniest, gaudiest bauble in the box, some say the most beautiful, but you must judge this for yourself. You will undoubtedly know it when you see it. The Leisure Lord lost it moth-months ago and has been turning the world topsy-turvy ever since. You see, without it he can neither come nor go, his magic-mobile must stay locked in a room, gloomy and glum, while the Leisure Lord gets about on foot or by a rolling rickety rack, all the while his eyes becoming less grey.”

           Now there was no stopping Dorothy. She was smitten with adventure at the thought of seeing a place full of differences where moths and mice lived together as one. She dashed up the Naugahyde slope and across the plain of Pleather back to the button box where she stood looking at baubles and bibbles and strange-looking studs. She remembered that the moth said she would recognize the magic token when she saw it and there, without a doubt, was something that would catch the eye of the Leisure Lord: a gizmo gadget that lit up when you touched it and made far-off humming sounds! No Leisure Lord could survive without such a fascinating thing.

           Dorothy hobbled under the weight of the marvelous object, skinning her knees and bruising her back, but her determination got her to the edge of Moth-bare Meadows.

           “Here, Mothy Moth, let’s see this world far beyond the flat forest, if you please.”

            At once Mothy Moth shimmied Dorothy onto his back and, gizmo in grip, away they both flew to the land of Moth-full Moor. However, halfway to cruising altitude, Dorothy saw what she most feared as the sky darkened and the shadow of what must have been the Leisure Lord drifted across the horizon. But Dorothy was smart and she waited to feel the very breeze in the air and see the fabled grey eyes of the Leisure Lord before she tossed the gizmo which sent her and Mothy Moth quickly towards their target as the Leisure Lord stooped to gather his treasured treasure.

           When they landed in Moth-full Moor, Dorothy tumbled to the ground and immediately fell asleep from her adventure. “This ground is so soft,” she said to herself and mouse-seconds later awoke feeling fresh and peppy again, already surrounded by her curious mouse cousins. “What’s this?” she cried, “you all look twice the mouse size of my family back home.”

           “There’s plenty to eat here in Moth-full Moor,” squeaked a tyke. “We share with the moths and eat what we like. There’s linen and cotton and wool, even thread. Wherever you sleep, it will feel like a bed.”

           “But we must hurry,” said Dorothy, “my family back home live such short mouse years, we have little to eat, just some gee-gaws and goo. They are afraid to come here, they think the moths eat everything. They think Moth-bare Meadows is paradise.”

           So the moths formed a force and let Dorothy lead and they returned to Moth-bare Meadows. Dorothy told of the riches she’d seen. Mostly tweed, plaid and green. “Our cousins are happy, they live a long time. Let’s head for the moor we’ll be just in time… for dinner.”

           So the mice of Moth-bare Meadows packed their belongings and thimbles and things and climbed on the moths and headed for a new home with new friends. The Leisure Lord now was nowhere to be seen out in the chariot made of all things fake and petroleum based.

           After the moth force landed in Moth-full Moor, all the moths and mice sat down to a dinner of buttons and bows and things from the garden that tickle the nose. They had silk for dessert and slept deeply thereafter.