My Gift to Mary

Sarah keeps nagging me to add something new to my blog - I had no idea she was so keen! I must be a better writer than I thought, but I mustn't sell myself short. To tell the truth, there has been nothing at all as exciting as the beared flu. Life has returned to its usual boring normal self, which is a huge disa relief.

It doesn't do to disappoint all my loyal readers, though, so I set paw to keyboard once again. It's Mary's birthday today and the air will be thick with the sound of rustling gift paper and gooey birthday cake. I baked it, of course and then painted 'Thorntons' on the box. See, I'm a bear of many talents. I should post my CV here some time so you can all see for yourselves. I can even play the piano - was taught by my mother, rest her beary heart - and the other day I looked out some special sheet music with lyrics.

I tried it on Sarah before the big day. "Listen," I said - "what do you think of this music? Would it suit?" I sang Happy Bearday. Have you heard it? It's a cracking song.

"Oh, it's fine, and you sing it beautifully," said Sarah - "but we don't have a piano."
"Well thank you," I said, annoyed. "You always have to ruin my little surprises."
That lassie is a pain in the neck sometimes.

My next idea was to buy candles for the cake. I couldn't remember how many we needed, so I bought 125 to be on the safe side. I decided to try one just to check that it lighted correctly, and accidentally set fire to myself.

It wasn't my fault - the cat tripped me up and I fell flat on my face - fortunately the cake wasn't anywhere near. Sarah said it might be safer to bury the rest of the candles at the bottom of the garden, because there will be major fireworks if Mary sees 124 of them on the cake. I didn't complain too loudly when she took them away. Never mind, my fur will grow back. I can cover the bald spot with a strategically placed cat - preferably the same one who caused the contretemps.

After that I painted a masterpiece - art is another of my special accomplishments. Unfortunately my fur stuck to the burnt sienna and Sarah had to prise me off the canvas with a palette knife. Next time I'll try watercolours instead.

Not to be daunted, however, I turned my attention to the miracles of the wakening soil. I'm a notable gardener - my green paws are legendary. I grew a mighty sunflower, which flourished bright and tall. Sadly, our massive snails discovered it and razed it to the ground in one night.

I was trying not to cry in a corner - I really wanted to give my Mary something nice to show her my love and appreciation, but Sarah came and gave me a hug and said Mary loves me just fine the way I am, and when she reads my latest blog post on her birthday, she will be very happy.

That's true - I can write. I can do a lot of things, as you know, but I'm especially good at writing. It's how I can best express my love. All the bears want to join with me in this, so all of us stand here and raise our voices for this chorus:

Happy birthday, dear Mary - happy bearhugs to you.