A Shoe Tale

A SHOE TALE
by
Jean Thibault Castagno

If my shoes could talk, their story would last for a week. We went on vacation in April to Florida and then on to Georgia and so on. Nothing very eventful except that on the return home, we discovered that some animal or other had dug a hole in our back yard and left it there for the tides to fill and empty.
We live on a tidal marsh and I am guessing the poor ole critter didn’t know that. Else why dig the hole as though he wished to hide something for a later feast?
In any case, my once-sparkling-white shoes had done a bit of walking as we roamed the southern states and while I was ready to just park them high up on my lounge chair, I had to walk to the rear of our yard at low tide and see what I could do about filling the hole.
To tell you the truth, I was filled with trepidation as I didn’t know what to expect. And, sure enough, that hole was NOT empty. Nestled in its warm and wet curves were a set of fish that I had never seen before and a sad looking bunny that wanted to find dry land again.
The problem is that the hole was just that much too deep for the bunny to hop out and I had been warned by my conservationist friend that wild animals can be rabid.
So, my shoes did a Uey back to the garage where I searched for a net or some such thing in which to catch the two little golden and blue fishes. I took an old net, probably used at one time to play at catching butterflies, and my shoes took me back down to the edge of the now very wet tidal marsh as the tide was returning once again.
It does that twice a day, you know, and I really didn’t want my shoes to drift away from my feet. Now that I think about it, I would have been smarter to simply take them off. They were made of cotton canvas and my thought was that I could throw them in with some laundry and use them again another day. Dream on, as they say.
I lucked out with the net and with one fell swoop, I collected both fishes and carried them farther out into the marsh where they had a decent chance of swimming their way back to Long Island Sound. My shoes were squeaking and protesting all the way, but stayed with me for the return to the hole.

2
By now the tide was coming in a bit faster and the poor bunny was wailing away and pawing at the air trying to achieve some kind of purchase on the ground and thereby make its escape.
I really didn’t want to touch it and yet I knew I had to help it escape. So, I took off my right shoe and held it out to the creature thinking it might take a bite and I could haul it up and away.
But, my shoes are not very long – size 9, if you really want to know – and, so, the rabbit couldn’t quite grab onto it. Ok. Ok. I thought. I’ll just take off my other shoe, tie the laces together and try again.
Hurrah!!! It worked. The wet and by now very frightened little animal took a real tough bite of my sneaker and before it could take a breath, I yanked real hard and slung the rabbit and my shoes as far as I could. I had intended to hang on to my shoe, but it wasn’t to be. Bunny, right shoe, left shoe, laces and all fell way out into the tidal marsh and onto a neat little island that would give the darling thing time to get its wits and wait for the neap tide when he could jump from island to island until he found dry land that would go on forever and ever from one back yard to the next.
Whew! I had quite a workout, but, then, so did my shoes. They were saved the ignominy of flailing around in the washer amongst our jeans and dirty socks.
The end