The Giant Forest - COMPLETED - True to life adventures of preteens.

We Don't Even Know Her Real Name

Mousi wasn't even her real name. In fact, nobody even knew what her real name was. She looked like a mouse, acted like a mouse, sometimes squeaked like a mouse and was generally soft and playful like a mouse. Not a rat. They are yucky. A mouse - you know - cute, soft, furry and a long tail.

Mousi was noticeably smaller than her friends. It could be it was because even though she was in the same grade she was almost a full year younger than some of her classmates. Mousi didn't give being younger than her friends any thought at all. She was a good follower, a good listener. Only when someone would stop to listen would there be any danger of her talking your arm AND leg off. She wore a smile. Her eyes sparkled with kindness and her giggle oozed a gentle spirit.

Mousi was lovable. And Mousi loved in return.

Mousi loved animals. She especially loved dogs. Maybe it was because dogs would listen to her. She would have loved cats, too ... but Mousi and cats? Ah ... no. She loved dogs. When others turned their noses up at stray dogs with matted hair and one eye, Mousi would approach the unloved mutt as if he or she, it didn't matter to Mousi, were the most prized pet anyone ever owned. Mousi would share her lunch, her afternoon snack with a dog that others wouldn't even throw their leftovers at.

"Why waste any food at all on that mangy old thing? It's not going to live," were never words you would hear come from Mousi's thin lips.

"Oh, isn't he just so precious. Look at the adorable little fellow. Why isn't he just the cutest thing you ever saw?" is more like Mousi. She followed her words with actions, too.

She would sit alongside dogs with one ear, lost in a fight or born without it, and she would scratch that ear that wasn't there and the little pooch wouldn't know the difference. Any mongrel within Mousi's reach was, well, loved unconditionally. And Mousi never asked for anything in return.

Mousi had never been to Mt Hermon.

"Aren't you worried about being smaller and younger than all the other kids, Mousi?" someone might ask.

Her answers always puzzled the questioner. "I heard that sometimes dogs in the neighborhood sneak up to the camp to scrounge for leftovers. I wonder if I'll be able to make some new friends." Of course, she meant four-legged friends.

What Mousi wanted to get from Mt Hermon camp was more opportunities to love more.

She was going to get more than she could possibly have hoped for, too!

Evening vespers is a favorite time of the campers. Aimi, Roci, Sybil, Sycamore, Mousi ... all of them loved to sing their hearts with abandon. No looking to the left or to the right, just looking up. They sang loud and long, clapped their hands, stomped their feet, even bumped their rears and gave one another high fives. Who knew singing could be so fun? Only kids who have never been to camp have a hard time understanding how much fun 'lifting their voices' and 'making a joyful noise' can be.

As the counselors looked around, they realized a few people were missing on this first evening of camp.

"That's unusual," said Butterfingers. "That group is ALWAYS here. They wouldn't miss this singing time and certainly wouldn't skip out to do something else."

"What else is there to do?" asked Twinkie.

"Good question," Kit Kat replied.

Turns out there are other things that can be done at camp. For example - getting lost. There are a lot of ways to get lost, too. Adventures!

Adventures sometimes come looking for us.

Mousi excused herself from her friends. She wanted to fetch some leftovers from the evening meal that she had smuggled into the cabin. Mousi mumbled as if she were thinking out loud to herself. "I might see a stray dog or cat. And surely they will be hungry. I should have something to give them just in case."

The others went ahead. But they didn't make it to the sing fest either.

After grabbing some leftover hot dogs, the burnt ones that nobody else wanted, Mousi quickly went into a trot to catch up with her friends. She didn't remember the worship stands being so far away.

"They should be just over the hill behind cabin number 12," she thought to herself. This time nobody could hear her.

Mousi heard a whimper. It caused her to stop. She knew that kind of sound. It was the sound of a dog who had been abused, kicked, beaten with sticks just because it was somebody's idea of 'fun.'

"What kind of fun can that possibly be?" Mousi squeaked loud enough that anybody within 10 feet could hear. But nobody heard it. There was nobody around.

She heard the sound again. This time is was more like a wheezing.

Mousi had enough experiences with mistreated canines that she thought she could understand what the pooches wanted to say by the sounds they made.

This time it sounded like a dog who was so mistreated and so distrusting of humans that it moaned out loud. Scared as the dog was, still it moaned loud enough to attract the attention of a human. The dog, it would be understood, was suffering more from hunger than from fear. The dog hoped for a scrap of food, even if it must risk being whacked by another cruel human being.

Mousi saw the dog (that's what she thought it was) disappear behind a shed that probably used to be where they stored old lawn mowers, clippers, shovels, rakes, hoes and other tools for keeping Mt. Hermon spit shined. The shed was too old now. The hinges were rusted and squeaked in pain when blown back and forth by the wind. The wood was rotten. There were 'peepholes' in the sides where there should have been solid walls. Mousi figured, "That must be where the poor creature stays out of the wind, rain and snowy cold."

She saw some old abandoned tin sheets, paint cans and rags scattered about inside. The rags were bunched into the corner for a makeshift bed. Perhaps for an abandoned dog, once loved, then rejected, then hated, then sent away .... she choked up ... to die.

She heard the sound of sadness again behind her, just a short ways down the trail. Without thinking she continued to follow the cry of loneliness that only an unloved pooch could make.

Before she knew it she had wandered, chased the opportunity to love is a better way to put it, into the giant forest that surrounded Mt Hermon. She also began to shake, then shiver from the cold, as she realized she had no idea how to get back. She was lost and didn't bring her coat.

Mousi saw a faint light that could have been 50 yards away or maybe 100 or more. She was a poor judge of distance when her heart, her soul and her mind were focused on giving another destitute animal an act of kindness. No distance seemed too far to cover to extend a loving touch.

As Mousi chased the light ahead, she felt her heart and her feet quicken. She moved faster than even she thought she could towards the light. She, even for a moment, forgot about the animal she was pursuing and began to worry about her own well-being, not knowing where she was going, only that she was getting farther away from camp, and her friends.

When Mousi came into a clearing in the woods, her mouth dropped open and she stood there stunned when she saw what happened next.