Just Dining

 

The room bustled with activity. Waiters carrying trays scurried from table to kitchen, heat and succulent scents wafting into the dining area every time a waiter passed through the swinging doors. The ripples of laughter and steady murmur of conversation carried the buzz of euphoria; customers knew they were in for a treat. Hadn’t they waited almost a year to get a table? And here they were on Saturday night at the famous Chez Humano. The establishment was packed.

Mr. Bear glanced up from his meal and peered through a window that offered a stunning view of a gold-red sunset dropping behind a still lake. The silhouette of several shapes moved along the pier. A low growl rose in his throat.

“What is it?” asked his companion, lifting his face from his plate.

“I noticed movement there outside.”

His companion licked his fingers. “It’s Saturday night; what do you expect.”

 “Yeah, but I just read an article this morning on the inter-labyrinth about those crazy protestors, and well…”

He leaned towards the window, frowning.

 

“Come on, enjoy your meal,” said his companion, licking his plate, “Don’t worry about those extremists.”

Mr Bear grunted in agreement and turned back to his food. Slurp, crunch, slurp crunch.  His head shot up. “There! Look! Look!”

The two stared out the window. A parade of protesters moving towards the restaurant was now plainly in view. Other customers had stopped eating to look out the window. Waiters cast nervous glances. One hurried to the kitchen.

The protesters were nearing the entrance as the swinging doors to the kitchen burst open. Chef Boar appeared in the dining area and was promptly flanked by bodyguards. They hurried towards the entrance, but too late, a group of cows, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, and ducks stormed into the restaurant.

“You have blood on your hooves, claws, and paws,” bellowed a Friesen Red charging through the dining area. Tables toppled, emptying their contents onto the floor. Glass shattered; customers wailed.

Mr. Dog nipped at her hooves. Mr. Fox snapped at a hen.

“Humans were not put here for us to eat,” bleated a sheep. “Stop the carnage.”

The bodyguards surrounded them, prodding and pushing them towards the door.

Customers laughed; others looked away. Many continued to eat.

“Get them out, ouuuttttt,” shouted Chef Boar.

The protesters were corralled and expelled.

“Free humans,” cackled a hen as the door slammed shut.

 

 

The End