When I came home from work I found Bullwinkle sitting on my couch, drinking a Coke, and watching TV. His legs stretched out so far that he didn't need the remote to turn down the volume; he just tapped the TV's VOLUME button with a hoof so hard it could have put a hole through the screen. He turned his head toward me and grunted as his right antler bumped against the ceiling. I stared into two iris-less ink black pupils, suspended in two big white ovals that took up nearly half his face.

His eyes narrowed. Before I could even think of running he reached out and wrapped his four-fingered hand around my wrist.

"What's the hurry?" he asked, but not in the voice he used on his show. The voice was my father's.

"Bullwinkle's Eyes" copyright 1998-2002 by Tom Hartley.