The Father Confused

Who is the father? asks Kobo, if you don't mind me asking. Only, I thought you were going extinct.

That's why you mustn't tell anyone about my babies, says the Barbados racer.

Are they imaginary? asks Kobo.

How sad.

No, on the contrary, says the Barbados racer. They are sort of......illegitimate. I know that's less important these days.

Totally unimportant, says Kobo. Why even say it?

You don't understand, says the Barbados racer. How could you?

Try me, says Kobo. Are you sure you won't have a piece of Cacao Grenada? It might help to relax you.

No thanks, dear, I have plans for the Cacao Grenada. But you are so empathetic. And furthermore, you are a clam. So I know you won't tell anyone.

Kobo is beside herself with impatience. What is the secret?

The father, says the Barbados racer, is a Mastigodryas bruesi.

Golly! says Kobo. What's that? A lizard?

Ah ha ha ha! laughs the Barbados racer. No, remind me not to get that desperate. Mastigo is an introduced species, from way back. He's an arboreal snake, whereas I'm a terrestrial. We have, on occasion, been confused.

Confused, says Kobo. In your relationship?

No, by the early naturalists, says the Barbados racer.

How did you meet? asks Kobo.

He dropped by, says the Barbados racer. He was doing a tree tour. He saw the lion, and was attracted by the red ball. It was pretty, then. Shiny, no scratches. I heard him reading the inscription out loud, It was so funny. He thought the lion was called Henry Wilkinson. The lion still believes it. Anyway we got talking about life, the universe and everything, including the mongoose, and one thing led to another.....

But that must have been ages ago, says Kobo. If the ball was so shiny.

It was, sighs the Barbados racer. Ages and ages.

And your eggs haven't hatched yet, says Kobo.

(Careful Kobo, not to tread on her dreams).

Not yet, says the Barbados racer. She sighs.

It's all just a tad too pathetic.

Even for the Barbados racer.

Oh well, eggs, shmeggs! Where's that chocolate?

She bustles about. The chocolate is half unwrapped already.

On your way out, dear, just place this chocolate on top of the red ball. The chocolate will melt and run down the ball and annoy Henry Wilkinson!

What a hilarious plan! says Kobo, glad that her friend has got over her troubles so quickly.

There's just one thing, I can't get out unless you move me.

Oh, of course dear, I was forgetting. But I don't want those naturalists out there taking photos. We must act like lightning.

She lifts Kobo up, with the chocolate, and shoves her outside.

This time Griff is ready with his camera.

Whirr click.

What has he captured?

Kobo, a large chunk of Cacao Grenada, and yes! a flash of brown snake skin with light lateral stripes to the rear.