The tall tangly woods hug the roots of Mount Ample. The trunks and roots of the trees are gnarly and laced together, leaving little room for paths. In these tangly woods live the Gunkles, a quiet tribe not prone to loud noise such as snoring. Their village occupies a clearing deep — deep in the center of the tangly woods. Their homes are low and squat like cow pies in the clearing. Each has three round windows, a crocked stove pipe puffing smoke and seltzer steam, and a hatch near the top, reached by a short ladder that can be pulled up at the end of day.

Gunkles tend their gardens of rutabagas, rusty-red radishes, and parsnips that they store in root cellars for the long cold winter. They tend their flocks of cheep. Cheep are known for their luxurious steel wool coats that the Gunkles shear near the end of spring and sell to the Brillo Company™.

A Gunkle is about eighteen inches tall and has a roundish, blocky, cobby body not unlike a baking potato. Its legs end in three-toed hooves and its arms end in three-fingered hands. The head is like an inverted turnip with a complexion to match. Its close-set eyes are wide and can be made to twinkle. The ample mouth can’t decide whether to smile or frown and the ears are close-set like leaves against the sides of the face.

Strangers cannot tell male Gunkles from female. Fortunately the way they dress makes it easier: the males wear baggy pants, baggy checkered shirts, bandanas of various colors and patterns, and a hat that looks like a sugar cone you get at an ice cream shop when you order a single scoop of French vanilla. The females wear housecoats, aprons with pockets full of things that might come in handy, and a doily on their head.

Gunkle children come in assorted sizes and colors so they may be arranged decoratively. Usually well behaved, they sometimes cross their eyes and dot their teas.

There is only one curvy, twisted, ziggy, zaggy road to the village in the tangly woods. If you look closely, on this road there is a red two-wheeled cart drawn by a dog, with a little girl and a picnic basket. The dog is a mix of Pekinese and Poodle, so we could call it a Pekapoodle or a Pookinese. Since the front end peeks and the rear end poos, we shall call it a Pekapoodle. Its name is Spot.

The little girl is four or five and has curly blond hair, a bright smile, and a sunny disposition. It’s enough to make your eyes twinkle. The picnic basket has six crinkle-wheat muffins, a jar of muddleberry marmalade, a butter knife, and a thermos of tepid tea. We shall call the little girl Bunny, since she already responds to that name. As they travel they exchange shaggy dog stories; these are long and involved, are very funny, but really have no point. Spot’s stories are better because most of them are autobiographical.

She stops the cart in front of the first little house where a Gunkle is nailing a sign to the side of the house. It says, “Not at home.” Bunny asks politely, “Sir, could you tell me where to find an argyle egg?”

The Gunkle, whose name was Misfit, says, “Can’t you read? There’s nobody home. “But you’re here,” responded Bunny, to which Misfit answered, “Well I won’t be, once I’ve hung this here sign, now will I?” “Please, I really need your help,” insisted Bunny. Here she made her eyes large and sad.

Misfit’s eyes begin to twinkle despite his efforts just to get on with nailing the sign and leaving. “Well, what exactly are you looking for?” he asks cautiously while looking at Bunny’s picnic basket.

Bunny notices his interest in the basket. She pulls the napkin to one side, reaches in and brings out a crinkle-wheat muffin. “Would you like one of these?” she asks brightly. The twinkle in Misfit’s eyes increases. “I could put some muddleberry marmalade on it. That’s how I like it.” That twinkle doubled!

“You mentioned an argyle egg. They are very rare and you have to be very brave,” Misfit says, reaching for the muffin. “You must climb to the tippy-top twigs of the tallest tangly tree in the woods. There is one A-miracle belled argyle who lives there guarding her eggs. (The bell is to warn Gunkles to stay out of the argyle’s way.) What would a young girl like you do with an argyle egg, anyway?”

Bunny relates her sad story. “You see, a ruby-breasted republican has kidnapped my parents and two brothers, Jack and Gus. He intends to make a giant omelet at a primary and win enough votes to become a resident of the Benighted Skates!” she says while pouring two mugs of tepid tea.

Misfit munches on his crinkle-wheat muffin and sips his tepid tea. “It’s not at all easy,” he says, sprinkling crumbs on his baggy checkered shirt. “The argyle is very protective of her eggs. One must entice her with something she wants.” “Does she get hungry?” Bunny asks, breaking into a wide smile.

“Why, yes, she does. She might just be tempted by a couple of those crinkle-wheat muffins. And I can give you a couple of rusty-red radishes, too,” says Misfit thoughtfully while wiping his hands on his blue bandana with yellow spots.

Thus it is settled. Misfit gives Bunny three rusty-red radishes which she places in her basket. They walk far into the tangly woods, out of sight of the Gunkle village. It is mid-afternoon when they reach the great massive gnarly trunk of a gigantic tree. “I would take you to the top,” says Misfit, “but I’m afraid of heights. I will boost you and your basket to the lowest limb and the rest is up to you. I will wait here for your return.” Spot looks concerned. “Be careful,” he says. “I shall be,” the girl replies.

“This is some tree,” murmurs Bunny as Misfit lifts her. Soon she is climbing up, up, up, and away. From limb to gnarly limb she climbs. They seem to go on forever. After what seems hours, Bunny notices that there are patches of blue sky to one side. Yes, she is now above the other tangly trees in the woods. I could tell you of the many difficulties she experiences and of her falling nearly six times, and how she almost drops the picnic basket, but that would take up a lot of time and I know you are terribly busy.

I will, however, announce that she arrives at the tippy-top twigs of the tallest tangly tree in the woods. Next to her, at eye level is the biggest A-miracle belled argyle Bunny had ever seen. This is no surprise because this is the only one she has ever seen.

“Mrs. Argyle,” she begins politely, “May I have one of your very lovely eggs?” The argyle looks back frostily, “My eggs are my future. I will not give them to strangers.” The clever girl replied, “My name is Bunny, and I want to be your friend.” Here she reaches into her picnic basket and pulls out three crinkle-wheat muffins and the rusty-red radishes.

Her eye on the prize, the argyle says, “Well, the egg nearest you was laid in my nest by a cow bird. You may have it.” The deal is completed and Bunny, the egg safely in her basket, climbs down the tree after thanking the argyle. The climb down is slow, dangerous, and exhausting but not without its laughs.

Misfit and Spot are waiting at the bottom of the tree. Bunny, almost out of breath takes a sip of tepid tea and mounts the cart, basket at her side. “Thanks, Misfit, for all your help. We have a long trip home, Spot,” she says and off they trot, down the curvy, twisted, ziggy, zaggy road out of the tangly woods.

At long last Bunny and Spot are back where they started. She gives the ruby-breasted republican the egg (not revealing its true nature), and her mother, father and two brothers are freed.

As they leave for home the ruby-breasted republican breaks the egg to make his omelet. Sad to say it is not good enough to win enough votes for him to become a resident of the Benighted Skates.

Mother turns to Father and says, “Did you notice? He had egg on his face.” And so he did.