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"The Rat's Gift" by Carrizo Kitfox
27th March 2020 • The Voice of Dog • Rob MacWolf and guests
00:00:00 00:06:46

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Today’s story is “The Rat’s Gift” by Carrizo Kitfox, a former game developer and current law student out of Omaha, Nebraska, best known for founding the Furry Basketball Association, a decade-long-running fantasy sports project for the furry community — and a podcast in its own right where your faithful fireside companion once played a foul-mouthed English stoat with a chip on his shoulder.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcripts

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and today’s story is

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“The Rat’s Gift” by Carrizo Kitfox,

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a former game developer

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and current law student out of Omaha, Nebraska,

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best known for founding the Furry Basketball Association,

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a decade-long-running fantasy sports project for the furry community —

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and a podcast in its own right

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where your faithful fireside companion once played a foul-mouthed English stoat with a chip on his shoulder.

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"The Rat's Gift"

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by Carrizo Kitfox They say miracles happen on Christmas.

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But no one believes in that horse shit.

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Only an idiot could have seen magic on that day.

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The rat had a good look that frozen Christmas afternoon

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and didn't see any glow on the snowflakes raining down to chill the bones of those caught under them.

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Like that bunny he found.

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The one waiting back home in his sewer.

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The one waiting for him.

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This is nothing to wait for,

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he thought to himself.

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The flower in his hand was rotted and wilting.

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The chocolates were scraped from a box at the bottom of a trash bin,

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gathered in a bottle cap that reeked of beer.

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In his greasy hands

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it wouldn't have mattered if they were fresh anyway.

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These weren't gifts.

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They certainly weren't worth waiting for.

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But then again, nor was he.

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But she was. Worth every moment.

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But if he had known what he did now,

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he would never have made her wait.

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The roads were empty

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and the garbage cans full on that Christmas afternoon.

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It was a perfect time for a sewer rat

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to scour the street.

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With his mouth watering at the thought of licking the inside of a thrown out can of cranberries,

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he almost didn't notice the trembling white bunny

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curled at the foot of a building.

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Rabbits didn't belong in the city,

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at least not outside.

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But when she stared back,

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she said nothing

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so nor did he. She was still there

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when he cleared the west side of the street.

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And she was still there when he cleared the east side.

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He worked hard to ignore her,

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pushing out the questions in his head.

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It was easier that way.

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And it was Christmas.

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Things were supposed to be easy.

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Which is why it didn't make any sense when he stopped himself at the gutter.

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"Night's coming. You're going to fucking freeze out here,"

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he snarled to her,

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annoyed at how her misery had drawn out inconvenient sympathies.

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"Get inside." She just looked back,

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shaking, freezing,

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saying nothing. "I said,

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go home!" he snapped,

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angered by her silence.

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It was getting cold,

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and he wanted to go back to the warmth of his sewer.

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Finally she spoke.

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"I don't have any place to go.

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go." She looked chilled even more by her shame.

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The rat stared. He frowned.

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He swore. He came up with a dozen excuses not to

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then a dozen more.

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And despite every one of them,

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he told the bunny to join him in the sewers

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to warm up. She didn't hesitate.

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As they walked along the sticky floor under the chemical lamps,

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she explained her situation.

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She had been bought as a Christmas gift for some children

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who excitedly found her under the tree that morning.

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They had played with her too rough, though,

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and she got scared and bit one.

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Their over protective parents were quick to respond,

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throwing her out with the rest of the garbage.

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The rat found his heart broken by the cruelty of her story.

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No miracle in that.

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Not a hint of magic.

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The same cruelties as any other day.

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Maybe it was that heartbreak that led the rat to let the bunny stay in the unused flushing tunnel

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he called home. And maybe those thin sympathies

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were what kept him from saying anything

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when her stay turned to weeks.

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But more likely it was how she thanked him

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endlessly for his kindness,

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how she never complained about the smell,

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how she insisted on doing anything she could to repay him.

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It was stupid, though.

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She wasn't repaying kindness,

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she was repaying laziness.

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Every time he put his feet on the washed floor,

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every time he listened to her thank him again

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for giving her a warm home

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and food to eat, a part of him stung.

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It stung him for accepting anything

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for the thin graces that could be stretched from the heart

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of a dirty sewer rat

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like him. Because that's

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all he was. As he looked at his greasy hands clutching that bottle cap,

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that rotted flower,

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he remembered himself.

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He had lived in the sewers all his life,

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living alone, living by garbage,

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the waste of others.

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He was greasy, filthy trash.

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With her gleaming white fur, she was the real treasure.

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She had a chance to be in a warm, clean house,

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fed good food, groomed and cared for,

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all the things he only knew

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looking through windows from the tops of dumpsters.

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That's why it angered him so much

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when she looked at him like a hero.

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All he was doing was holding her back from what she deserved,

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pulling that domestic beauty

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into his cesspool,

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living near sewage,

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eating scraps every day.

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It was all he knew.

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Which is why that flower

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and those chocolates

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were all the gifts he could find

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on that Valentine's Day.

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He was about to throw it all down a drain when she stepped into the tunnel.

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He stopped, his heart sinking,

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realizing he was caught.

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His eyes watered up as he pulled back his hands to look at the gifts,

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seeing all his own filth in them.

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When she asked what he was holding,

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he couldn't refuse.

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He showed her the garbage,

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his ears down, though his heart was lower.

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She puts her paws to her mouth.

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She nibbled on her fingers.

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She smiled. "You got those for me?"

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she asked, her voice cracking softly

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down the echoing tunnel.

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The rat lifted his ears. He watched her eyes as she looked back at him

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with a joy more true

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than he had ever seen in his life.

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And for the first time,

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the rat felt that maybe

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that Christmas had been a little bit magical.

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Because miracles

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can happen. ———— This was

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"The Rat's Gift" by Carrizo Kitfox,

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read for you by Khaki,

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your faithful fireside companion.

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Thank you for listening to the Voice of Dog

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