Moqui

by Katie Arch
(Colorado)

I was sitting on a tall stool waiting anxiously for my favorite food in the whole world to finish being prepared. While waiting, I glanced out the giant window behind me to gaze at the spectacular view. A bird flew by, gliding over and between the steep, rocky, snow covered mountains surrounding us.


The mountains seemed to brush the sky, cutting holes in the wispy clouds swirling around them. I thought about how our family goes on vacation to the mountains almost every year, a different rented cabin every time.

A clatter of dishes scraping together snapped my attention back to my mother who was preparing the food for me.

After what seemed like ages, there was finally a steaming bowl of creamy, cheesy, noodles sitting on the kitchen bar counter in front of me. I thanked my mom for the food as she left to join the rest of the family downstairs. Then I lifted my fork, its weighty metallic surface cool to the touch. Just as I was about to bury the fork in the steaming bowl of pasta, my nose got that familiar tingle. My face scrunched up and I turned my head away to sneeze, eyes shut tight.

When I turned back – my pasta was gone. In its place was a furry, bear-sized head. A long, pink tongue lolling out, happily lapping at the now empty bowl.

“M-Moqui , noooooooooooo!” I whined, trying to push a dog twice my size away from something he clearly wouldn't willingly give up.

After a bit more pushing I slumped in the chair in defeat, my arms crossed over my chest and a pout on my face. Moqui, noting my defeat, took the bowl in his mouth and curled up around it on the floor.

My mom must have heard my yell for Moqui to stop, for she ran upstairs to see what was wrong. One glance at me, gloomily slumped in the chair, and Moqui, curled possessively around the empty bowl on the floor, and she knew what had happened.

My mother giggled as she got out another box of Macaroni and Cheese and started to boil a pot of water to make a new bowl of pasta. I sighed and rested my head on my arm that was propped up on the counter where I was still sitting. Turning my head, I glared at Moqui, who looked up from his bowl and seemed to smile in return.

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