Copyright 1995(c)

                   Conversations with Peaches and Creame
                    By Richard Leland
                             
     I remember Ceil, my wife, had mentioned an observation. Nan,
our youngest granddaughter, needed a pet to take care of. This
thought came to me as I looked outside, through the sliding glass
door, into our backyard. Nan sat on a picnic bench holding the 
neighborhood kitten who slept, her tail still, on Nan's lap. I had
heard our other granddaughter, Risa, complain to Nan to put the
kitten down so they could play a game. 
     Nan shook her head and continued to stroke the sleeping kitten
and stare at her, as if in reverie. For Nan the world didn't exist.
Only her orange kitten commanded her attention. 
     I listened to Risa complain that Nan wouldn't play any games.
"She just sits there and holds that kitten." 
     Ceil told me Nan had been doing this periodically for several
days. "She sits out there in the backyard and holds that kitten.
The kitten usually sleeps, and both of them are out there all day,
or until the kitten gets tired of being held; then Nan sets the
kitten down and follows her into the front yard and watches as she
disappears." 
     I went out into the backyard. Risa followed me. Nan was
sitting alone. I asked her if she wanted a kitten of her own, and
she surprised me by saying she wanted a puppy. Risa just looked at
me, her eyes wide. "Can't have a pup at our house," she said, 
"because of the swimming pool in the backyard." She folded her arms
ending the conversation. 
     I told Ceil that we could keep Nan's pup in our backyard, and
when our grandchildren came over, they could play with it. Ceil
agreed, and we decided we would find a new puppy. 
     "Where should we go to get a pup?" I asked. "Is anyone
listening?" Risa and Nan replied, "The pet shop over in the mall." 
     "Really?" I asked. 
     "Yes," they said in at the same time jumping up and down. 
     We couldn't make up our minds which puppy was cuter, so not
only did we buy a female pup, we bought the pup's sister too; both
puppies were part German shepherd and part Labrador retriever.
There was no trouble bringing them home. I carried both quiet
females to the car, and the girls held them in their laps. 
     Of course, we stopped at the supermarket to buy a bag of their
food, then drove directly home where we watched Risa and Nan carry
their puppies into the backyard. 
     "We've got to pick out names for them soon, so they will know
when we are talking to them," I told my granddaughters. 
     "My puppy's sort of a peach color," Nan said, stroking her
head and ears. "I'm going to call her Peaches." 
     "Good idea," I said. "It fits. Her fur is brown and tan and
appears to have a lot of orangy peach color in it." 
     Risa said, "Well, mine's fur is mostly white in front, black
all over, and her paws look like she's stepped in a pan of milk or
cream, so why not call her, I know, Creame?"
     We were all pleased with their names and happy to have them as
part of our family. The pup sisters were named, we fed them daily,
they grew large, rapidly, were strong and healthy and they knew
their names. 
     I talked to them when I worked in the backyard, when I took
their food to them or gave them doggie bones. They preferred that
I refer to the bones as "sticks". Peaches and Creame were always
very, very grateful. They kissed my ankles or my legs, hands, and
once in while, my face, especially when I bent down to fill their
bowls with their favorite dry dog food. They were loving puppies
and grew into pleasant cherished pets: serious guardians of the
backyard. They were so full of life that eventually I began telling
stories about how they could not be grateful enough for their food
and my conversation and finally the stories became amusing episodes
with each venture into our large backyard. 
     I told Ceil how Peaches could do impersonations of different
movie stars, and she did an impersonation of "The Thing" that was
absolutely scary. I would put my hands around her head, push her
face skin and fur forward so that she appeared wrinkled, and say to
her, "The Thing!" Creame thought the impersonation ability contrived
and told me so, by the way she walked away from me and plumped down
near a far bench. 
     She watched from a distance and nibbled her milk bone. Creame
preferred to eat and remain just grateful. She seemed detached from
many of the conversations I had with Peaches although it was
apparent Creame understood words and mannerisms. And, when Peaches
wasn't near me, she sauntered quickly up to me, tail thrashing and
bellowing loudly to try to plant a kiss on my face.  
     There were other interesting differences too. Peaches
tolerated baths in the small swimming pool we bought for that
purpose: she stood still and didn't wag her tail.  
     Creame threatened to leave home if I dragged out the child's
wading pool again, left over from Nan and Risa's swimming parties.
Peaches waited for an open gate and dashed into the front of the
property, pretending to sniff the air and shrubbery for something 
important and unknown, while Creame slowly wagged her furry tail,
sat and gazed toward the front waiting for Peaches' return.  
     Periodically, I left the gate ajar. Peaches, seizing the
opportunity, would dash into the front yard and sniff at various
places while I carried their food from the garage to the backyard. 
     One time I noticed Creame sniffing the air in the front yard.
She poked her snout in different directions. While Peaches returned
to me when I called, Creame had to be cajoled into returning to the
backyard. I had to prove to Creame their bowls had food in them.
Both dogs sniffed the air as though they were aware of something
only they saw. 
     I saw nothing strange, new or different. 
     I know there are those who think that anyone who talks to
animals may not be quite right, but I have always talked to
animals, all types and sizes, furry and feathered. 
     And I noticed that other people talk to their pets when they
think other humans aren't listening or when they think people may
not mind. But not until Creame and Peaches came to live with us had
my pets talked to me, not in a spoken word but by obvious
animation. Their body motion and expressions were impossible to
misinterpret. 
     I was surprised when Ceil smiled her tolerant smile,
signalling her amusement, when I would tell her, from time to time,
of my conversations with Peaches and Creame.
     I never understood that she really believed me until one day
I said to her, "...well it's true. It is true. They said that."  
     She smiled.  
     "They really did." 
     She said, "I believe you, darling." And I knew she did. I told
her I wanted to finish writing this story so that we could get it
published in order to tell other people that love was enough, the
primary ingredient necessary to take good care of any pups in one's
life.  
     "Well, love and food is enough," Creame indicated when she
stared at her empty bowl. "Don't forget the food," was her clear
message when she circled the metal bowl with her paws.

                                   *** 
     I found Allen's unfinished story about Peaches and Creame in
his personal computer, on a hard disk, in a directory called
"convers." He had shown me how to operate the personal computers we
had, and I will finish his story. He would want me to finish it.  
   I suppose I had always known there was a special relationship
between Allen and the pups. They always came to the rear door when
they felt he was late with dinner, their only meal of a given day.
They barked, politely it seemed to me, at different noises to 
notify us they were on duty, and a stranger never walked up the
front driveway toward the house without Creame and Peaches alerting
us. We arrived at the front door about the same time a stranger
would step up onto the front porch to ring the doorbell. 
     I am finishing this story for Allen. One morning he said he
wanted to take Peaches and Creame for a run in the nearby woods.
They were two years old now, and they both loved running free along
paths and in tall weeds. Well, actually, Peaches loved to run.
Creame preferred to saunter, sit and watch Peaches streak along
narrow hiking trails and hiking paths. Allen felt it was the time
of year for him to start an exercise program again for both he and
Peaches and Creame.
     Allen had taught the pups how to get into the rear seat of his
car. I watched as they climbed in, without leashes, sat quietly and
waited for him to close the rear door. 
     I watched Allen as he got into the driver's seat, started the
engine, and backed into the street. He always waved to me. 
     I knew he had not been feeling well, but he seemed to be
feeling better this particular morning. On a scale of one to ten,
I guess my apprehension about their trip to the woods was a two. I
put it out of my mind though, and returned to the kitchen to 
continue baking my pies, preparing for a family get-together. 
     I kept the TV volume low so I could hear different mystery
stories, but not loud enough to interfere with my baking or the
ring of the telephone. I had taken the last of the six pies out of
the oven, and I looked at the wall clock. Two hours had passed.
Allen and the dogs had been gone over two hours. He was never out
with them for this long a time. Creame didn't like running; I recall
she preferred to walk or watch. Peaches loved the woods and leaped
high into tall weeds and disappeared behind bushes then 
reappeared running with the wind and barking for Allen to join her. 
     I looked at my wristwatch to make sure the time was correct,
and I sensed an uneasiness I couldn't explain. It didn't come from
Allen but seemed to have come from Peaches. I saw her pained face
in my mind; a fleeting picture of her eyes, sad and dark brown,
appeared and vanished. I rushed into the backyard thinking that
perhaps Allen and the dogs had returned. I imagined they were
bounding back into the yard, but the yard was silent and empty; no
Peaches or Creame and no Allen. My heart beat rapidly.
     My apprehension didn't subside.  
     I turned off the oven, grabbed my purse and keys, and rushed
out the front door to my car. I drove to the wooded area and
searched for them. Allen's car was parked and locked. I knew they
were still in the woods, on the trail. 
     I called to Allen in my loudest voice. I heard a howl, like an
injured wolf, in the distance. I did not recognize the sound. Then
I heard another howl, deeper and more distraught than the first. I
ran down the trail, calling Allen's name as shrubbery and trees
raced past me. My heart beat rapidly as apprehension enveloped me. 
     I climbed the upward trail and knew there was a meadow over
the next small hill. 
     As I reached the hill, the wailing grew louder. I stopped at
the top of the hill and looked down into a small valley. In the
midst of the wildflowers and meadow grasses I saw Allen lying on
the ground. Peaches rested her head on Allen's left arm and Creame
crouched across his legs at the knees. They looked like valiant
guardians howling their discontent.  
     I screamed as I rushed down the trail toward them. Peaches and
Creame paid little attention to me as I approached. I looked at
Allen and he was still. Tears came to my eyes. He was so still. I
knew he was gone. He didn't breathe. Peaches looked up at me and
whined as if begging me to arouse him. I could see sorrow in her
eyes. Creame didn't look at me as I finally sat on the ground with
Allen's head in my lap. A gentle wind blew down and around the
meadow. The world was quiet. 
     Suddenly, Peaches and Creame both stood, on all four legs, and
began to bark. 
     I could hear conversation, rising in intensity, coming from
over the rise of the trail. Six people suddenly appeared, running
toward me. Peaches and Creame barked orders to them, telling them
what I guessed was their equivalent of, "Get some help!" One turned
around and ran back up and over the hill. The rest offered
assistance. I didn't know any of the joggers. All I remember
thinking was, He's gone. My love, my husband, my Allen is gone. I
don't know how I remained so calm. I brushed his curly gray hair
away from his forehead, touched his lips and softly stroked his
face. The gentle wind fluffed his hair occasionally. 
     Five joggers knelt on the ground to stay with me. From their
expressions and silence they understood that Allen was gone. I
loved them for their attempt to comfort me. I did not feel alone
with these kind people present. They were strangers I had never 
met but during this short moment they were important to me. They
didn't intrude on my privacy and I'm certain some of them prayed. 
     I remember thinking, as I looked at Allen's calm face how,
even in his sleep, he suddenly became restless. He told me he was
probably changing dreams and needed a more comfortable position for
the next one. As I held his head I recalled many times when the two
of us were together: quiet moments. 
     In the peacefulness of the small valley, Allen was unmoving as
he had been many times in the early hours of different mornings as
we slept. He awakened me because he breathed quietly. He was
breathing, but his respiration was soft and scarcely audible. I 
shook him, and he would say, "I am breathing." I wanted to shake
him now, but I knew he would not respond. I wanted to kiss him but
all I could manage was to hold his head close to my breast. I think
I rocked him. I know  I couldn't let go of him. I glanced many
times at his chest. It didn't rise or fall. I kissed his closed
blue eyes for the last time, as men from the fire station came
running over the trail. They slowed their movement as they ran
closer to us. Peaches and Creame looked first at me, then at the
firemen and paramedics. The firemen looked at me and Allen and
stood still over us. I did not have to tell them what they could
see. They said, "Let us help you, ma'am. Come on." A young
paramedic put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Let us help you, 
ma'am." 
     I gave them Allen and never touched his loving body again. The
funeral was short and fitting for a man who lived a life of love
for his family, his friends and creatures of the world. I shall
always love Allen, my beloved husband.

                                    ***
 
     The fall days were long after Allen left. Hours passed slowly.
I would feed Peaches and Creame, and they seemed to eat out of habit
and not because they were glad to see me. Somehow, they appeared to
be solemn. I put the dog food in their dishes, stroked them for a
short time, then sit and watch them sniff at the bowls. Sometimes,
they would come up to me, sniff in a different way and look around
the yard as if saying, "Where is he?" At first their loneliness,
matched only by my own, brought tears to my eyes and a caused me to
sob. It reached the point where I hesitated to go out into the yard
to feed them. It had become painful. I understood they couldn't
help their feelings at least what I thought they felt. I was me,
Ceil, and not Allen, although they never showed me they felt this
difference. 
     I suppose I felt guilty because they had always talked to
Allen, and I agreed they talked, except that I never heard them. At
first, I thought that Allen was just relating cute and untrue
stories about them, until one time, he said to me, "Really, Ceil,
they talk. We have interesting conversations." It was the way he
said it. I remember thinking that if it were true for him then it
certainly was good enough for me. And yet, I paid close attention
as they came up to him when he went into the yard. I could hear
Creame in what I thought was a moan that rose and fell. She was
loud. Allen would say, "Well, when did that happen?" Then Peaches
would counter Allen's attention to Creame, sashay between them, and
make a higher and obviously very demanding whine. Allen would say,
"Did you try to help her?"  
      And so it went. Allen and Peaches and Creame would talk, and
I heard only part of the conversation until he came back into the
house. Then I heard all of the stories. He had many. Creame wanted
a purse. She didn't like the neighbor dogs. They were noisy and
smelled. She thought her fur was too thick. If we didn't get her
more sticks, she would leave home.  
     Peaches wanted to be a racing dog. She wanted to go to the
woods everyday. She enjoyed Allen's brushing. She enjoyed playing,
"The Thing". 

                                    ***

     I took extra special care of Peaches and Creame in those lonely
months, although it seemed that their zest for life had departed
with Allen. I had thoughts I couldn't explain. Thoughts I never had
before. I wished many times that the dogs would talk to me. Perhaps
they would tell me of their conversations with Allen. More often
than not though, I thought, How silly! Peaches and Creame talking to
me? 
     I tried to put my life in order, but it seemed there were more
times in which I thought my heart would break. I heard sounds that
I concluded weren't real. I opened the front door many times and
found no person on the porch. I wondered what the world knew about
love. They knew nothing of the love that Allen had for Ceil and
Ceil held for Allen. It was too private. Too important to be
public. But I knew our love was eternal. Just now, it was lonely
for me. 
     I had prayed for forgiveness with respect to my indifference
toward Peaches and Creame as I learned, after a time, they had to
have a special place in Allen's heart. His love encompassed them.
I was never jealous of them while Allen was here. Only after he was
gone did they seem to me to be a bother. I guess maybe they sensed
my feelings toward them. I don't know. 
     I had almost put the thoughts of the relationship that Allen
had with Peaches and Creame out of my mind. During the chill
November evenings, I prepared their bowls, took the food out to
them, petted them, and returned to my kitchen. Sometimes they would
eat right away and sometimes they left the food in their bowls. I
had not taken them to the woods since Allen left.  
     One day, when I went out to feed them, the air was unusually
comfortable for the fall season and extremely mild; the trees bowed
gracefully, leaves danced in the air and swirled in wide patterns
to the ground. It was noticeably a different November day. 
     The leaves had turned glorious colors. Peaches and Creame
chased them around the yard; first a gold leaf, then a dark brown
beauty, then a yellow curved lovely leaf. The pups always romped to
show off for Allen. From the past, I could hear Allen say, "Orange
is Peaches' favorite color, you know, and green is Creame's favorite
leaf color. She liked them on the trees, not messing up her yard."
I recalled we laughed.  
     On this strange day as I enjoyed the cooling morning weather,
I noticed that Peaches and Creame were not in sight. I called to
them and got no response. As I walked into the back of the yard and
saw them seated in front of the bench Allen sat on when he was
training them. This was the place where he gave them special
treats. I could almost see the treats in his hands and his hands
folded into fists. The fists were his signal to them that they
should "sit" to wait for their treat. 
     They sat still in front of the bench, even after I called
their names. They remained motionless and did not turn toward me.
My heart was in my throat. I shivered as tears flooded my eyes
when, from twenty feet away, they seemed to receive a treat I 
couldn't see from a source that was not visible. I cried as I
walked to the bench to watch them. I didn't understand their
behavior. I was not an expert about dogs. I didn't know if they
would repeat past habit patterns of events pleasant for them. 
     As I approached the bench, they turned their heads to
acknowledge my presence. 
     They definitely chewed on something, I could not see, then
gulped and acted as though they enjoyed what they were eating or
pretended to swallow. They whined, then stopped eating, stood and
sniffed the ground, looked up at me, and sat down again, as if the 
invisible hands were clenched once more into tight fists.  
     At this moment I looked at the bench as the winds stirred
again. I know I smelled Allen's presence and watched Peaches
pointing her head in different directions near the bench, indicate,
"He has other little ones with him." 
     "What?" I shouted, as the thought crossed my mind. I was
puzzled and startled at Peaches' actions. I actually screamed. "He
has what with him?" 
     Both Creame and Peaches sniffed near the seat of the bench. He
has other little creatures with him? I thought. Creame panted
knowingly. She acted disinterested. They sniffed at something and
responded to a presence I couldn't see but they acted the same 
way they acted with Allen except with respect to other little
creatures. I didn't understand that at the moment I got the
thought...  
     I watched as their rumps wiggled: Peaches in anticipation of
being petted and Creame waiting for something to eat, as usual.
Suddenly, they jumped upward as if receiving another stick. Creame
clenched her invisible stick, trotted twenty feet, stretched 
out in the shade of the magnolia tree and proceeded to chew on a
bone I couldn't see. 
     She held it between her paws. Peaches searched the yard as if
she was preparing to bury what she carried in her jaws. She made
certain that Creame was not watching her, although, as usual, Creame
watched each movement Peaches made and knew where she buried what
I decided had to be her bone. 
     Creame stood up, sniffed the grass area, to make certain she
left nothing on the ground, and trotted back to the bench. She
glanced at me as she trotted by and sat in front of the bench. I
think she smiled. Both dogs sat in the same positions Allen
assigned to them: Peaches on his right and Creame to his left. I
knelt on the grass, confounded. 
     "Creame," I said, hesitating to say anything. "What other
creatures does he have?" 
     She placed her front paws on the bench and reached upward with
her snout. She kissed Allen the same way she had kissed him many
times. She glanced at me as I watched. I felt, by her action, she
didn't know who he had with him, but suddenly I thought, two are
small and white and one is larger and very black, very, very black
with big brown eyes. I gasped. Peaches returned from her bone
burying ritual. She, too, looked at me, sat and waited. Then looked
toward the bench again. 
     I gasped again at the thought I attributed to Creame. Many
years before, long before we brought Peaches and Creame to live with
us, Allen and I had other little pets: Ma Cherie Penny Poo Pickner
was a white teacup poodle, one and one-half pounds, most 
of the time; her older son, white and slightly larger than his
mother, was named Raney's Starfire Poo Fluffy; and Fifi La Pouche,
of the Del Ray Line, was black and the largest of the three and a
contract poodle that never wanted to mate. We called the small 
poodles: Penny and Puppy and our blue-black poodle: PouCheeLa. 
     "Do you see him and them, too?" I asked Peaches.  
     Peaches whined and wagged her tail parallel to the ground. She
continued staring at me as if to say, "Don't you?"  
     She alternated her glances between me and the bench and acted
as though she saw the same scene Creame described. They both turned
their heads and looked upward again at something above the bench.
Quickly, the whole scene took form. 
     "Yes," I said, as my heart beat rapidly, this time with joy.
I knew that my time was soon. I felt no fear or anxiety but I also
knew I had to finish this story. I was told when my time would be.
I'm not certain whether Allen told me or I heard it from someone
else. I know he knew and smiled his smile, holding out his hand to
me. My time is soon, I thought, walking back into the house.
Peaches and Creame remained seated in front of the bench.

                                    ***

     Our mother's story ended with the above line. We always
checked on her every day, most times several times a day, to make
certain things were all right. Last week, when she didn't answer
the phone, we both checked in at our family home and called to our
mother. She did not answer as we searched through all the rooms. We
thought it unusual that Peaches and Creame had not greeted us with
their barking as we drove up the front driveway. We walked into the
backyard, called to mother, as we walked further into the corner of
the yard where it was cool and shaded. The air had been chilly but
seemed to have warmed as we approached the corner. Suddenly we saw
her. Our mother lay on the ground. Peaches lay on one arm and
Creame was stretched out across our mother's legs. Both dogs looked
up, whined softly, and resumed their guardian positions. 
     I felt my mother's neck, watched her chest, and knew she was
no longer breathing. My sister and I knelt as we each took a hand
of Mama's and kissed it. We cried. She was smiling, her eyes were
closed and she was so very still. My sister stayed with my mother
while I went to make the emergency telephone call. 
     I finished the call and heard my father's computer making the
strange sound it made when it was active. When we visited my folks,
if I heard the sound of the computer, I knew where to find Daddy.

                                    ***

     I have read this story: a short story that originated with my
father, a tale of love my mother wanted to finish, and now an
accounting of events that are difficult to explain and not easy to
understand. I am compelled to complete this story. I will finish
it. I am their daughter. 
     What started out to be a story about the rearing of two little
animals, part German shepherd and part Lab, for my father's
granddaughters, has become a story about the love of two people for
each other and for life. My mother and my father were too much in
love to be separated even for a short time. I understand the depth
of their love now. 
     I recall Daddy said on many occasions that Peaches had said
she wanted to become a nun, or Creame was ready to leave home again
because she couldn't get anyone here who could do her nails right.
We all laughed because the stories were entertaining. But now, as
I think about them and recent events, I realize that these are love
stories of people for people, people for the lesser creatures of
our world, and of creatures dedication toward people. 
     I can't add much to what has been written, except to tell you
about an event that happened a month or so after we found my mother
in the backyard.  
     My husband and I had taken Peaches and Creame to our house to
live out the rest of their days in the comfort of our backyard and
our care. I always tried to feed them at the same time of day Daddy
fed them. Yesterday, I went into the backyard to give them their
food and fresh water. I could not find them. They were not inside
the yard. The self-latching gate was not latched. It was open.
Perhaps they had gotten out of the yard. 
     Tears came to my eyes and my heart was sad. I knew my father
would never have allowed anything to happen to the pups or anyone
or anything under his care and protection. My sister and I grew up
safely and could always count on my father and mother providing
answers to our questions. I knew he would not be pleased if Peaches
and Creame were lost and never found, or harmed in any way. 
     I ran to the front sidewalk, looked up and down the street and
did not see them. 
     I called their names, but there was no answer. Suddenly, the
thought of my parents' yard came into my mind. I felt the car keys
in my pocket, jumped into my car, and drove the short distance to
their house. The "For Sale" sign in the front looked out of place
in the lawn and in my memory. A tear rolled down my cheek. 
     There was no sound of Peaches and Creame as I parked my car in
the driveway.  
     I unlatched the gate to the backyard and walked slowly toward
the rear of the yard. I did not see them in the late afternoon sun.
They weren't hiding under either of the picnic tables nor were they
lying in their newly dug lairs.  
     A part of the yard covered by the big magnolia tree was very
dark, shading everything beneath it. I thought I saw two shadows
covering the ground in front of the bench where my folks had spent
many an evening talking, laughing, and hugging each other, but I
was wrong. Peaches and Creame lay on the ground in front of the
bench, asleep, engaged in a long sleep. I knelt and touched them.
They didn't breathe. Their paws touched, and they were beautifully
clean as though freshly bathed. 
     I stroked their soft fur for the last time, fought back tears
as I wondered why they, too, were gone. I stood, turned and walked
toward the rear door of my parents' home. I intended to call my
sister. I turned and looked at the two bodies.  
     I didn't see Peaches and Creame sit up tall in front of my
father, seated next to my mother on the bench. I didn't see my
mother as she held Penny, with Puppy, not wanting to be held but
sitting and lying next to mother on the bench, staring curiously 
at Peaches and Creame, while PouCheeLa licked her paws. I didn't
see that my mother and father appeared to be about 30 years old.
They were smiling and laughing and wore new clothes. I didn't hear
my father say to my mother, "Come on Love, let's go play among the
stars."  
     My heart knew that my mother took my father's hand as they
turned and walked around the bench, up a road that began in the
backyard and disappeared into the distance. 
     Suddenly, I knew that Penny wanted to be carried, so my mother
carried her. I could see Puppy romping and darting up to trees,
pretending to be the shepherd of the flock, telling all the other
dogs, all female, to keep up with Mother and Daddy. PouCheeLa
trotted alongside mother daintily, high-stepping as though jumping
over small puddles of water. 
     Peaches watched the procession walking slowly up the road out
of the yard. I imagined I heard Peaches say to Creame, "Where is
everyone going?" And I heard Creame respond, ". . . to Forever." 
     There is no doubt in my mind that Peaches replied, "Well, I
agree with that." 
     And they all left and disappeared down the road. 
     And now I know where they are. Creame told me.
                                    END
                             
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
                              
           Final conversf completed on 6-22-95. 
                spelchk completed 6-22-95. 
               c:\stories\converse\conversf 
                         5,533 Words 
          This file is ASCII Standard
