Bart the Cactus

By Erin N. Price

Bart the cactus woke up to a morning sky filled with colors. He looked out around him. Everything was just as brown and dusty as it had always been.

“I’m still the only green guy around here,” he thought. He had only been alive for a year, but he hadn’t ever seen anybody else that looked like him. Everyone was brown, brown, and browner.

Speaking of brown—what was that?

A long, lanky brown creature on four legs dug in the dirt not too far from Bart. The creature had sharp claws, which made digging easy.

“Hello!” called Bart. “Good morning!”

The thing looked up.

“What are you doing?” asked Bart.

“Looking for water,” said the creature. “I’ll die if I don’t drink it.”

What is water?, Bart wondered.

“Will I die without it?” Bart asked.

“Yes,” said the creature. “Everyone will.”

Bart was worried. Why didn’t he know this before?

“How do I get water?” he asked.

“We coyotes get water by digging in the ground,” said the creature.

Slowly, Bart tried to move his prickly cactus arm, but it wouldn’t move. He didn’t have claws to dig in the ground for water.

“I can’t dig,” said Bart. “I just sit here and grow.”

The coyote opened her mouth and showed pointed teeth. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you then. You can only get water if you work for it.”

And the coyote turned and ran into the sunrise.

Bart felt nervous. He had been alive for a year and had never gotten water. Oh no! Oh my!

A little ways away, he noticed a small, big-bellied creature with tiny ears and a tiny tail. It ate a plant from the ground.

“Hello!” called Bart.

The creature scuttled forward. “Hello,” he said.

“Can you tell me how to get water?” asked Bart.

“Sure,” said the creature. “Water is easy to get. We prairie dogs eat grasses and roots. There’s water stored in them.”

Bart tried to open his mouth to eat like the prairie dog, but nothing opened.

“How can I eat grasses and roots?” asked Bart. “I don’t have a mouth.”

The prairie dog shrugged his shoulders. “Tough luck, buddy,” he said, and ran away across the water-less land.

Bart felt hopeless. He didn’t have a mouth, so he couldn’t eat grasses. He didn’t have claws, so he couldn’t dig. Oh no! Oh my! How could he get water?

He waited nervously, until he saw a furry creature with a snout sniffing its way toward him.

“Good morning,” said Bart.

“Good morning,” said the creature.

“What are you?” asked Bart.

“I’m a javelina,” said the creature.

“I have to ask you a question, Javelina,” said Bart. “I met the coyote and she dug for water, but I have no claws. I met the prairie dog and he ate plants for water, but I have no mouth. How oh how can I get water?”

The javelina looked at Bart. He moved closer to him. He opened his mouth.

And he bit Bart on the side and began to chew.

“Hey!” said Bart. “What was that for?”

“I bit you to get water,” said the javelina. “Don’t you know you’ve had water in you all along?”

“I have?” asked Bart.

“You have,” said the javelina. “You have roots that go underground to search for water. The water travels up your roots and is stored inside you. You have much more water than the rest of us.”

“So I already have water?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not going to die?”

“Nope.”

“What a relief!” said Bart.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind sharing a bit of that water . . .” said the javelina, and he bit Bart again.

Bart didn’t mind. He had plenty of water to spare.