Otter came out of his front door one morning, thinking about a long, fun slide into the river, when he was surprised to see a newcomer nearby.
“Oh, hello,” he said, introducing himself. “I’m Otter.”
The newcomer had a long, droopy face and very long droopy ears. He turned out to have a low, droopy voice as well when he said “I am so very honored to make you acquaintance on this fine morning, sir. The appellation commonly applied to my person would be Bloodhound. For reasons I must confess that I do not comprehend, many of the rank and file inhabitants who have made my acquaintance apply the agnomen ‘Beauregard’ to myself.”
Otter was taken back just a bit at that many words so early in the morning — the Hundred Acre Wood was, on most days, a quiet place — and he was just opening his mouth to say he was happy to meet Bloodhound, or Beauregard, when he discovered that Beauregard wasn’t finished.
“It happens that I find myself in this lovely glade of yours,” said Beauregard slowly, “because of an Investigation. That is the nature of the activity I typically occupy my days by pursuing.”
Beauregard stopped, but because he spoke slowly it took Otter (who spoke quickly, just like he did everything else) a moment to realize he was finished.
“Er, um, pleasedtameetcha,” said Otter. “You say you’re looking for something? What is it? Maybe I’ve seen it.”
“Ah, my new friend,” said Beauregard, sitting down on his haunches, “I’m afraid it is not entirely accurate to characterize my investigation as involving ‘looking,’ nor would you have been likely to arrive at a visual determination of the location of the object of my search. The truth is that my primary advantage in a probe, and the main tool of scrutiny that renders my inquests unique — and perhaps unprecedented would not in this case be an unjustifiable exaggeration — is my olfactory probiscis. My nose, as it were. I am, as are my my relatives, gifted with extraordinary abilities in that realm.”
“You’re trying to sniff something out, then,” said Otter. “Maybe I smelled the thing you’re looking for. Does it stink, by chance?”
“Alas it is less straightforward than the layperson such as yourself typically imagines,” said Beauregard. “While I am able to follow the redolence of my quarry, through a mysterious process that is for all intents and purposes unintelligible, you, and others whose olfactory capabilities do not border on the supernatural, as mine do, would only have encountered the object of my exploration by means of auricular encounters.”
“Um…” said Otter, who was thinking through what Beauregard had said, “you can smell what you’re trying to find, but I can hear it?”
“My flexible semiaquatic compatriot, you have encapsulated the seemingly inexplicable situation in a masterpiece of concision!” said Beauregard with a smile. At least Otter thought it was a smile; Beauregard’s long droopy face made it hard to tell for sure.
“Well,” said Otter, who by now was thinking how many times he could have enjoyed his mud slide by now if Beauregard had just asked about hearing something, “what is it you’re trying to find, Beauregard?”
“My quest is an unusual one,” said Beauregard, “but compelling and rewarding for those few who share its fascination. I pursue lost words. Terminology that has exited the common vernacular. Nomenclature that is today nowhere to be found in the average vocabulary, yet is nonetheless still recorded in more obscure corners of the language.”
Otter, who had understood Beauregard’s first explanation and hadn’t needed the extra two or three, was at last interested. He liked unusual words, and it sounded like that’s what Beauregard was hunting.
“Now you’re talking my language!” he said. “At least mostly. My hobby is unusual words. Maybe that’s what you smelled, all the unusual words I’ve collected. And my friend Turtle likes very old words; maybe he’ll stop by for a visit this morning. Here are a couple of words I’ve been saving up for a special occasion, Beauregard; ‘quadrupedation’, which is this…”
Otter stamped all four feet on the ground, showing Beauregard ‘quadrupedation’.
“…and ‘embonpoint’, which is stoutness, of the sort you’d see if you met my friend Winnie-the-Pooh.”
Beauregard raised his head and made a howling sound that Otter was sure could be heard all across the Hundred Acre Wood.
“Hooray!” said Beauregard, who looked almost joyous — or at least what Otter thought a long droopy face would look like if it was lit up with joy. “Part of my investigation has borne fruit, all thanks to my meeting with you, my estimable colleague! Do you think your friends Turtle and Winnie-the…what did you say it was? in any case, do you think, Otter, that there’s a chance your friends might in fact visit this very forenoon?”
“Oh yes,” said Otter, remembering Beauregard’s baying, “I rather think all my friends will be stopping by quite soon. While we wait for them, Beauregard, have you ever tried a mud slide? Let me show you how it works.”
It turned out that Beauregard liked Otter’s mud slide almost as much as he liked finding lost words.
