KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The knocking at Pooh’s door was loud and unfriendly. Pooh looked up from his untouched honey pot and sighed. What a bother, thought Pooh as he slid out of his chair, to leave a perfectly good breakfast waiting! He tottered over to the front door and opened it to find a man standing there. He was short and square, wearing a blue suit and hat with a frown to match.

“Rent,” the man grunted.

“I beg your pardon?” said Pooh politely. Being a bear of very little brain, Pooh usually appreciated short words, but this one was new to him.

“Rent,” the man repeated, now holding out his palm under Pooh’s nose. “I’m Mr. Sanders. I own this home, and I need the month’s rent from you. It’s fifty bucks.”

Pooh pondered Mr. Sanders’ outstretched hand for a moment, then shook it.

“Well hello, Mr. Sanders!” he said. “I haven’t got any bucks I’m afraid, but I do have some hon--”

“You’ll need to find a job, then,” Mr. Sanders interrupted him. “If you don’t have the rent by the end of the month, you’re outta here.”

“Is a ‘Job’ more like a heffalump,” Pooh asked curiously, “or a woozle?”

“Depends on your boss,” muttered the inattentive Mr. Sanders. “I’d start the job hunt tomorrow, if I were you.” He tipped his hat with a smirk and left.

“Oh, bother,” Pooh sighed, watching Mr. Sanders disappear down the lane. “Job hunting sounds like trouble. I’ll need my musket.”

***

Armed with a cork gun and several helpings of honey for breakfast, Pooh set off early the next morning in search of the mysterious--and possibly dangerous--Job.

He peered through the bushes for land-roaming Jobs.

He stuck his head into the pond to look for seafaring Jobs.

He nearly shot Piglet as he suddenly crossed paths with Pooh in the forest. 

Piglet forgave him, admitting that he was mistaken for some beast or another all the time.

Pooh eventually asked Owl where he might find a Job, and was treated to an hour of stories about all the Jobs whose heads Owl's grandfather had mounted on his wall.

By noon, Pooh was feeling hungry.

“I am a bit rumbly, author,” Pooh said gratefully. “If you could just write me toward a honey tree…”

A bee buzzed past him and up into a tree to his right, which was oozing honey from a large hole in its trunk. Pooh flung his musket away and shimmied up the tree after the bee. He was on his fourth handful of honey when he heard a familiar voice from below.

“What might you be doing, Pooh Bear?”

Christopher Robin was waving up at Pooh, beckoning him to come down. Pooh waved back, took a last mouthful of honey, and slid off the tree branch into Christopher Robin’s waiting arms.

“I might be hunting for Jobs,” Pooh told him, “but they seem to be a rare breed.”

Christopher Robin set him on his feet and looked at him, confused. Then he laughed.

"Silly old bear," said Christopher Robin, shaking his head. "A job is work you do to earn money."

"What sort of work?" Pooh asked slowly. After all that hunting and shimmying, he wasn’t up for much else today.

"Whatever you're good at." Christopher Robin grinned at him. "What are you good at, Pooh?"

Pooh thought for a while. "Eating honey," he said at last, “after I find it.”

***

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

A very Mister-Sanders-ish knock came at Pooh’s door on the morning of the 31st. This time, Pooh took his fresh pot of breakfast honey with him as he answered the door. There stood Mr. Sanders, short and square but dressed in black this morning. As he opened his frowning mouth to speak, Pooh hoisted the pot of honey into his arms. Mr. Sanders staggered under its weight.

"Just what do you call this?" he sneered.

“Honey!” chuckled Pooh.

“What?”

“That’ll be honey,” Pooh said, “from a honey tree I hunted down myself.” He folded his arms proudly.

Mr. Sanders squinted at him, then lifted the lid of the pot. As he swirled its contents around inside, his expression slowly changed.

“Raw, organic, wild honey,” Mr. Sanders said to himself. He looked thoughtfully at the pot of honey, and then at Pooh.

"Gimme two pots of this a month," he said, "and we’ll call it even. This stuff doesn’t come cheap…”

"Bees give it away for free," said Pooh, shrugging.

So they shook hands and went their separate ways: Pooh to his breakfast table, and Mr. Sanders to his local health food grocer.