In one massive thick forest, in a big old house made of pine logs, lived a grey wolf called Jack Greyside. They called him that because one of his sides was grey. He was the top dog in the forest, and all the animals respected him and listened to what he had to say.
When any dramas happened in the forest, Jack Greyside always found the right solution, so many came to him for advice. Sometimes Mrs Possum would hop over complaining about her no-hoper son, or Mrs Brown Snake would slither in to tell him about her neighbour giving her grief.
Or the phone would ring:
Jack Greyside, need your advice, mate! Want to build myself a new place, reckon you could tell me where to get some good timber?
Yelled Wild Boar on the other end of the line.
And Greyside had no choice but to set Mrs Possum's son straight, have long chats with Mrs Brown Snake's neighbour, and ring around all the shops where you could buy solid timber for Wild Boar's house.
But one beautiful morning, when the sun was shining bright and the birds were singing their hearts out, such a wave of melancholy hit the Wolf that he switched off his phone, locked the doors of his house tight, grabbed his old camping pipe and lit up. And he started remembering his younger days, when he was fit, strong and in his prime.
Greyside had a best mate — Wolf Brownside. They'd lived in the same forest since they were pups and were thick as thieves. Heaps of interesting stories happened to them, the places they'd been, the things they'd seen.
And the number of funny incidents that happened to them — you couldn't tell them all. Wolf Greyside sits there, puffing on his pipe, remembering one of those funny stories. Funny to some, sad to others.
Both mates decided to nick some nuts from Possum's hollow. Brownside climbed up the tree, got right to the top, filled his pockets full of nuts, but couldn't get back down. Sat in the tree all night, while Greyside sat under the tree too scared to tell his mum, because they both would've copped it something shocking. Their mums were tough old she-wolves.
And it was Beaver — the old firey — who helped them out. Ripped his shirt, tore his pants, getting Brownside down from the tree. To say thanks, the mates decided to help Beaver plant his veggie patch. Came round in the morning, dug up the beds while the firey went to get seeds. They see some roots lying on a bench along the garden.
Reckon the old firey forgot about these seeds! We'll do him a favour — plant them all around the garden, let them grow and bear fruit.
Brownside and Greyside decided to help Beaver.
And a fortnight later the firey came running to them yelling:
I got you down from that tree, saved your lives, and you've filled my garden with weeds, such thick ones that no hoe can clear them and no axe can chop them down! Now nothing else grows there except this useless grass! All that hard yakka planting veggies, all wasted because of your "help"!
And there was another funny incident when best mates Greyside and Brownside were protecting the forest from loggers. There were several units of defenders on the border. And Greyside was the cook there. One day he cooked a whole pot of porridge and instead of sugar he put in salt, and not a pinch, but five whole spoonfuls. Got them mixed up.
And everyone ate in silence, pretending it was delicious. All because Brownside — his best mate — ordered everyone to keep quiet and praise the porridge, so Greyside wouldn't get punished and thrown in the lock-up.
Jack Greyside got so lost in his daydreaming, sprawled in his chair, that a knock at the door gave him a fright.
Here we go! Who's rocked up now wanting advice!
Greyside opened the door and saw on the doorstep — you'll never guess who — Jack Brownside! He'd been missing his mate something terrible too and decided to visit him.
