Moe keeps the junkyard on the outside of town, just past the docks on Wallingford Row. He lives in a crookedy little yellow house just there, with heaps of mint and sprays of currant that have consumed his front garden quite completely. Some time back, a rather swarthy group of river otters disembarked noisily from a passing barge, pushing each other about and yelling boisterously in an unfamiliar accent, and made their way over to Moe’s. They’ve shown no signs of leaving. In fact, their first order of business was apparently to make everybody else mind their own, specifically via the construction of a very tall and somewhat uneven stockade fence, which runs completely around the junkyard, and right up to Moe’s house on either side. This surprising development was immediately followed by something of a chattering, scraping, crunching, clanging and banging cacophony, which unfortunately has yet to cease.

Gracious as ever, Myrtle the Tyrtle stopped by after a week of this with a pot of very good apple-cranberry preserves, hoping to make enquiries in his own gracious way, over a bit of tea and toast. It soon became evident, however, that no one would ever hear his ringing the bell for the umptieth time, what with all the ruckus, and even Myrtle began to lose his temper. He stomped over to the nearest bit of offending fencework, and proceeded to write “SHHHH!” in handfuls of jam. It wasn’t until two days later, when young Parsley the Cat stopped dead in her tracks (skipping along, as she was, on her way to see the Wolf twins), that anyone noticed that someone had added a few key letters to Myrtle’s. “WOOOOOSHHHH!” the fence now read. Squirmy Worm is on the case, but the mystery’s yet to be solved.

Moe has rarely been seen since the arrival of his rather offensive construction crew, although he still saunters off on Sunday afternoons, to play golf with the Rabbits as usual. Come to mention it, the Rabbits have spent a good bit of time behind that fence themselves, and came home looking awfully dirty, but they’re not talking either. Opie caught Moe out on one such day, and leaped all about him, tugging at his sleeves.

“Please, please, pleeeeease tell meeee!!” he cried, hopping frantically from foot to foot. “What is it what is it what is it????” Moe smiled, and wrinkled his nose.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, scruffling Opie’s head affectionately. “But I think you, especially, are really going to like it!” Opie stopped dead still for a moment, staring goggle-eyed at Moe, and then leapt straight up to plant a kiss right on Moe’s left cheek.

“Wheeeee-hyeewwwww!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, and ran higgledy-piggledy off down the street, waving his arms in the air.

5" tall by 3" wide.