The little crutches

Leonard gazed forlornly at the screen. The geocaching forum was dull. There was just nothing happening on there. No really good arguments for ages. Everyone was being very civilised to each other. Leonard was a moderator on there, and he took his duties very seriously.

But what was the point in being a moderator if there was no-one to moderate? It wasn't that he enjoyed being bossy and telling people off, but he did think he was rather good at it. Leonard considered he had exactly the right style. Some of his colleagues on the mod team just ended up trading insults and being as bad as the perpetrators. Others tried to inject a bit of a humour into the arguments to lighten the atmosphere.

Leonard always tried to remain polite, not get involved in the issues, distance himself slightly, but make it very clear that rudeness and bad behaviour would not be tolerated, or the culprits would receive a very stern rebuke. He felt a warm glow of smugness as he remembered some of his more pointed put-downs. And felt disappointed that he hadn't had the opportunity to indulge in any for some time.

He logged out of the forum, closed the lap-top, and decided to limp into town. He would buy a magazine and go and sit in the tea shop for a few hours. With any luck, there would be the usual group of old dears in there who were guaranteed to dish out bucketfuls of sympathy for his broken leg.

Justifiably too, thought Leonard to himself. He could imagine the old dears thinking what a shame that such a handsome man in his early forties had such a devastating injury, but that he was struggling with it so bravely and stoically.

His leg had not been without complications. It was not healing as quickly as expected which was why he was still on crutches more than four months after the accident.

Not that Leonard was one to look for sympathy but he did appreciate being asked how his leg was doing. And he always remembered not to bore people too much with the fascinating details of his progress, although he would usually mention something interesting like the callus forming on the rear of his tibia.

He picked up a crutch ready to hobble to the door. Tata immediately got up too and started barking excitedly.

"Ruff ruff ruff!!"

"No, I'm sorry Tata, I'm going alone. I'm going to the tea shop to sit with the old dears and read my new magazine."

Tata glared at him and sulked off.

"I'll take you out when I get back," offered Leonard.

But it was too late. Tata ignored him and climbed onto the sofa.

Leonard wondered how many crutches to take with him. He had gone for a walk the other day with only one and he had been in agony afterwards. Stoical agony of course, but agony nonetheless. And, he reasoned, the more crutches he took, the more sympathy he would get.

He went to the crutch store.

"I'm going into town," he announced to all the crutches.

"Who wants to come?"

All the little crutches jumped up and down excitedly.

"I haven't decided how many of you to take yet," he told them.  Bossily.

The little crutches stopped jumping up and down.  They were very still and they looked at Leonard with their big eyes wide open.

The thing was, the little crutches liked to go out.  But grumpy Leonard was always moaning about something and he was very heavy as well.

Still if he took all of them, that meant they could take it in turns supporting his fourteen and a half stone.  Or was it fifteen?  It certainly felt like fifteen.

And while two of the little crutches were supporting his huge weight, the other three little crutches could just be swinging around gaily in the air.

Leonard glared at the little crutches.  And wondered whether it was a greater punishment for some of the little crutches to stay behind, locked in the cupboard, or whether it would be worse for them to take their turn in supporting his weight and suffer his moaning.

The little crutches waited patiently for his decision.