The other day, I was listening to the song “Losing It” by Rush. The final lyrics stuck in my head, tossed around, took on a life of their own, and this came out. Never one to back away from a good (or rotten) play on words, you now get to suffer for it.

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Over and Donne With

Ernest was in a foul mood. The business meeting was only supposed to take an hour. In the middle of it, his boss called Ernest’s cell phone and insisted that the fox take their client to dinner. Ernest tried to decline in a discreet way, but with the client sitting just across the table, it was impossible. “Seal this deal,” his boss demanded, “whatever it takes.”

Now it was late. The vulpine had already been on the road home for almost two hours. It would be after midnight before he reached the comfort of his own bed. For the sake of speed, Ernest opted to take the highway instead of the scenic state road that he preferred. He’d checked his wallet as he counted out the tip at the restaurant earlier. He had enough left to pay the highway toll, barely.

Ernest was approaching the state line toll plaza now. As he slowed, he glanced up at the gaudy billboard on the far side of the plaza. The sign featured an enormous portrait photo of a raccoon, the Governor, along with the words, “WELCOME TO OUR STATE!” plastered across the top and, “Lee Neilson, Governor” at the bottom.

The fox pulled his car up to the toll gate. The attendant, a polar bear, leaned out of his booth with a paw extended. “That’ll be two-fifty please,” the bear said.

“Hey, uh…” Ernest glanced at the polar bear’s name tag then continued, “…Jules. How about a pass tonight? What do you say, buddy?”

The bear glowered down at him, “Two dollars and fifty cents.”

“Come on, Jules,” the fox pleaded, “just this once. I’m practically broke.”

Jules was unswayed. “If you can’t afford the toll, you can catch the state road,” he said. “The junction is seven miles back. You can’t miss it.”

Ernest huffed as he dug into his hip pocket for his wallet. “You’re killing me, Jules,” the fox complained. He gestured toward the highway stretched out ahead of him, “It’s not like they’re using the tolls to maintain this pothole-riddled chunk of asphalt. Who the hell gets all this money anyway?”

The ursine accepted the fox’s cash then jerked a thumb at the Governor’s welcoming billboard. “Ask not for whom the bear tolls,” he chuckled, “the bear tolls for Lee.” Jules pressed the button to raise the gate and, with a satisfied smile, he added, “Have a nice night.”

With a low growl, Ernest mashed his footpaw onto the accelerator pedal and sped off down the highway.

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How many of these did you catch?

The title is a nod to English poet, John Donne (1572-1631), who penned the words, “…therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” That famous phrase was used by Ernest Hemingway for the title of his novel, For Whom the Bell Tolls. The fox protagonist in my tale here is obviously named after Mr. Hemingway. Our toll booth attendant is named for Jules Shear, who led the rock band Jules and the Polar Bears in the late 1970s. The Governor’s first name had to be Lee in order to make the final joke work, but it is also coincidentally the last name of Rush bassist, Geddy Lee. The Governor’s last name is a mashup of the names Neil Peart and Alex Lifeson, the band’s drummer and guitarist, respectively.