Bob the Buffalo Blows His Cover

The prompt: A genie pops out a my magic lamp and grants me NINE wishes in honor of WDC’s ninth birthday, but there are special rules. What are the rules?


Alone in my studio with my trusty sidekick, Bob the buffalo, a small stuffed animal my oldest daughter left behind when she moved away, I contemplated how to celebrate Writing.com’s ninth birthday in a creative, “writeful” way. Fixing to soon celebrate my own WDC anniversary of eight years, I figured I owed them my respects.

So, what to write? I wondered while staring at my empty Word document. I stroked my stuffed friend perched on top of the monitor, then queried out loud, “What do you think, Bob? What should I say?” Then with a sigh, I wistfully continued, “I sure wish this dang writer’s block would go away.”

I hardly noticed at first, but a mist started collecting. Smoke? Did someone leave the stove/oven on? What was happening? I rose to hightail it to the kitchen, but froze.

“What the…?” The heavy mist was escaping though the tips of Bob the buffalo’s fuzzy horns!

Quickly, the mist condensed into a real-live buffalo that practically filled the room. “Holy cow!” I spat as I collapsed back onto my stool.

“I beg your pardon? Cow?” it spoke in a deep voice. “No, I am the spirit of the buffalo you call Bob. I have heard your request and have come to grant your wish.”

“Wish?” What wish? What’s going on? Am I on Candid Camera?

“Yes, you are freed from writer’s block. And because of your loyalty and devotion of eight years, I will grant you a total of nine wishes, one for each year of your beloved Writing.com’s existence.

“You have eight more requests. But…"

I eyeballed the intrusive beast, its smell alone practically knocked me over, while trying to quell the questions zooming through my head and at least appear calm. “You grant wishes?” I stammered. This has got to be a dream! I thought repeatedly.

“I grant wishes,” he concurred, his buffalo beard bobbing with his words, “but…“

“So, you’re a genie? A genie in… in a buffalo?

“Call me what you like. Frankly, Bob works for me.”

“Bob the genie?” I muttered incredulously.

“Whatever,” he responded impatiently. “Do you want the wishes or not?”

“Uhhh.. yeah,” I said hesitantly.

“Then here’s the deal. You get nine wishes. The first, losing the writer’s block has already been granted. As for the other eight…“

I was hardly listening, my mind conjuring up what wonderful wishes I may really want.

“As for the other eight, you may have whatever you like, but you must continue to write, and in all of your next eight stories, poems, etc., I must be at least referred to.

“Bob… the genie?”

“No, Bob the buffalo, but you can add the genie part if you like.”

“Well, okay, fair enough. But what if I can’t think of anything to write?”

“Oh, you will,” said the beady-eyed beast. “You’re first wish was already granted, remember?”

“Oh,” I said already thinking I couldn’t wait to write this event down.. but who will ever believe it? No one, so it doesn’t matter.

“So when do I get my other wishes?”

“One after each story you write about me.”

“I can ask for ANYTHING?” my head really reeling now.

“Well anything for the better good. No mass murder or destruction, I’m not into that.”

“Me neither. So, when do we start? What do I have to do?” I said anxiously, my fingers twitching to get at the keyboard, wishes or not.

“We already have. Just write another story about me, then rub Bob’s horns and… make your wish. Just make sure you word it carefully.”

“Be careful what you ask for?” I added confidently.

“You got it, sweetheart. I know you can do it, you’re good at saying what you mean.”

“Thanks, Bob. But what’s in it for you? You just live forever in little Bob here,” I said nodding at the stuffed animal quietly sitting on the monitor, “only to come out eight more times to grant my wishes? That seems a rather dreadful fate?”

“Oh no, darling,” the buffalo genie stamped and snorted, “I have great plans. Your stories about Bob the buffalo will earn me great notoriety. I plan to be a guest on Oprah!”

“Oprah interviewing a talking buffalo named Bob?” I mumbled, letting the concept, however unbelievable, sink in.

“Okay, you got it, Bob! For my final wish, your freedom and a guest gig for us on the Oprah Winfrey Show promoting Bob the buffalo and our first book tour! Who knows where you’ll/we’ll go from there. Yes!”

“Now you’re talking, baby! Your keyboard and imagination are waiting!” he shouted as he vaporized and sucked back in the tips of the stationary Bob’s horns.

I sat dazed staring at Bob and wondered if I really just had that experience? Nah!

“Honey?” my husband came in the studio asking, “Have you seen my glass… es? Eww, what’s that awful smell?” he puckered his nose in disgust.

Oh, that was just my buddy, Bob. He’s a little ripe, I know, but he promises to take a bath before we appear on Oprah.

“Huh?”

“Nevermind, dear, you’ll find out soon enough.”

I smiled thankfully up at Bob. Eight more wishes or not, I started typing.
* * *
Happy Ninth Birthday, Writing.Com!

Word count: 872