Something was wrong with Giant Papa. He should have been sleeping next to Giant Mama, but he could not sleep. He kept going from the top of the tree house to the middle of the tree house. And he was doing the stinking thing that comes out of his mouth and comes out his nose.

I hate that smell.

But something was wrong.

Giant Papa could not sleep.

Water dripped out of Giant Papa’s eyes.

He was sad.

And mad.

You can always tell when Giant Papa is mad. He does the smelling thing a lot. Giant Papa’s paws are tight and hard.

He can be scary, sometimes.

Giant Papa’s eyes change colors; at once, they are the shade of the big world outside the tree house, and then – without warning – they are the paint of sleepy time. Of the dark time.

He was hurting.

(What was hurting him?)

I don’t know.

But he did not eat any of his special beans to stop the hurt. I don’t think there is anything he could eat to stop his hurt.

But I tried!

I put my head on his lap, on his shoulder, and I wiggled and wiggled my butt. I was even giving him kisses on his paws, on his muzzle, and on his scruff.

He needed kisses.

Something was wrong with Giant Papa. I know he was thinking about doing something bad.

But, I know, he won’t do the bad thing.

There is too much good to do the bad thing.

And Giant Papa knows that.