A silly autumn story about a badger who wasn’t quite ready for winter.

Branko Badger had a list.

Actually, Branko had several lists, but the most important one was called THINGS TO DO BEFORE WINTER.

It was a very long list.

Branko had been working on it since September, when the leaves were still mostly green and there was absolutely no reason to panic.

Now the leaves were orange, the mornings were chilly, and Branko had begun to suspect that winter was approaching rather quickly.

He looked at his list.

There were still forty-three things to do.

This was not ideal.

First, he needed to tidy his burrow. Then he needed to check his food cupboard, wash his blankets, gather a few more leaves for the floor, and make sure there were no drafts coming in under the door.

He also needed to learn a little French.

Branko wasn’t entirely sure why, but he had written it down in August, and he didn’t like leaving things unfinished.

He picked up his pencil and crossed off inspect front door.

Then he inspected it again, just to be certain.

It was a perfectly good door.

Branko added stop inspecting front door to the list.

He was making progress.

Outside, the trees were beginning to lose their leaves. They fell into the garden, across the path, and all over Branko’s freshly swept doorstep.

Branko swept them away.

A few minutes later, more leaves fell.

He swept those away, too.

Then the wind came along and scattered the whole lot.

Branko stood in the middle of the path, holding his broom.

“Oh, honestly,” he said.

He looked up at the trees.

“I don’t mind a few leaves. I’m not unreasonable. But there has to be a limit.”

Another leaf landed on his head.

Branko went inside and added have a word with the trees to his list.

Then he made himself a cup of tea.

He deserved a little rest.

Unfortunately, while he was drinking his tea, Branko remembered the biscuits.

He had planned to bake enough biscuits to last the whole winter. He hadn’t decided exactly how many he needed, but four hundred seemed sensible.

Perhaps four hundred and fifty would be safer.

You never knew.

He fetched his mixing bowl and began.

By lunchtime, the kitchen smelled lovely, and Branko had a tray of golden biscuits cooling on the table.

He ate one.

Then another.

The second one was particularly good, and he thought it would be a shame not to have another while they were still warm.

When he finally stopped, he counted the biscuits.

There were thirty-seven.

Branko looked at them.

He looked at the empty plate beside him.

Then he wrote make more biscuits on his list.

He didn’t mention how many he’d eaten.

There was no need to make the situation worse.

The next morning, Branko decided to organize his cupboard.

He arranged his jars in a neat row, put his dried berries in little bags, and stacked his blankets by thickness.

The thickest blanket went at the bottom.

The thinnest went at the top.

Then Branko remembered that he might need the thickest blanket first.

He rearranged them.

After that, he decided the blankets should be organized by color.

This took most of the afternoon.

By evening, he was standing in the middle of his burrow, surrounded by blankets, jars, lists, and a rather suspicious number of biscuits.

He couldn’t remember what he’d gone into the cupboard for in the first place.

Then he noticed that his slippers were missing.

Branko stopped.

His slippers had been beside his bed that morning.

He was sure of it.

He looked under the bed.

He looked behind the chair.

He looked in the cupboard, although he couldn’t think of any reason his slippers would be in the cupboard.

No slippers.

Branko sat down.

This was becoming ridiculous.

He had a great many things to do before winter, and now he was going to have to spend the afternoon looking for footwear.

He went next door to see Milica Hedgehog.

“Have you seen my slippers?”

Milica looked up from the acorns she was sorting.

“No.”

“They were beside my bed.”

“Perhaps they’re still there.”

“I’ve looked.”

“Have you looked properly?”

Branko gave her a look.

“I am very good at looking properly.”

Milica went back to her acorns.

Branko returned home, feeling that he had not received the help he deserved.

He searched again.

Under the bed.

Behind the chair.

In the cupboard.

And then he found them.

His slippers were beside the bed.

Exactly where he had left them.

Branko stared at them for a while.

Then he put them on.

He was beginning to think winter preparation was harder than it looked.

A few days later, Milica came to visit.

Branko was busy making a list of things he needed to do before he could finish his other list.

Milica sat down.

“Are you nearly ready for winter?”

“Nearly,” said Branko.

Milica looked around the burrow.

There were jars of berries on the shelves, blankets on the bed, biscuits on the table, and a great many lists pinned to the wall.

“What’s left to do?”

Branko picked up his paper.

“Well, I need to check the cupboard again. And I haven’t finished sweeping the leaves. I should probably make another batch of biscuits. I also haven’t learned French.”

“Why do you need to learn French?”

Branko looked at her.

“I’ve no idea, actually.”

Milica nodded.

“Right.”

She took a biscuit from the table.

Branko noticed.

“Those are for winter.”

“It’s nearly winter now,” said Milica.

Branko considered this.

It was difficult to argue with, although he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Milica ate the biscuit.

Then she looked at the window.

“It’s getting cold.”

“Yes,” said Branko.

“You could go to sleep soon.”

Branko nearly dropped his list.

“Sleep? I can’t possibly sleep yet!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not ready!”

Milica looked at the tidy blankets, the stocked cupboard, and the biscuits.

“What else do you need?”

Branko opened his mouth.

He had a list for this sort of question, but he couldn’t remember where he’d put it.

“I’ll think of something,” he said.

Milica finished her biscuit and went home.

That night, Branko worked until quite late.

He checked the door for drafts. He checked the cupboard. He counted the biscuits, which took longer than expected because he kept eating the ones that looked a little smaller than the others.

He even tried learning French.

“Bonjour,” he said to the mirror.

The mirror said nothing.

Branko wasn’t sure whether this was a good sign.

He decided to leave French until spring.

At last, he climbed into bed.

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

Then he remembered the leaves.

He sat up.

He couldn’t go to sleep with all those leaves still scattered across the path. What if they blew against the door? What if they blocked the entrance? What if the wind brought more?

Branko got out of bed, put on his slippers, and went outside.

It was very cold.

The moon shone over the garden, and the trees stood quietly in the darkness. A few leaves drifted across the path.

Branko picked up his broom.

He looked at the leaves.

He looked at the broom.

Then he looked at the trees.

“Not tonight,” he told them.

He went back inside.

He took off his slippers and climbed into bed.

And then, just as he was getting comfortable, the first snow began to fall.

Branko watched it through the window.

He had never seen the garden look quite like that. The leaves were covered in white, the fence had a soft little cap of snow, and everything seemed quieter than usual.

Winter had arrived.

Branko looked at his list.

There were still twelve things left to do.

He hadn’t finished sweeping the path. He hadn’t written to the wind. He hadn’t learned French. And he hadn’t decided whether four hundred and fifty biscuits was really enough.

He thought about getting up.

Then he thought about the warm bed.

He thought about the snow outside.

He thought about how tired he was.

Finally, Branko picked up his pencil and wrote one last thing at the bottom of the list.

Go to sleep.

He crossed it off.

Then he put the list on the table, turned out the light, and climbed under his blankets.

Outside, the snow continued to fall.

The leaves could stay where they were. The cupboard was full. The biscuits would last as long as they lasted, and the French could wait.

Branko closed his eyes.

He was just beginning to drift off when he remembered something.

His slippers.

He sat up and looked beside the bed.

There they were.

Branko smiled, settled back into his blankets, and went to sleep.

And for the first time all autumn, he didn’t add a single thing to his list.

At least, not until spring.

Milanka Šulejić
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