Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the machine and looked at the image.

“Pathetic,” he said. “That’s what it is. Pathetic.”

He turned and walked around to the other side of the machine and pressed a button. The machine buzzed, and another image appeared. It showed an old grey Donkey. It showed the donkey’s inside, though, where he was filled with straw and sawdust.

“As I thought,” he said. “No better the second time. But nobody minds. Nobody cares. Pathetic, that’s what it is.”

The door opened and in came Mr. Smith, whose machine it was.

“Good Morning, Eeyore,” said H.L.Smith

“Good morning,” said Eeyore gloomily. “If it is good,” he said. “Which I doubt,” said he.

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

“Can’t all what?” asked Mr. Smith.

“Inventing. Showing off. X-ray machines. Here we go round the mulberry bush.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Smith, who had been feeling quite proud of his X-ray machine, which was the first one. He thought for a while, and then asked, “what mulberry bush would that be?”

“Botany,” went on Eeyore gloomily. “Australian word meaning Botany Bay,” he explained. “I’m not complaining, but this is the day those first convicts landed there. So There It Is.”

Smith sat down on his chair and tried to think this out. It didn’t make much sense, and he was a man who enjoyed making sense. So he called Pooh instead, because it seemed like the sort of thing a Bear of Very Little Brain would be quite comfortable with.

“Pooh,” said Mr. Smith, “could you come see me at my office? The one where I’m demonstrating the first X-ray machine. Eeyore is here, and I’m afraid I…well perhaps you could speak to him.”

“That’s right,” said Eeyore, after Smith was finished. “Talk to Pooh. Umty-tiddly, umpty-too. Here we go gathering Nuts and May. Enjoy yourself.”

“I am,” said Smith. “But I need to leave. Good day to you, Eeyore.”

“You see,” said Eeyore. “Some can.”

Eeyore was still there when Pooh came in.

“Good morning, Eeyore,” said Pooh.

“Good morning, Pooh Bear. But I don’t suppose it to be very good.”

“But Eeyore,” said Pooh, “you seem so sad.”

“Sad? Why should I be sad? It’s a birthday. A very happy day of the year.”

“Whose birthday?” asked Pooh.

“It was a telephone, just before, wasn’t it?” said Eeyore.

“What was?” asked Pooh.

“What you answered,” said Eeyore.

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it was.”

“And did anyone say ‘Mr. Watson, come here, I want to see you?’” asked Eeyore.

“No,” said Pooh, “why would anyone say that, Eeyore?”

“Birthdays,” said Eeyore, “are important times for Remembering. You remember how old you are. Or if you don’t, you can count the candles on your cake. Or maybe you remember when you heard the very first message sent over a telephone, because you’re Mr. Watson and today is your birthday.”

“I see,” said Pooh, who didn’t.

“Or you might remember about the camel,” added Eeyore suddenly.

“What camel?”

“The camel you made, of course. The one that flies. Swoop-swoop, zoom-zoom, and all that.”

“I don’t think,” said Pooh, “that I’ve ever made a camel, Eeyore. Not a flying one, anyway,” he added.

“Didn’t mean you,” said Eeyore, possibly getting even gloomier. “That other chap. Named Sopwith. He made camels. And flew them around too. Ask Christopher Robin about it, why don’t you, Pooh.”

“Very well, Eeyore, I shall ask Christopher Robin about it,” said Pooh seriously. “About a fellow named Sopwith who made flying camels.”

“And had birthdays,” said Eeyore. “Don’t leave that part out, Pooh.”

“Why not? asked Pooh, who didn’t quite grasp what they were taking about.

“Because,” said Eeyore, “it’s today. The birthday, that is. Just like it is for all of us,” he said bitterly, waving his hoof vaguely around as if to indicate everything.

“Eeyore, what do you mean all of us?” asked Pooh.

“All of us in the Hundred Acre Wood,” said Eeyore. “It’s our birthday today.”

“But Eeyore, how can we all have the same birthday?”

“Because it’s his birthday, and he made us up.”

“Who did?” said Pooh, trying to think what Eeyore was talking about.

“Christopher Robin’s dad,” sighed Eeyore. “Milne. He made up stories about us, and we’re in them.”

Pooh looked around the office. “This doesn’t look like the Hundred Acre Wood,” he said slowly.

“That’s because it isn’t,” replied Eeyore. “This time we’re in a new story, on account of being let out for Good Behavior. So we can talk about today being the start of field hockey. And landing airplanes on ships. And the first Martin Luther King, Jr. day in all 50 states. And birthdays. Don’t forget the birthdays,” said Eeyore.

This was too much for Pooh. He thought quietly for a long time. Finally he sighed and stood up. “Come with me, Eeyore,” he said.

“One place, another place, what’s the difference,” said Eeyore. “They’re all the same.”

“No they’re not,” said Pooh. “Come with me, Eeyore, and we’ll have a Birthday Party.”

“A party?” said Eeyore. “With cake? Candles and pink sugar?”

“Yes,” said Pooh. “Many happy returns of the day, Eeyore.”

“And many happy returns to you, Pooh Bear.”

“Thank you, Eeyore. Now come along.”

Pooh and Eeyore hurried out of the office and down the path toward the Hundred Acre Wood to organdize a Birthday Party. For everyone. Perhaps, Pooh thought, even a camel. If they could find Thomas Sopwith.