Entering their house, Port Hawkesbury, carrying the sleeping Pictou in her arms, and Stellarton shut the door behind themselves. As Stellarton locked the door, Port Hawkesbury set Pictou down on the floor. Pictou woke up, opening his eyes, and he began to crawl around instantly. While he crawled about, Pictou scanned around himself, and sniffed the air, the floor, and various other objects – like the leg of a table, and a seagrass basket filled with forest berries.

Port Hawkesbury approached Pictou and stroked him very affectionately. “My name’s Port Hawkesbury. I’m your mother,” she introduced herself in French. Pictou understood, and he sniffed her feet.

Pictou crawled up to Stellarton. He jotted down some notes in his notebook on what he’d seen so far today in his notebook. Pictou watched him write.

Stellarton noticed Pictou, catching sight of him. “My name’s Stellarton. I’m your father,” he introduced himself to him in French. Stellarton crouched down and stroked him very tenderly. “You’re such a sweetheart.” Pictou understood straight away. Sniffing Stellarton’s feet, he continued crawling.

Port Hawkesbury picked up Pictou and carried him upstairs to her bedroom, shutting the door behind herself. Slipping into bed, she pulled the duvet over herself, removed her dress and bra, and squeezed her left breast. Milk oozed out. Holding Pictou to her left nipple, Port Hawkesbury squeezed out another good ooze of milk. Closing his eyes and latching on to Port Hawkesbury’s nipple, Pictou began to suck. Port Hawkesbury lovingly stroked him as he suckled.

After a little while, Pictou stopped sucking, opening his eyes and unlatching himself from Port Hawkesbury’s nipple. Port Hawkesbury replaced her dress and bra, and she raised herself off the bed, carrying Pictou. She made the bed, opened the door and headed back downstairs.

Entering the kitchen, Port Hawkesbury carefully slid Pictou into his highchair. Pictou wiggled and jiggled about calmly yet joyfully. Opening the fridge, Port Hawkesbury fetched a pot of creamed corn, then she opened a drawer and retrieved a small spoon. She pulled out a chair, sat down and screwed the top off the creamed corn.

On seeing his grub, Pictou waved his arms around in the air blissfully. Port Hawkesbury dipped the spoon into the pot and scooped up some creamed corn, making sweet sounds to Pictou as she waved his food around in the air. Pictou followed his feed around with his eyes.

As she slid Pictou’s food into his mouth, he ate it. “Good boy!” she praised him joyfully, and she continued to feed Pictou on his creamed corn, making affectionate sounds to Pictou as she whizzed it around in the air. Pictou followed his food around with his eyes.

Once she’d finished feeding Pictou, she told him, “You’re a good little Acadian Canadian Boy.” Pictou agreed. Lifting Pictou up from his highchair, she carried him in her arms and left the kitchen.


Later on, Port Hawkesbury and Stellarton were eating lobster chowder for supper. Pictou crawled around the table, sniffing the air.

Port Hawkesbury looked down at Pictou, and she made caring sounds at him, sipping a little of her chowder. Pictou sniffed the briny aroma of lobster’s meat in the air, and he continued crawling. Pictou sniffed the floor, crawling under Port Hawkesbury’s chair and emerging from beneath Stellarton’s. Stellarton sipped some of his chowder, and so did Port Hawkesbury, all the way down to the last spoonful.

“Oh, I just remembered, we’ve got some chocolate mousse in the fridge,” Port Hawkesbury recalled, arising from her chair. Just as she was about to open the fridge, Pictou crawled out from beneath the table. He crawled back under Stellarton’s chair and stared at Port Hawkesbury, looking blank. Suddenly, he relieved himself.

Port Hawkesbury looked down at Pictou again. “Pictou needs changing,” she reasoned, smelling ammonia in the air. Stellarton jotted this down, along with some other details for the evening, in his notebook. Picking Pictou up, Port Hawkesbury carried him up to the bathroom, shutting the door behind herself and laying Pictou down on the changing table.

Port Hawkesbury removed Pictou’s leotard and peeled off his wet diaper, disposing of it. She cleaned Pictou’s backside with a baby wipe and slipped him into a fresh, dry diaper, replacing his leotard. Picking him up, she opened the door and headed back downstairs, carrying Pictou in her arms.


Night fell. Port Hawkesbury lay Pictou in his crib, pulling a small blanket over him. She slipped a little pillow under his head, and Pictou fell asleep immediately. Port Hawkesbury stroked him tenderly. Turning out the light, Port Hawkesbury left his bedroom, shutting the door behind herself, then entered her bedroom and slid into bed, pulling the duvet over.

Stellarton came inside. He slid into bed too, pulling the duvet over himself. Port Hawkesbury arose and shut the door, then she returned to bed, pulling the duvet back over herself. Stellarton jotted down some more notes on today in his notebook. “Pictou’s so sweet,” said Port Hawkesbury. “But caring for him is smelly business.” “Yes,” agreed Stellarton, “but he’s a godsend.” Port Hawkesbury nodded. “Yes, he is.”

“Goodnight,” said Stellarton, kissing Port Hawkesbury on her right cheek and immediately falling asleep. “Goodnight to you, too,” Port Hawkesbury replied, kissing him on his left cheek. She turned out the bedside lamp and fell asleep instantly.


Taking Pictou out in his pushchair, Port Hawkesbury and Stellarton left the house, Stellarton closing and locking the door. They all looked around themselves, then set off.

The Denoons strolled down Wellington Street, and some besotted admirers suddenly swooped in on Pictou, making sweet sounds, touching and stroking him tenderly. Port Hawkesbury smiled joyfully. The admirers left, and the Denoons continued on towards the centre of town.

The Denoons strolled down George Street, and some more admirers all of a sudden descended on Pictou, making kind sounds, touching and stroking him affectionately. Port Hawkesbury giggled blissfully to Stellarton. “Pictou’s the talk of the town.” “Yes, he is,” Stellarton agreed. The admirers disappeared, and the Denoons strolled down Water Street, turning onto Market Street. They made another turn and strolled down Caladh Avenue, where even more admirers flew in on Pictou, making caring sounds, touching and fondling him sweetly. Port Hawkesbury giggled again, and Stellarton made some notes on what he’d seen so far today in his notebook. The admirers set off, and the Denoons continued down Caladh Avenue, turning onto a pier and strolling down until they reached a small fishing boat, bobbing up and down on the water. A slightly elderly fisherman carrying a fishing rod emerged from inside the boat and caught sight of the Denoons, focusing especially on Pictou. “Hello. I’m Port Hawkesbury,” she introduced herself. “And I’m Stellarton,” he added. “And this is our son, Pictou,” Port Hawkesbury introduced Pictou.

The fisherman put his hand out to Pictou. He sniffed it, and the fisherman made a sweet sound. “Pictou is very lovely indeed,” Port Hawkesbury remarked. Suddenly, Pictou relieved himself, and Port Hawkesbury could smell ammonia in the air. “Oh. He needs changing,” she realized.

The fisherman smiled cheerfully. “Come on board my boat and have a little chat with me,” he asked the Denoons. “Alright.” They all boarded the boat, Pictou now smelling strongly of ammonia. Port Hawkesbury unstrapped Pictou from his pushchair, picked him up and carried him over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind herself.

Port Hawkesbury lay Pictou down on the floor, removing his leotard and wet diaper. She stuffed it in the wastebasket, then she took a sheet of toilet tissue and wiped Pictou’s backside. Slipping Pictou into a fresh, dry diaper, she dressed him back into his leotard, opened the door and turned Pictou over onto his stomach. She opened the door and left the bathroom, Pictou crawling after her.

Port Hawkesbury sat beside Stellarton at the dining table, where the fisherman handed her a cup of tea. “Thanks.” She sipped a little of her tea, as did Stellarton and the fisherman.

Pictou crawled up to them, sniffing tea and freshly-caught fish in the air. The fisherman caught sight of Pictou, and Port Hawkesbury and Stellarton turned to him. The fisherman made a caring sound to Pictou. “Aw,” he remarked joyfully. “It’s Port Hawkesbury and Stellarton’s little Nova Scotia boy.”

Pictou crawled up to Port Hawkesbury, sniffing the salty scent of seawater in the air. She stroked him kindly. “Picky-tou,” she called him so affectionately. The Denoons and the fisherman all took little sips of their tea. Pictou watched them drink, sniffing tea in the air. As they drank, the Denoons and the fisherman talked about Pictou, and how he’d changed the Denoons’ lives. Pictou crawled around the table, listening to their conversation and sniffing the air.

“Thanks,” the Denoons said to the fisherman once they’d finished their cups of tea. Pictou looked at them. “Boat,” he said.

Port Hawkesbury, Stellarton and the fisherman all gasped in shock, standing up from their chairs. “What did you just say, Pictou?” asked Port Hawkesbury. “Boat,” Pictou repeated. “Aw,” the fisherman remarked sweetly. “He’s just said his very first word.”

Port Hawkesbury stared in disbelief at Pictou for a moment… then she suddenly burst into joy. “That’s your very first word, Pictou!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so proud!” Stellarton made some more notes on what he’d seen so far today in his notebook.

Blissful, Port Hawkesbury strapped Pictou back into his pushchair. “Thanks for today,” she and Stellarton both said to the fisherman. “And you too,” he smiled back. Pictou reached out for him, and Port Hawkesbury laughed. “I think Pictou likes you,” she told the fisherman, and he laughed too. “Pictou’s so sweet.” “Yes,” Port Hawkesbury agreed, and so did Pictou himself.

“Goodbye,” the Denoons bid farewell. The fisherman returned his farewells, and he returned on board his boat. The Denoons strolled off board, down the pier and back onto Caladh Avenue, making a turn onto Creighton Street. Suddenly, even more admirers swooped in on Pictou, making kind sounds, touching and stroking him tenderly. Port Hawkesbury giggled again. “Pictou’s a little beauty.” “Indeed he is,” Stellarton agreed. The admirers left, and the Denoons continued on their journey around town.


The Denoons arrived at the Press Room, and Port Hawkesbury reserved a table for three at the entrance. “Thanks,” she said to the receptionist, and the Denoons strolled over to a free table. Port Hawkesbury picked up a highchair from a corner of the room and set it down at the table, then she unstrapped Pictou from his pushchair and carefully slid him into the highchair. Pictou put his hand out to Port Hawkesbury, and she stroked him tenderly. She sat down, picked up a menu off the table, and began to explore the options.

Stellarton arose from his chair and approached the bartender. “Two glasses of apple juice, please.” The bartender juiced two apples and poured two glasses of apple juice, then handed them over to Stellarton. “Thanks.” He carried the glasses over to the Denoons’ table, sitting back down. Pictou sniffed the refreshing fragrance of apples in the air, and he suddenly relieved himself.

Port Hawkesbury looked at Pictou. “Pictou needs changing,” she reasoned in French, and Stellarton nodded in agreement. Picking Pictou up, Port Hawkesbury carried him over to the baby-changing room, shutting and locking the door behind herself.

Port Hawkesbury lay Pictou down on a soft, blue mat on the floor, removing his leotard and peeling off his wet diaper. She cleaned his backside with a sheet of toilet tissue. Port Hawkesbury slipped a fresh, dry diaper onto Pictou, replacing his leotard. Picking him back up, she unlocked and opened the door, returning to the Denoons’ table. Carefully sliding Pictou back into his highchair, then sat back down.

Stellarton looked at Pictou. “Now that Pictou’s said his first word, now’s a good time to teach him even more words,” he thought.

With this in mind, he picked up a salt mill. “What’s this, Picky-tou?” he asked Pictou. “Salt,” Pictou replied. “Good boy!” “That’s salt,” Port Hawkesbury repeated to Pictou in French.

Next, Stellarton picked up a pepper mill. “What’s this?” he asked Pictou again, to which Pictou replied, “Pepper.” “Oh, good boy!” “That’s pepper,” Port Hawkesbury told him the French word.

Port Hawkesbury fetched a pot of oatmeal and a small spoon from under Pictou’s pushchair. Unscrewing the top off the pot, she dunked the spoon into the oatmeal. Pictou sniffed a creamy milk aroma in the air. Scooping up some oatmeal, Port Hawkesbury waved the spoon about in the air, making kind sounds. Pictou followed his food around with his eyes.

As Port Hawkesbury slid Pictou’s food into his mouth, he consumed it. “Good little boy,” she praised him sweetly.

A few seconds later, Port Hawkesbury and Stellarton’s own food arrived. Chicken pie for Port Hawkesbury, and roast beef with potatoes, vegetables and gravy for Stellarton. “Thanks,” Port Hawkesbury said to the waiter. Pictou sniffed the mouthwatering, meaty scents of roast beef and gravy in the air.

Stellarton looked down at his food. “Well?” he said. “Let’s tuck in.” Port Hawkesbury nodded. “Alright, dear,” she replied. Pictou reached out to her again.

The Denoons began to dine. Port Hawkesbury ate her chicken pie, sipped her apple juice and fed Pictou on his oatmeal at the same time, making sweet sounds and praising him joyfully as he ate. Pictou followed his feed around with his eyes.

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