We knew they were on their way long before they got here. Several years ago we saw the speck moving toward us. We said, Oh, no, not more smart people . . . if people they are . . . if smart . . . (but they do have to be fairly intelligent to get here in the first place) . . . but we’re already full up. There are limits to how big a population a world can hold comfortably, and so that everybody has fun.
We were watching from the trees when they landed. They took us for creatures both ignorant and wild. We played into that role, howling and jumping up and down. Our hooting was really our laughing. They looked so funny we couldn’t help it so we hooted to cover it up.

Then we glided out from the trees and moved closer to the clearing where they had set up camp. That was a clearing we had prepared for them ahead of time. Plenty long enough for their lander. From our experiences with space flight we knew the exact dimensions they would need. We also knew they’d like it near a stream. We picked a little stream, not suitable for navigation. We didn’t realize until they’d landed and we saw who they were, that they’d need a path before they could reach the water.
We pretended to get tamer and tamer. We pretended to accept their gifts of beads and bracelets. Couldn’t they see those would just hold us down?
And they brought what they call dogs. They use them for all sorts of things, including warning them that we’re about to glide in.

We started imitating their dogs, they love them so much, and we wanted to seem just a little bit more intelligent than the dogs are. The creatures began to love us, too. Pretty soon they let us lean over their shoulders and we could see how all their machines were made. We didn’t disable any of those things till later.
Now we tell each other, “Bad dog, no!” Or, “Good dog,” and a few pats. I saw one of us give her mate a snack saying, “Good dog.” They laughed so hard they fell off their branch.

It helps that we have fur and they have none because they seem to consider furry creatures more animal. They think simply wearing clothes makes them more civilized than we are. But when have we ever needed clothes?
I don’t think they have any idea . . . and we’re glad they don’t . . . that we already had space flight and gave it up a long time ago, since this is the best of all possible worlds. We’ve already checked out a lot of other planets, so we know. And after all, we were made for this world. And even for our anomalous moon.
On some worlds, the natives lie around and complain all day (no matter how long the day), that their world is getting more and more crowded, or hotter and hotter, or full of dust and smoke. . . . Those various natives kept saying, “It didn’t used to be this bad,” and yet they don’t do anything about it, or not enough. Actually, there’s hardly any world that couldn’t be a paradise if the natives bothered to make it so.
Until now, we’ve never seen intelligent creatures with neither fur nor feathers nor scales. These creatures are hard to look at. It’s as if they have some form of mange. At first we thought they’d infect us with hairlessness.
You can see their veins.

We’re teaching these Uglys a pidgin language we invented just for them. We don’t want them delving too deeply into our lives. On the other hand, we pretend to learn their language very slowly. I’m a trained linguist and am fluent in many alien languages, but in their presence I’ve limited myself to twenty-five words and a few simple phrases.
They’re jealous of our gliding. They hack themselves around in the underbrush looking up at us in the canopy. They gasp, and, “Wow,” and, “Oh my God.” Half the time our younger ones are swooping around just for them.
They wonder that there are no paths. When have we ever needed paths?
They wonder at the length of our arms and at our arm flaps—at the skirt of skin across from knee to knee. That’s not just for beauty, but all the better for gliding.
The forest around them is filling up with their paths. Now, what with their little land planes disabled, they can’t go far. They didn’t ask us if we wanted paths or not. They think we’re too ignorant to have planted and nurtured the forest on purpose. Too ignorant to have laid out bushes with thorns and fish berry plants all over the forest floor.

As they were settling in and wondering what was safe to eat . . . (They had to settle in. We had disabled their lander) . . . we pretended to eat all sorts of things we wouldn’t normally touch. We didn’t want them taking any of our favorite foods. We picked safe things—we didn’t want to poison them. We found them food we don’t bother with. Coarse things that take a long time to chew, and things full of lots of little bones so you spend more time spitting out than taking in. They were food jokes. We watched them testing and eating all those tough and gristly things. Our little ones were laughing right in front of them, but those creatures don’t recognize a laugh when they see one even though our laugh is much like theirs. They probably thought the little ones had hiccups.

So we were laughing more than ever, while they, on the other hand, forced to stay on a planet full of thorns and forced to eat all those unpleasant things, were laughing less and less.
They have ears, but not to speak of, so you can’t look there for signs of rage.
Just once they ate one of us. (They felt the lack of protein.) That was not so funny. Especially to my family. I was her great uncle. She was still in her baby fat. They roasted her over a fire. They’d probably still be trying to eat our young tender ones if we hadn’t . . . well, shown them exactly how it feels. None of them is young and tender. Which one to pick was a hard choice. We wanted all their pilots and navigators saved in case we wanted them off our planet. We decided on one of the dog handlers since there are two. We didn’t eat him, just left him where they’d find him, beside the path to the stream, spitted and roasted just as they had done to Jally.

But their eating Jally was partly our own fault because of the kind of food we’d shown them. After that we decided we had to let them have fish berries. Lots of protein and they slip down easily. We hated to see them eating up our supply after we’d spent so much time coaxing out the eggs but they did need better nourishment.
We noticed they took one of us, instead of one of their dogs. Even though we’re, clearly, smarter than dogs. Of course the dogs are not easily replaceable, and I suppose they think we are.

Connie? Donnie? I call her Dearie. I do like her color, though she only has that little bit of it on the top of her head. She’d look a lot better if she had fur on her chin and cheeks as the males do. I can see blue veins on her forehead. Arms! Even worse. She, and all of them, are anatomy lessons for our young ones. She’s my counterpart, a linguist.

We’ve wondered all this time how it would be to mate with them, so I’m trying to be nice and not joke too much. Since I’m the main one chosen to study them, I’m also the logical one to study their sex tactics.
If sex doesn’t work out with me, there’s one of them I’d like Dearie to mate with. It would be fun and funny if she did because he’s the ugliest and the oldest. He’s even furless on the top of his head where most of them have at least some fur. Since she’s pretty, according to her own kind . . . they all say so . . . that would be a good joke. He’s Jake. I call him Joke. He thinks I can’t say it properly. He’s their captain.
My chances with Dearie are pretty good because we hear them say, about us, and over and over, how beautiful we are! How graceful. How wild and natural. How good natured. (That’s because we didn’t want them saying, Bad dog, to us.)

They told us, “We can help you with your enemies,” as if we still had any. What kind of a world do they think this is? I mean we have space flight. It makes us wonder about where they came from. What kind of a planet is that? With space flight and enemies? Where were their priorities? We knew right then it wasn’t us that wasn’t civilized.

They did come with a lot of weapons. They never go anywhere without a pistol and some kind of blinding spray. And, of course, machetes to hack themselves around.
I don’t know why or how they ever got started, grew up and thrived and ate and killed without good teeth. Also without fur. Makes us wonder. Without their weapons I don’t think they could have survived very long on any planet.

We’ve been careful not to show them our teeth.
To test things out as to sex, I take Dearie into the forest, just the two of us. She started out with her sketchbook, camera, and recorder. (I’ve got my chip. If I had to carry around all those things, I’d not be able to glide.) Even though she has a camera, she loves to draw: trees and bugs and especially us. I once asked, “Why, when also cameras?” Back on her planet, she’s an artist. I was glad to hear they still practice ancient arts.

She brought her machete but she gets worn out trying to make herself a path. There’s frustration in the set of her mouth. I tell her, “Sit.” (That’s what they always say to their dogs and to us, too.) I say, “Stay. Rest.” I give her some fish berries. These are bigger and sweeter than the ones we usually let them have. Then, “Come,” I say. “Do as if baby on back.” (By now I let myself use over fifty words and several phrases.) She does, and I try to glide with her as we do with our little ones. That turns out to be impossible. I had no idea they were so heavy. Even though she’s smaller and looks thinner than I, she must weigh four times as much. That changes my mind about a lot of things. Easier if I rode on her back. I can’t help laughing at the thought.

She laughs, too. She understands how silly it all is. This is the first time I’ve laughed with one of them.
“You’re made like a bird,” she says. “Hollow bones, I’ll bet.” She pats my shoulder. Rubs the top of my head. I let her pat and stroke. It’s what they do to their dogs but never to each other. A bad sign for my chances to check on their mating ploys because, much as they love them, they don’t mate with their dogs.
I don’t think she has any idea that I’m wooing her. So, all right then, maybe I’ll talk up Captain Joke. We could learn things from those two. Still, having breasts that are large and furless is a nice idea and attracts us. We all . . . I mean all us males like it. Though we haven’t squeezed them yet. Not even by mistake. Too bad they cover them up with clothes. Are these creatures ever naked? We haven’t seen it, so maybe not. They must bathe in their lander. Perhaps they’re even as ugly to each other as they are to us. Maybe that’s why they love their dogs so, because they see the beauty of fur.
I didn’t even squeeze her breasts when I had the chance.
Maybe next time.

I spend many an afternoon being interviewed by her. She, thinking she’s teaching her language to me (I already know it) and me teaching her our pidgin. By now we’ve often laughed together. There’s always lots to laugh about with so many language mistakes. She said the river ran, which is all right in her language, and I said, well cooked smells, which is all right in mine.
She likes me, but as what? Pretty smart pet?
I talk up Captain Joke but I don’t need to. She’s already in love with him. I can see why. He’s a kind creature and, though he gives the orders, he does it with grace and good humor. He often looks worried, but he never gets angry. These people have qualities worth preserving. Serious as Joke always is, he is probably worth saving. I always say, laughing isn’t everything, though some of us seem to think so.
They keep saying, “What huge trees. What a dense and high canopy.” And we keep saying, “There’s a reason for that.” We also say, “You must do something about your lander.” Still they haven’t done anything. They don’t think we’re smart enough to say anything about such things as landers.
You’d think they’d be asking about the Eye. It isn’t as if we haven’t taught them the words for it: “Moon of day. Eye of Night.” Our anomaly.
We laugh that they don’t ask, “What Eye?” And, “What Moon of Day?” And though, to us, and we’re brought up that way, everything is a laughing matter, this is not.