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It all started with a little DNA. A couple of feathers drifting slowly down in the wake of a trail of smoke, a bit of saliva left at the bottom of a plate that, just a couple of seconds earlier, had been planted in the ground full of seeds.
Ralph noticed how his cousin’s gaze drifted and softened as it turned toward the striking blue stain that ran across every corner of the room—a vivid miniature image of the roadrunner Ralph had heard so much about from Wile.
A bit of experimentation followed. Test tubes filled with vibrantly colored substances, welding sparks, black clouds with lightning that formed out of nowhere over the desert, a maniacal laugh in the middle of the night—well, everything one would expect during the creation of an evil master plan.
By the end of the week, Wile had an embryo that was growing considerably under an artificial warm light deep within his cave.
It was a simple plan. Something different, quite ambitious, and undeniably insane compared to all the other plans he’d devised over the past few decades. But Coyote’s sanity had been clouded by hunger for a long, long time.
He would have a clone (or several, if he got good results) of the roadrunner, which he himself would take care of and feed properly so that finally, after nearly 80 years, he could have served on his table the delicious dish whose pursuit had become the reason for his existence.
But as the universe dictates, for Wile E. Coyote, luck is never on his side.
The embryo grew; bluish feathers began to appear; squawks demanding food echoed off the cold walls of the cave; and slender legs began to bear its weight. Before long, Wile had in his possession a little roadrunner who, just like his fathe— DNA donor, loved to drive him up the wall.
It was a casual, warm morning in the desert when the roadrunner and the mini-roadrunner met.
It was a tiny lapse on Wile’s part; he’d let his guard down for a second—a mere second—while fetching a bowl of seeds for breakfast, when the mini-roadrunner jumped off the chair where he’d been placed and dashed toward the inviting natural light streaming in through the cave’s entrance. Coyote set off in pursuit like never before, despite the exhaustion he’d been carrying ever since his future dinner had learned that racing was in its nature—but it was too late. A couple of kilometers out in the middle of the desert, the roadrunner stood with his head tilted, feet still on the asphalt, and an unnaturally confused expression instead of his perpetual smile as he watched the creature in front of him, which was staring back at with deep curiosity. The coyote appeared, panting and trying to keep the air in his lungs. The roadrunner looked at him, then at the mini-roadrunner, then back at the coyote, then back at the mini-roadrunner. And before the coyote managed to pull out a sign with the lamest excuse to make a run for it with his future dinner, he was somehow being carried by the roadrunner in an unknown direction at God knows how many kilometers per second.
By the afternoon, they were already married. Suddenly, Wile found himself dazed at the altar; a few seconds later, a disheveled priest was brought in who, without asking many questions, began the usual ceremony. Some kind of kiss followed, along with a photograph that was later framed and proudly displayed in the living room for all to see.
And that night, Wile found himself staring at the stone ceiling of his bedroom. The bird he had chased his whole life lay beside him, and the clone of that bird was curled up between them.
Wile gazed tenderly at the golden gleam of the band around his finger; his mind had drifted to those memories he had begun to cherish so dearly in his heart.
Ralph’s hand still held the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “A beautiful story, indeed, but… where did those come from?” The claw of his free hand pointed toward his cousin, who was sitting in the armchair across from him, holding a pair of mostly brown puppies with unusual blue highlights as they snuggled against his chest.
Wile’s face took on a reddish hue; his gaze wandered as his mind—usually as quick as that of an acclaimed genius like himself—tried to figure out what to say to his cousin.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—he didn’t have to explain himself because a characteristic “Beep Beep” echoed in the distance, and in the blink of an eye, alongside a trail of smoke stretching from the horizon, the Roadrunner appeared, holding a basket in his beak that did nothing to hide a huge smile.
Ralph noticed that the basket was overflowing with a variety of freshly hunted small animals and a small amount of fresh fruit. So that's where the darn bird had been all day.
The blue bird approached the coyote, rubbing its head against the other’s fur and gazing affectionately at the pups held in his mate’s embrace as it pulled out a sign that read, “I brought you lots of food,” then it flipped “so our babies will be born strong and healthy.”
“Ah!” was all Ralph managed to said.