Thundie: En Memoriam

                It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you all about the recent passing of Thundie, the Thunder Pear Publishing mascot. Services will be help remotely next Tuesday, but in light of our limited gathering circumstances, it seemed more apt to share his eulogy with you now, so it can be experienced together.

                Thundie was a soul unlike any other, from his joyful spirit, to his boundless enthusiasm, to the mottled orange and green skin that stretched across his massive pear-shaped body. I’ll never forget the first day I saw him lumbering down the street, casting a long shadow with his seven-foot tall frame in the afternoon sun. All around, everyone was screaming in what had to be delight, racing off at top speeds to no doubt find their friends and show them such an astounding sight. Barreling toward me with his vast mouth open, I saw clearly what this desperate soul was searching for. From my pocket I produced one of my many flasks, popping the top and spraying a significant slosh of shine down Thundie’s throat. He halted inches from me, uneven eyes bulging in wonder and appreciation. I added a few more drops to his tongue, then a few more.

                By the time that flask was empty, a friendship had bloomed.

                Finding work for Thundie in those early days was a chore. His size and exuberance were more than most building interiors could handle, and putting him on public display often caused excessive commotion. Sign-spinning worked for a while, people mistook his form for a costume so they weren’t stunned by such a wonderous sight. The huge bite marks taken out of the metal sign eventually became a problem, however.

                After I suggested he take the lovable gaze of his misaligned eyes to where it would be appreciated, Thundie was booked to cheer people up at a hospital. In a way, it could be argued that this was his most successful profession: the rate of recovery in every ward he visited increased substantially. Granted, there were a few erroneous reports about the patients being so terrified they worked themselves near sick to recover before his next visit, but those are clearly the ramblings of a staff envious of the results a single visit from Thundie could produce.

                In the end, it wasn’t until my own calling became clear and the publishing business began to move that we discovered Thundie’s true purpose. Inspired by his odd coloration, the birthmark down his chest, and overall shape, the Thunder Pear Publishing name was born, with Thundie already serving as the perfect mascot.

                With work settled, Thundie’s interests began to stretch outward, yearning for more. Some days I found him pressed against the door, six-fingered hands stretched across the wooden surface, thick tongue lapping against the hinges. Two things were clear: Thundie had at best an intermittent grasp of how doorknobs worked, and he wanted to see more of the world. That was when the travels began.

                Working as our mascot, Thundie would be sent out to meet with potential buyers, investors, and would-be opponents. All around he went, wherever business demanded, left eye looking to the horizon while the right aimed it’s gaze toward the earth. As this was the early days, I was along for most of the trips, and Thundie’s effect on people was irresistible. No matter how hard a negotiator they might be, once Thundie came in the room hard expressions shattered into what I can only assume was pure delight. He would dance through the rooms, sometimes performing a trick or two like taking a giant bite out of a solid wood table. By the time Thundie reached the person in charge, showing affection with licks of his foot-wide tongue just like a dog would, the negotiation was essentially over. Nobody could resist Thundie’s charms.

                When the work was done, he and I would head out to see what delights our new location held. Even here, Thundie was a great help, people being so wowed by his appearance that they would hurl food and drink directly from their hands into his waiting maw. We walk through downtowns and tourist traps, enjoying all a locale had to offer, always greeted by the screams of joyful surprise.

                Sadly, as the business grew there was less time for me to join the journey’s, though Thundie was of course allowed to continue his role. I would still ask the staff traveling with him to photograph the trips, a small reminder of our wilder times. Even now, on my desk, there sits a stack of pictures from Thundie’s most recent excursions. Thundie chewing on the edge of Stonehenge, Thundie wading toward a retreating shadow in Loch Ness, Thundie devouring fifty wings during an eating challenge, table and all. They offer the comfort of knowing that Thundie enjoyed his life to the very end, and serve as a self-reminder to be sure I do the same.

                Ultimately, it was Thundie’s very appetite for adventure that brought about his end. After so many years, his epicurean nature had hit something of a wall, there were fewer and fewer new tastes to experience with every journey. So it came as no surprise when I learned than on a recent tour near a nuclear power facility, Thundie caught a whiff of something novel and could not be dissuaded. Despite the best efforts of concrete several feet thick and an armed team of defenders, Thundie was not to be dissuaded. Multiple reports and video footage all confirm that Thundie successfully breached the reactor’s core before the safety systems were triggered. The core was then sealed and flooded, however no scans were able to detect signs of life within.

                Thundie was more than a mascot, more than a co-worker, more than a seven-foot tall creature that devoured mailboxes in a single bite; Thundie was a friend. Without him lumbering through it, the world is a little more boring. All we can do is keep with us the lessons that Thundie imparted: the willingness to try new things, the passion to embrace life, the drive to go after what it is we truly want.

                Thank you for everything, Thundie. You were truly one of a kind.               

From the desk of Drew Hayes
-President and Owner of Thunder Pear Publishing
-Definitely Not the Head of Any Secret Societies
-Order of the Walkers: Journeyman
-3rd Place Winner of the 2018 Beer Mile