Common unicorns are not what they're cracked up to be. Leaving aside that they're nasty, foul tempered scavengers, most commonly found lurking around dumps, even leaving aside the smell and the parasites (sure, they look all pretty and sleek, but so do pigeons) and the tendency of the horn to cause itchy rashes, they're nothing you want to pal around with. They're vermin. You can't even eat them. (Well, you can, but you won't do it twice.)

But the bog unicorn is different. It really is pure of heart and noble of intent, altruistic, gentle, good-natured and kind to smaller animals, feeding only on the tenderest waterweeds and being careful not to step on anything. A bog unicorn that accidentally treads on an ant will be wracked with guilt, and if one should happen to munch a careless snail while dining, the poor creature will be disconsolate for days. They will trek miles through squelching and squolorching mud to finded fouled waters and cleanse them with their nifty horn. They will carry nestfuls of baby birds in their mouths during forest fires and reunite them with their parents afterwards, and never once mention any byproducts carelessly deposited on their tongues. They're nice.

And yet, despite these sterling qualities, just try to find a virgin that wants a bog unicorn to lay its head in her in lap. People. I tell ya.

Right, digital, still in a Weird Monster mood. 9 x 12, prints available.