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“Hallo Rabbit!” cried Pooh. 

Rabbit didn’t respond, he was deep in a thing called concentration.

“Rabbit!”, Pooh said it again, louder this time because he didn’t know about concentration. 

Rabbit was holding a funny stick and squinting very hard and pretending his very best that a loud bear hadn’t just trundled out of the woods to pester him. 

“Raaaaaabbit! We are heeeere”, announced Pooh proudly, “To invite you to a party!”

Rabbit closed his eyes and swung his stick at a tiny ball at his feet. The ball skittered and rolled and just missed rolling straight into a lovely hole a short distance away. 

“Tarnation!,” Rabbit moaned,” Can’t you see I’m deep in concentration?!” 

“But you’re here,” Pooh was confused. 

“Concentration isn’t a place Pooh, it’s a state of mind that one needs to be in in order to play. . ., ” here Rabbit paused dramatically with his arms outspread toward the field, hole and ball, ” Golf! ” 

“Oh I see ,’ said Pooh even though he didn’t, “What’s Goolf?”, asked Pooh. 

Golf is a serious game,” said Rabbit somberly, which is another word for seriously, “for serious people with lots of time on their hands.” 

“How much time does it take?” Piglet asked, wringing his tiny hands. 

“All day, naturally, as befits a serious person.” declared Rabbit proudly. 

“I’m afraid we haven’t got all day,” said Piglet sadly, “we’re heading to a birthday party for the oldest tree in the forest.”

“But Perhaps golf could be your gift to the tree,” offered Pooh, ” it seems like a slow sort of sport and trees are the slow sort.” 

“Well Trees don’t really play golf so much as get in the way of it,” said Rabbit. ” But I have a golfy idea, I’ll see you there. Cheerio!”