Minders' Keepers Sample Submission  Here are sample submissions that will give you an idea of the works called for for Minders' Keepers.   NON - FICTION - THE 16-FOOT PICKLE Summers for working moms can be a challenge finding daycare. My sister-in-law and I decided to take off one day a week to rotate watching all of our kids, that way we could cover at least two days a week and not have to pay for it. We took the kids to local parks, berry picking, and to swimming pools to keep them busy. One such trip was to a museum in Medina, New York where the sign at the ticket booth boasted of a “real 16-foot pickle” inside. I picked up on it, and enjoying my amazement, the ticket seller jumped right onboard. He went on and on about the “real” pickle inside and got the kids whipped up into a frenzy to see it.   Once inside, they ran to the pickle and stopped dead in front of it and began to look around. It was right in front of them but the only thing there was a very large green wooden pickle, left over from a sign from an old pickle factory that was in town years ago. “Where is it, Aunt Andie? Where is the 16-ft. pickle?” they asked bewildered. With the harsh reality hitting me right between the eyes, I said, “That’s it kids.That is the pickle” They were furious. They had been taken! It was a 16-foot pickle – made of “real” wood. The ticket taker had followed us to the display and was killing himself laughing - at their expense - or mine if you count the price of the seven tickets!   The angrier they got, the funnier it was. They stormed to the door in protest and refused to take the rest of the tour. In retrospect, it was well worth the price of the tickets.    FICTION - A BREAD NAMED HERMANN Two weeks ago, my dad brought Herman home in a plastic bowl. He looked like a blob of batter to me but Dad said he was alive. Herman has yeast in him, kind of like a small plant. Dad got Herman at an S.P.B. meeting. He is the only man in the Society for the Propagation of Bread. Dad says he likes belonging to a professional organization like this, after all, homemaking is his career. Mom has a career, too. She works in a big office and wears dressy clothes. People there call her Mrs. Lee. I bet they called her messy yesterday. That was the day Herman went berserk. Dad said he was overfed, but I think he was escaping from his bowl. Herman is a living bread dough. Every five days you have to feed him. He eats flour, sugar and milk. I looked real close at Herman but he didn't seem alive to me. I even put him under a magnifying glass and - zilch - no fur, no teeth, not even fins. I decided he must not have been getting enough to eat. I sneaked into the kitchen and fed him some more ingredients. A few quick stirs and no one could tell. I think he burped out a thank you to me the second time. Dad says that was fermentation. I still think he was talking to me. Maybe I did to too far but Herman was always so pasty white. On my way to the kitchen the next morning, I heard a scream.... story continues  M.P. Fagan, C. 1990 - Not to be used without permission. As published in Sunshine Magazine, Dec. 1990