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NUT-NIBBLING NIGHTMARE! |
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A Menace Walks Among Us!
It's Cleo's Arch Nemesis!
of TheColumnists.com
My friends, a menace walks among us. A small, furry, bushy-tailed menace.
That menace is the squirrel.
I understand your skepticism. Until recently, I myself had no idea that squirrels represented such a threat to the security of the republic. At one point, I thought squirrels were kind of cute.
I now realize I must have been blinded by Disney movies. Cleo has shown me the light.
Cleo, you see, is our new dog. She is part Jack Russel terrier, and part Basset Hound. This makes her a delight around the house, as she has the playful charm of a terrier, alternating with the easy-going, sprawl on the couch nature of a hound.
When she hits the great outdoors, on the other hand, a darker side of her nature reveals itself. My wife and I realized, the very first time we took her for a walk (and I use the word walk advisedly) that Cleo’s heritage also means that she has the tenacity, stamina and “anything other than a dog or a person is vermin” attitude of a terrier, plus the nose of a scenthound. Cleo is, in short, the perfect varmint-hunting machine.
Small woodland creatures view Cleo the way most of us view, say, an incoming ICBM. And the animosity is mutual. Unleashed, Cleo would cut a swath wide and deep across the local squirrel population.
This is a problem, you see, because I had not realized that our otherwise pleasant little corner of Arlington was absolutely OVERRUN with squirrels. They are EVERYWHERE. I am surrounded by squirrels. There is a squirrel on every tree, and a tree in every yard. It sounds nice enough, unless you happen to be attached via leash to Cleo, Cleaver of Squirrels. We don’t go for walks so much as we negotiate obstacle courses of shrubs and trees while zig-zagging through fields and front yards in hot pursuit of frantic, jittery rodents.
Now I see squirrels in my sleep. If I worked for the Bush administration I’d be telling you that squirrels were affiliated with terrorists and were busily reconstituting nuclear weapons.
Actually, wait a minute. Have you ever seen a squirrel in the same picture as an al Qaeda member? Don’t laugh.
Upon spotting or smelling a squirrel, Cleo does not bark, growl or snarl. She is swift and silent. She just takes off, hell for leather, in the direction of her quarry. When she reaches the end of her leash and is brought up short (at some cost to the security of my arm in its socket--30 pounds of terr-hound packs quite a wallop), her disappointment is crushing. She turns and gives me a baleful look, as if to say, “Pal, if you can’t keep up, just let go of the leash; I got this one.”
Have you ever been the recipient of condescension from a dog? Keeps your ego in check. She seems annoyed that I insist on showing off and only using my back legs.
Fully half of our squirrel encounters end with the critter in question being so struck with awe at this approaching killing machine that it simply freezes. Much the reaction I assume I would have if I were swimming and suddenly saw a shark advancing in my direction with malice in its heart. Either that or these squirrels have grossly misplaced faith in the strength of my arm. Fortunately, to date, Cleo has always run out of leash before closing the distance to the paralyzed potential victim.
Cleo, of course, thinks all this is great fun. After half an hour, she practically swaggers back into the house, having kept the neighborhood safe from the furry peril. I, meanwhile, collapse on a sofa and wonder why we didn’t get a goldfish.
I suppose the good news is that if the apocalypse ever comes, Cleo will keep our humble larder well-stocked with squirrels. The bad news is that I don’t have any recipes. Is squirrel red meat or white, do you think?
Some firm obedience training will no doubt mitigate Cleo’s homicidal instincts. I hope. But I suspect she will always harbor ill will towards the furry little miscreants scurrying around our yard, acting like they own the place. And, really, that’s part of her charm.
I just need to reattach
my arm to my shoulder periodically, that’s all.
©2003 by Patrick McFadden. The illustration is from IMSI's
Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael,
CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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