Saturday, January 14, 2017

January 14, 2017

Location: Fellsmere, my yard

He sat in the tree, peacefully at first. Then he heard faint rumbling in the distance. He froze in place, trying to blend in. Then he slowly tried to focus his eyes. The rumbling drew closer as panic began to set in.

"Are they coming for me? Are these the mercenaries sent by the Blue Jays? Is this about the Sunflower Seed Incident?"

The rumbling drew closer.

"It wasn't my fault... they have to understand that. The feeder had a hole in it when I got here...."

He stared off in the distance. The rumbling was closer now. A tiny bead of sweat appeared on his brow. He clutched his chest, his heart was beating wildly now. The shadowy figure slowly came into focus. No, it wasn't the mercenaries. It was a photographer and she evidently had Italian for dinner last night. He began to relax for a brief second until a slight wind shift, and the smell hit his tiny nostrils, burning them like acid.

"Oh dear god no!" and he jumped off the feeder and scurried at full speed off into the woods, never to return again to the Simpson bird feeder.

Author's note: This is a true story*. I farted and scared this squirrel as I was trying to take a picture of him. And then when I came in to post the picture, I realized it's my dad's birthday, he would have been 86 today. This one's for you dad, always appreciative of a good fart story.

* Well, it's true except for the "never to return again to the Simpson feeder" part. I just looked and he is back on the feeder. Brave little soul. But I am still locked and loaded... my duty calls...

Photo and text © 2017 Dee Fairbanks Simpson

No comments: