Squirrel Hunt - Humor
Dusty Griffiths
requests, here it is. Dusty
Avoid employing a dog pack as your varmint-catching device. Bad
for the health--YOUR health.
Dogs, however, love the exercise.
Evidence: Ddh (Dr.Doolittle Husband) gets a kick out of drinking his
morning coffee while watching his little squirrel friends playing on the
fence. He heightens the fun by putting pieces of apple out on window ledge
for his little squirrel friends to enjoy. He loves this. Gets so the derned
things show up like they're at a coffee shop.
Now, the kitchen window screens are torn at the corners... (you know how
this is... somebody's locked out of the house, they have to break in, poke
those holes through screen so they can undo the little latches.... never
mind.) One bright sunny summer mornning the squirrel gets impatient, out
there on the window sill, waiting for the waiter to come take his order. Ddh
is in the living room, dozing in a chair, failing to perform his squirrelly
food duty. Squirrel decides to come boldly into the kitchen to complain to
the manager.
Dog #1 ambles casually into kitchen, yawns, and discovers squirrel on
counter top. Young Dog #1 goes promptly ballistic, launching himself in to
the air like any self-respecting Missile of Death. Young Dogs #2 and #3 are
alerted by the noise, proceed to kitchen and agree wholeheartedly that this
is occasion for a party. This makes roughly three hundred pounds of dogs. In
seconds, they are airborne as well. Squirrel senses canine holocaust about
to descend, and makes a break for it.
The chase is on. Squirrel leaps off the counter to the floor. He is
nimble. He is quick. But he has a lously sense of direction. Squirrel runs
down the hall, hangs a brisk u-turn, and runs and UP THE STAIRS.
Now, I am Upstairs myself. I am calmly, quietly, going about my 6:00am
business, which is mostly naked business, because I am about to begin
getting ready for work. Have not begun yet, mind you, but will soon.
Listening to radio. Hmmm-mmmm-mmmm. Stretching. Oh yeah. Scratch belly
button.... mmmmm-mmmm. Suddenly, I hear the approach of a distant thunder
storm. No....? Is it.. ... a freight train....? No... perhaps.... a herd of
raging buffalo....? But it is growing rapidly and alarmingly closer... and
suddenly a grey streak comes flying across the bedroom floor, across my
feet, and under the night stand. Close behind, in feverish, single-minded,
determined pursuit are Young Dogs #1, #2, & #3. The thrill of the hunt! The
Call of the Wild! It is magnificent! It is Breathtaking! How could I help
but be caught up in the moment?
I am proud to say I responded with astonishing physical agility--- truly
hard to describe, unless you can picture my middle-aged self completely
naked and leaping up onto the bed flat-footed. And how could I fail to let
my beloved family in on the fun? So I alerted them sweetly, in a bright,
loud, inviting voice:
GEORGE!! THERE'S A SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE A SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE A
SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE GEORGE GEORGE GEORGE A SQUIRREL!!!!SQUIRREL!!!!
GEORGE!!!! GEORGE A SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE GEORGE!!!! GEORGE!! THERE'S A
SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE A SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE A SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE GEORGE
GEORGE GEORGE A SQUIRREL!!!! SQUIRREL!!!! GEORGE!!!! GEORGE A SQUIRREL IN
THE HOUSE!!!!
You get the idea
My daughter, who had been still in bed at the time, was the first to
respond. She ran to my bedroom door, hair wild, eyes foggy, pajamas twisted
and rumpled. Seconds behind her was Dr.Doolittle the Squirrel Lover, come
racing up from the living room where he'd been so contentedly napping when
this little adventure began, only now his eyes were bugged out of his head
and his arms and legs were flapping like that space robot (You
know--"Danger, danger, Will Robinson!!
Young Dogs #1,2,& 3, meanwhile, were yelping, howling, digging, snarling,
swooning, and enthusiastically destroying every shread of carpet and
furniture along side the bed, in an effort to unearth the Grey Intruder who
was cowering there, no doubt speculating about what sort of madhouse he'd
wandered into. I hastened to explain to my family the nature of this little
impromtu event.
SQUIRREL UNDER THE BED, UNDER THE BED SQUIRREL GEORGE GEORGE SQUIRREL
UNDER THE BED SQUIRREL UNDER THE BED GEORGE SQUIRREL UNDER THE BED, UNDER
THE BED SQUIRREL GEORGE GEORGE SQUIRREL UNDER THE BED SQUIRREL UNDER THE BED
GEORGE SQUIRREL UNDER THE BED, UNDER THE BED SQUIRREL GEORGE GEORGE SQUIRREL
UNDER THE BED SQUIRREL UNDER THE BED GEORGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The ungrateful party-pooping squirrel chose this exact moment to break
once again for freedom, streaked OUT FROM UNDER THE BED, and straight at my
daughter in the doorway. She shrieked bloody murder--that shriek was heard
in Minneapolis-- and ran whooping and shrieking to her room to jump up on her
own bed. Meanwhile, faithful, trusty hunter dogs #1, 2, & 3--three hundred
pounds, remember-- cannot be daunted, and they, too, break for the doorway,
hot on the trail, committed to draw blood this day or die trying.
WHOOSH! goes the grey streak.
THUNDER SLAM BANG CRASH BOOM SHATTER RUMBLE ROAR! Goes the trusty pack of
Hunters, past my still goggling, dazed husband, round the corner, knocking
into bookcases, walls, chairs and back down the stairs, inches from the
furry tail of the squirrel. Now the party has returned to the downstairs,
where I can hear that Old Dogs #4 and #5 have joined in in spirit, if not in
the flesh. No longer able-bodied enough to take to the trail as their brave
pack-mates have done, they add moral support by snarling, woofing, yelping,
yiking, yipping and howling along from their places of safety on the couch.
The cacophony is tremendous. It is legendary. It is summer, and all the
windows, remember, are open. And it is 6:05 am.
Whoosh goes the streak, down the hallway, and the bloodthirsty hounds are
fractions of a second behind. Whoosh! down the basement stairs, and the
house trembles from the impact of all those feet thundering down all those
stairs... did I mention this was three hundred pounds of dogs? And that's
not counting the extra hundred pounds cheer leading from the couch in the
living room. Whoosh, goes the grey streak, under the water heater! Slavering
pack has him cornered now!
Except Dr.Doolittle, not far behind, has finally come to his senses.
Shooing and shoving, dragging and hollering, threatening and thumping, he
manages to get the hellhounds back up the basement stairs and close the door.
"What should I do?" he calls up the stairs to me, where I lay gasping for
breath on the bed.
"Open the basement door!" I suggest, somewhat peevishly.
So he does. And the squirrel, bright enough to recognize a golden
opportunity when he saw one, dashed Whoosh! one more time, and to freedom.
We can only imagine the stories he tells his grandchildren.
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Herb Gustafson
Thanks!
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Herb L. Gustafson Bonsai Author
Eugene, Oregon USA Sunset Zone 6
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Gary Marchal
Dusty....
That story is a hoot !!!! Thanks, I really enjoyed it :o))
Best Always
Gary Marchal
Ron Martin
>Thanks!
>***************************************
>Herb L. Gustafson Bonsai Author
No for a change Herb is wrong. It's outrageously funny
Ron Martin Tokonoma Bonsai
r...@tokonoma.com
Check out our Web Page www.tokonoma.com
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Matt
and he hates anything that moves in the garden, even the leaves!. He
would of absolutely loved that.
Thanks!
--
Matt
ICQ 25184412