Squirrelzilla

I had just finished reading the New York times piece on Fred Thompson when I saw squirellzilla. There he was, Squirrelzilla -- not Fred Thompson -- on the back fence throwing down acorn upon acorn. Good god, man! That big fella must have finished off a dozen of them before he even noticed that I was looking at him.


Squirrelzilla then began to flaunt it that he was outside and I wasn't. He first started by flicking that nappy tail and flaring his nostrils at me. Oh, how I hate it when he does that. Then, the guttural clucking sound started. He excels at irritating me with this.
Cluck..cluck..cluck..

Relax, I told myself. I will not stoop to that rat-like mammal with whom I share less than 90% of DNA sequences. Besides, I prefer the crunchy texture of small bunnies to that fatty squirrel meat.

He picked up the pace and volume. Cluck cluck cluck CLuck ClUCk CLUCK!! He flicked his tail more aggressively.

I began to count to ten, but forgot I can't count. I fumbled for my kong.

Then our eyes locked on to each other. It was the classic stare-down. Who's gonna blink first?! A leaf fell from the tree as I stared coldly into his beady little black eyes.

Then he winked at me.

That was it...time to show him who was the big boss. The door shuttered as I launched into it higher than I ever had before. I remember thinking how I cleared my previous nose smear by at least four rawhides before I crashing down hard on my rear legs.

"Ouch! Something bit me!!" I yelped.

Well that's what it felt like. It reminded me of when Newton used to dig his claws deep into me during our friendly play time, but a lot worse. Squirrelzilla mocked my pain as I limped and yelped out of the room.

Cluck Cluck Cluck Cluck....