Captain Squirrely Strikes Again

Carol had borrowed a tractor from Donald to cut one of Bobchi's fields with. She cut most of the day on Sunday, before ominous clouds appeared on the horizon, and she was forced to abandon her chore and leave the tractor and attached bushhog parked beside the shop overnight.

Of course, nothing escapes the wary eye of my arch-nemesis, Captain Squirrely. What you or I might mistake for mere happenstance, Captain Squirrely sees as a ripe opportunity for destruction.

There was danger in the air Monday afternoon, as Carol, Shiloh, and I got out of the car at Bobchi's farm. As I cautiously surveyed my surroundings, some sixth sense drew my attention to the tractor, parked mere feet away from where I was standing.

There, seated menacingly behind the wheel, was Captain Squirrely. I could see the pure evil that glinted wickedly in his eyes as he flicked his tail and chuckled morbidly. In his gnarled paws, this innocent agricultural tool was about to become a macabre weapon of terror and oppression.

Summoning all of my strength and courage, I charged the tractor. For a moment, Captain Squirrely grinned wildly as he reached for the key, obviously envisioning my imminent downfall -- but froze as he realized that his small stature prevented him from reaching the clutch pedal, an essential part of the ignition process.

Before he could recover from this unanticipated blunder, I was upon him, driving him back toward the shop. Hurling a string of obscenities over his shoulder, he scurried up the shop door and sat, just out of reach, regarding me with a cold and piercing glare.

Spitting with anger, he was forced to concede that the battle was already lost. Turning tail, he flitted across the door frame, along the roof, and over the remaining few feet of grass that separated him from the security of the maze of small trees and twisted branches that grow along the west fence. Hurling one final oath in my direction, he flicked his tail and disappeared into the obscurity.

He lives still, even now plotting his next move in our ongoing chessgame for farm domination. While today's terrors were fortunately averted, tomorrow's remain a persistant and looming threat. But faint not, gentile reader. Even this evil rodent genius is no match for the awesome power of the Confederate Canuck.