Scott and The Squirkle

- Would you like a snack?

- Would I, would I!!!

- Oh, I thought you were a squirrel...

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I'd like to dedicate this next tune...

...to all you Hoomans out there, who think you can beat us Squirkles.

Hit it, Ralph!

I'm lurking in your closet
Never seen likes before
Amazing Squirkle bodies
Breathing, lurking at your door

We've come to terrorize you
Broken bodies with a score
We'll really never give up
You're fate is sealed for sure

The night's not over yet
You can't escape me
You really cant forget
You can't escape me
The party's just begun
You can't escape me
You can try, that makes this more fun!

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25 pull-ups todays…
Tomorrow - victories!!
Beware, hooman!

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The hooman put up a fence! Over.
What?? Where? Over.
Outside his barracks. Over.
So, no access??

Over.

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So... the hooman said he doesn't likes the dog...

Yeah?
So we likes dogs unless they chase us!

Yeah?

So we wanted to lets the dog out...

Yeah?

But the door was locked.

Oh. So?

So we rented a John Deere to help us gets in...

Yeah?

And we charged the hooman's credit cards!! 

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♫♪♩♬♭♮♯

Moon, over the Hooman...

♫♪♩♬♭♮♯

Moon, Hooman, wider than a mile...

♫♪♩♬♭♮♯

I see a ba-ad Hooman rising

♫♪♩♬♭♮♯

What a lovely night for a Hoo-dance

♫♪♩♬♭♮♯

Blu-u Hooman, you saw me standin' alone...

♫♪♩♬♭♮♯

Hoo-mans in the moonlight...

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Squirkle Child: Mom - who's that?                                        

Squirkle Mom: You mean, what's that?
Squirkle Child: What do you mean, what?

Squirkle Mom: It's not a who, it's a what.

Squirkle Child: What do you mean?

Squirkle Mom: Exactly.

Squirkle Child: Huh?

Squirkle Mom: No, what.

Squirkle Child: What, what?

Squirkle Mom: Right!

Squirkle Child: I don't get it.

Squirkle Mom: I hope not. It can make you ill.

Squirkle Child: What are you talking about?
Squirkle Mom: You've got it!

Squirkle Child: I do? What?

Squirkle Mom: Yep.

Squirkle Child: I give, Mom.

Squirkle Mom: It's ok, Junior. Well, it's not, but it is.                              

Squirkle Child: Sure.

Squirkle Mom: Go to sleep now.

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Scott: So, who do you think *you* are, the Stooges?
Squirkles: Nah. No Moe. Eenie, Meenie and... Mine.

Scott: Doncha mean "Mineee?"

Squirkles: Nope. Mine.

Like, all *mine*, hooman? Hahahahahaha!

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(Snicker)

(Snicker)

(Snicker)

(Snicker)

Get it?

SNICKERS!

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- Ya know what they call us?
- Who?
- The Hoomans...
- Wha'?
- Big things, kinda slow and...
- Yeah, yeah... I mean...Whadathey call us?
- Sciurus vulgaris!!!

- Yeah, so what is scurry vulgar?

- (silence)

- Oh.... OH! Yeah well you know what I call *them*??

- What?

- Rattus bastardis!!
- Rat what? Oh! Ha. HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

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Nut alert! All troops ready? Over!!

 Say what, sir? I'm havin' my tea! Over.

                                                                     

Nut alert! Situation SNAFU! Over!

Sorry sir, just getting a trim and brush at the hair salon. Over.

                                 Oh for Pete's sake...  this is a NUT ALERT!! Over!


Pete's not here, sir. He's runnin' on telephone lines. Over.

                                                    Ok... send in the B Squad.Over.

                                                                              Ready, sir! Be there - soons!

Uh... over? Yeah. Over.

Over.

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Squirkle - Why, hello there! Do you have a minute?

Scott - For you, rodent? Never! Now get outta here!

Squirkle - But I have an interesting tract for you to read - it will just take a moment of your time!

Scott - I said beat it, you nasty little lice-infected snot!

Squirkle - Oh, dear me, sounds like someone could use a nap - or perhaps I can give you a little pep talk? If you just take a moment...

- (Slam!)

Squirkle 2 - Good distraction job, Harold! I've gained access through the rear window! 

Squirkle - PLUNDER!!

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Squirkle: She got strawberries! Score!!
Scott: No, nope. There are NO razor blades in that berry. Honest.

Squirkle: (silence)

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- Got it! Over.

- That the last one? Over.

- Yep. 10 rolls... hee hee. Over.

- Got the camera set up? Over.

- Yep! (Giggle). On motion detect. Over.

- Got the glue on the seat? Over.

- (SNORT) Abso-tively! Oh..oh..over (hahahahahaaha)

- Come on in, Ralph! We owe ya an acorn and a beer! Over. And out.

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Hooman: Ah, what a beautiful day to sit out in the yard, sunbathing! Just me, a nice drink and some M&Ms. 

                                                                                <PLOP>

Hooman: AUGH!

                WHAT THE.... I'll get you, varmint!

(snicker)

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- One foot, buster! Just one...

- Oh yeah? You think I'm scared of you! This is MY house and  I'm not gonna step over your silly line.

- I dare ya! 

- Ha!

- I DOUBLE dare ya!

- Double ha. Leave me alone. I'm planting bulbs.

(sniff, grumble, snort, fume)

- Oh yeah?? Well... I DOUBLE DOG dare ya!

- How DARE you, rodent!

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- What's that smell??

- Dunno, lemme get a whiff...  OMG!! (gag, sputter...)

- Yeah, that's what I tol' ya!

- Wait - it's the HOOMAN!

- Dead??

- Nah, just eating at the picnic table... wait a second!

- What??

- OMG - baked beans! HAZMAT ALERT!!

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- I'd like to check this book out, please.                                         

- The Big Book of Scots? Are you Scottish?

- Ha, not hardly! I'm planning a war!!

- With the Scots?

- There can be only one.

- There are lots of Scots.

- You're kidding, really?

- Sure! They wear kilts, and eat Haggis, and drink whiskey...

- He does??

- Huh?

- I have to go now, I'll come back for the book. I have to call the team together! 

- Oh, right - the Highland Games are coming up!

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- Your honor, in closing, the defendant planted his tulip bulbs 20 inches deep, he put poison pellets in his snack bags, he hid sticky paper on the garage roof, and he left laxative-infused nuts all over the backyard!

- And?

- He's stuck on the garage roof throwing up tulip bulbs while pooping all over my nest!

- I see.

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- Alert! Home base!

- Come in Away Team?

- We have gained entry. Repeat, we have gained entry!

- Way to go, Away Team! Any sign of the Hooman?

- Leftovers, Home base!! 

- Grab them, Away Team. 

- Roger, Home base!

- Then commence Project CHAOS (create horrific assault on Scot!!)

- Aye, aye, sir! (giggle)

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- So he poked me in the nose.

- Yeah?

- Then he poked me in the tummy

- Ouch!

- Then he wiggled my arm, and pulled my tail!

- Holy nuts, why?
- Dunno. He just kept yelling about a _)#*%&# laptop not working. And he needs his he-male. 

- (snort)

    

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- De fence, he says! Ha.

- Whaddya mean?

- He said he was going on De Fence.

- Yeah?

- I said, what fence? DE fence, he says. 

And he's gettin' mad. Y'know how he does. (Snicker)

- So what about da fence?

- I dunno, I can climb it and get his bulbs anyway.

Scott: Turned on the Electricity. HaHA!

I Roundhouse kicked the electri-city all the way to Chuck Norris!

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So, the hooman chased me...
..and he couldn't really keep up with me!

Why not just climb a tree?

That'd be too easy. So, I ran under a bench...

Yeah?

And he jumped over it.

Yeah?

And I ran along a fence...

Yeah?

And he opened the gate so I hadda jump

Yeah?

And I ran along a tree branch over a pond...

Yeah?

And he ran on it, too...

Yeah, yeah?

And then I ran UNDER it!

YEAH!

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Psst... where are you? I'm right under his window... about to deploy Operation Hooman!

QUIET! I'm hiding here under the bed!

What the heck are you doing there??

Waiting for him to fall asleep, dummy!

I thought you needed help finding the fool? If he's right there, why do you need help!?

Food. I need help finding the FOOD!
Roger that. I'll be in the kitchen. Waiting for you. Heh-heh.

WHAT? Wait... hey! HEY! 

(Snore....)

---------------------------------------------------

You know that guy who hates squirkles?
Yeah... he's a meanie!
Yeah, but I got the key to his car!!

Hee. Heeheehee....

-----------------------------------

Hooman: I'm here, over
Squirkle: I've got a warning, over

Hooman: Oh yeah? What? Over.

Squirkle: All your foods are belong to ME! Over. And out.

Hooman: No you get out! Over.

(Ominous silence.)

Over.

------------------------------------

Get thee gone, hooman!

----------------------

Mom, I don't feel so good...

What's wrong?

Well, I snuck in that guy's house...

I've told you not to do that! He's such a meanie!
Well, he had some POPCORN!

Did you eat any????
Just a little... and then I started sneezing and farting!
Oh, Junior! You must have Scotphylus! In bed with you. A week's quarantine...
Can I watch TV?

Ok... but stay under his bed while he's watching...

Ok mom!!

______________________________

The hooman did it again...

What? C'mon out of the pool...

I. Can't.

Whatsamatter?

That )(*&)(*&$^ hooman! He put vodka in the pool!

What, again?
That's ok. Wait'll he finds out what I put in his bathtub... (snort)

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I'm bored...
Why?
The hooman...he's no challenge!
Whadya mean?
I mean he's not even trying! I do my best, I make noise, I eat his bulbs, I invade his space... I just EXIST!
Well, jeesh man, that oughta be enough for the Scott-Hooman!  How about if I help you!

(Slap-slap)

Team! Squirkle!

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WARRRRR!

We've got the Viking Raiders?
Yessir.

The Irish Rovers?
Aye, sir.

The Scots Brigade?
I ken, sir.

Um, sir..

Yes?

I think they just got into the Clairol's.

The redheads?

Um, yeah..

Never mind, war's off.

The Peg-Legged Lady

The summer the hired hand arrived it was ten years since she had lost her leg. It was lost long in her memory and suddenly. She walked on a peg-leg, now. The leg was a long smooth shaft of polished mahogany that was attached with braces and straps, just above and below her knee, which remained.

Meggon was hanging clothes the day he arrived; a dry, windy day, filled with sunshine and the early-pregnant smells of summer.

She looked fresh standing by a bushel basket, lined with fabric, and full of wet, clean wash. 

Meggon was pretty - a timid, nervous sort of pretty: thin-lipped and big-eyes, with fine, flax-like hair that slipped from pins and ribbons and drifted about her face. Pretty in a tense, expectant way.

The wet clothes attached to the line by thick, wooden clothes pins flapped in the solid wind, little droplets of water tossed from them like sprinkling rain.

Meggon turned, with her fragile sort of interest and her incongruous fevered eyes, to the lane, as her father's truck bumped up it toward the yard. Her father brought with him in his green pickup truck a man; the man's things were piled, not carefully, in the bed. She could see they were talking loudly before the engine was shut off, when their voices suddenly filled the silence left by the engine. Her father's was deep and humorous, the new voice dark, and intense.

The screen door to the kitchen remonstrated; Meggon heard Caroline, her sister, with her pretty singing voice as she greeted the men. The wet sheets pushed heavily on Meggon's back as she turned to watch Caroline greeting the men.

"You can get lunch on now, Caroline," she heard her father say. "Ben's a hungry young man."

Their father was getting old. Small signs evinced his age. His bigness was shriveling. He could no longer overwhelm a room as he once had; his eyes beneath heavy and stray-haired eyebrows were dull. Now Joseph Juniper was an old, whitened, eroded man, with two spinster daughters in their thirties to protect. So he had finally brought in a hired man; he who had told his young wife, Carol, when they bought the property that no other man would, as long as he lived, touch shovel to it. He had said that with the pride and jealousy of a husband, who will keep his wife for no seed but his own.

Meggon bent and raised her clothes basket to her hip, empty now of the wet and heavy wash, and stood watching the men. Evidently, the bad fruit of her father's sire and his age had reduced his jealousy, and he was trying to inject something virile into the last days of his life. They headed, talking loudly, to the barn. Meggon watched until they disappeared, and then walked, in thumps and steps, into the house.

   

Inside, the house was cool, as big, tree-shaded houses are, smelling clean and nourishing. Meggon's eyes settled into the dim interior. A small, busy mud-room, filled with old jackets and barn boots led into the kitchen. The room smelled of the barn, a deeply fragrant and womanish smell, like a hint of secret cologne. Meggon discarded the empty basket on a wringer washer that stood at one end of the long, red and yellow painted kitchen, and walked towards Caroline's back, where she stood at the sink washing fruit and putting it into a big, red bowl.

"You met him. What's his name?" Meggon asked, brushing her hair back from her brown eyes.

"Ben Ramo," Caroline said, lightly, friendly. Her fingers, long and smooth, slid over the peaches. She smiled a faint, delicate smile. Plump Caroline, the tiny veins on her cheeks and nose so close to the surface that she blushed pink with the clean health that pressed out of the bosom of her house dress.

Caroline, like her fruit, blushed with ripe development, round, firm, well-fleshed. Caroline, with her long and heavy legs that she used so sparingly, walking slowly, standing still. If Meggon had those legs, she thought, she would run until they trembled so that she could never forget they were there. Meggon loved Caroline, and Caroline nurtured Meggon.

Ben Ramo and Joseph Juniper filled the kitchen then; the loudness of their breathing in sharp contras to the waitful stillness of the women and their muted sounds.

"At least you'll never go hungry, Ben," said Joseph, as they seated themselves at the long plank table covered with a red plastic cloth.

"Doesn't seem that way," Ben replied, matter-of-fact, deep.

"You ain't met but one 'a my girls. Caroline's sister there, Margaret. Meggon, this is Ben Ramo."

Meggon approached with reserve that seemed shyness, held out a hand, large for her small frame, big-knuckled and strong. Ben took her hand without standing, avoided her eyes; instead he stared with insouciance at her peg-leg. His grip was warm, firm, and brief; long fingers, clean nails and warm-colored skin from which full veins stood out. His face had the same quality, but there was a shadow on it that Meggon took to be unshaven beard, and the effect of his long, black hair and pale skin. She could not see his eyes.

Caroline and Joseph Juniper talked during the meal; Meggon was still from habit; the hired man busied himself eating wolfishly. Caroline refilled his plate three times, not concerned, calm and bountiful. The men, after the meal, sat and smoked pipes, talking. Meggon and Caroline cleared the table.

"He eats so..." Meggon whispered to Caroline as they cleaned up in the kitchen.

"Just like a hungry cat," Caroline said, laughing softly.

88888888888888888888

Meggon had watched her cat mating. She had been twenty then. That cat was nine months old. It was a small cat, with slate grey fur, white around the legs. A small, green-eyed cat that rolled at her feet and purred distantly; washed its face with its candy-pink tongue, licking its paws to wipe every speck from its nose and head. Meggon had stood, transfixed, quiet, near the barn door. The two cats had sought the darkness for mating, and now Meggon peered at them from behind the sliding wooden door - intruding, stealthy, sly. 

*********************

Meggon sat quietly, near a low fire, a book in her hands. She watched Joseph Juniper. He sat inside; outside it was early spring, and gusts of wind spun around the house and wrapped the inhabitants in their cocoon of warmth. Joseph sat with his eyes closed, in the corner of the sofa, a hand laid, palm open and fingertips on the sofa arm, the other meditatively stroking his pant leg. He had been found, sixty-three years before, on the front porch of a Methodist family on Juniper Street. The family named the abandoned baby boy after the mayor, Joseph Hoyt, and after the street they lived on. Later, he had joined the Roman Catholic Church, and was asked to leave the house. He was ready to go. So he married his sweetheart, Carol, a frail and honest lady, and they had managed, with her dowry, to buy a farm. But now he was tired.

Meggon closed her book, listening to the crackle of the logs on the grate, and the small sounds of  Caroline, who had begun putting away the left-overs, adding the waste to a slop bucket for the hogs, and moving plates and pans to the sink for washing.

"Caroline," their father called, his eyes still closed, his fingers still plucking at his pant leg.

"What is it?" she called back from the kitchen, her voice warm, smooth, thick as porridge.

"Bring me a drink."

Caroline glanced at Meggon as she entered the room, then headed to the cabinet where the liquor was stored. She poured some whiskey, neat, into a glass, and carried it to her father. She delivered it, and a crocheted coaster, then sat next to him on the sofa, surrounding herself in the the peace of the warm room.

"He's been working out well, hasn't he?" she nodded toward the window, where the barn was framed, where Ben was doing the evening chores.

"Huh," her father replied, taking a large sip from his drink. He drank a great deal; he always had, but now her was too weary to sweat away the dissipation. He had gotten very drunk that time he had been at the lawyer's, Meggon knew. He was brooding now, quiet, jaded.

Ben Ramo had, in two years, wedded the farm, a second husband to an insatiable mistress, and Meggon's father was sick of living, glutted with days and hours. he felt pride and love for Ben, but there were weak and slender emotions, and were too dilute to suck life from.

Meggon had slowly formed a friendship with Ben. He was a dark and dissatisfied man; only twenty-seven years old. He was not humorous or pleasant. Evenings, he and Meggon would sometimes walk abut the farm, in silences punctuated by Meggon's staccato walk, or in strangled, difficult conversation.

For Meggon, the wildness and badness of the man was a kind of food which she took eagerly after Caroline's constant but bland nurture.

Meggon stepped out from the warm living room to the doorstep, wrapping herself in a heavy green sweater with saucer buttons and a sailor collar. The evening was cool and had a touch of fragrance; spring had only just begun and snow still lay in the hollows and deep in the woods. 

She could hear the sounds of Ben, in the barn, filling the mangers. He must have gone to the back door for the slops - the two fat sows were crying for their dinner. They were both soon to have litters, little, round, pink pigs, most of them to be fattened and slaughtered. Meggon pitied them in their stupidity. Each spring the two sows that were allowed to live would drop some piglets; they would lay bloated and greedy and obligingly getting fatter, thinking they were some sort of gods, only to be sent without mercy to the butchering shed.

Ben closed the sliding barn door and came over to Meggon, his boot buckles clinking faintly.