I sat outside the other night. A plate of nuts and olives, a bit of cheese, and a nice glass of Speyside scotch…all to go with a gentle breeze and the blue, blue skies you get only up in the mountains. Six feet away from me, laying in the tall grass that stretches away from one side of my RV site, were two big bull elk, napping and being generally lazy.
It was the kind of night you get only when you are able to live in a place like Yellowstone. Even back in Colorado — in the “southern” Rockies — you don’t really get those evenings. And for those who just visit Yellowstone? The pace to take advantage of the few days most visitors have in the park is simply too frenetic to allow a true slow-down, let alone a true evening just to sit back and soak it all in.
So, there I was, having the perfect evening…until my neighbor started in on me. He started screaming at me, cussing me out in no uncertain terms, and letting me know just what he thought of my obnoxious habits. Now, I’m a pretty big guy, and pretty fearless, so normally that kind of thing just sets me off…but not this time. This particular neighbor, I should explain, weighs about 700 pounds and stands over ten feet tall.
Err…at least in his mind.
In reality, he weighs about a pound, and stands about four inches tall…but you’ll never convince him of that. In his own eyes, he’s the biggest freaking grizzly in all 2.2 million acres of the park. I’m not joking about this — this damned squirrel is the most fearless, aggressive thing I’ve ever met. Look, I’ve stood ten feet from a mother grizzly with a cub and been less worried about getting attacked than when this little bastard starts getting pissed at me…
And he’s found his way into my trailer.
Holy shit, this freaking super-villain of a squirrel is bringing the fight to me!
I try to fight back, I really do. I try to fight back, but I’m quickly turning into Carl Spackler. I look up “squirrel fighting methods” and they do nothing. I try something different, and still nothing. So I pull out the stops and try something more serious, severe even…and Ernest Squirrelfeld just strokes his tiny white cat and laughs at me. “No, Mr Human, I expect you to die!”
I can hear the little bastard taunting me. Hell, right now as I write this, he’s up on a branch just out of my reach, chittering at me like a furry little demon.
Anyone have the number for the Acme Rocket Company?