Terrier

Squirrels feared him.  And so they should have.

He was a terrier. A mighty Border Terrier.  His bark was equal to his bite.

That summer evening, he sat on the back porch waiting.  Waiting. Waiting for the exact right moment. Waiting.  Then it happened: A fat squirrel came down the oak tree and jumped on the bird feeder.  AH-HA! The trap had been set.  The terrier’s butt twitched — it was the only sign of his impending attack.  Three…..Two……One….. SPROING!! Hermes could not have sprung to life faster than the little brown dog.

Ten yards. There were ten yards between him and his prey.  Nine yards. Eight yards. The squirrel, busily eating out of the feeder, was oblivious to the speeding brown bullet headed right toward him.  Seven yards. Six yards.

A stick snapped under the dog’s feet. The squirrel looked up and panicked. Heading toward him at an ever-increasing speed was a four-legged squirrel killing machine.  He screamed a squirrel scream and fell to the ground.  Four yards. Three yards.

The squirrel ground all four claws into the ground and scampered up the tree. Squirrel scat marked where he had landed. Two yards. One yard.

A sharp pain shot up the squirrels spine. OUCH! The now, bob-tailed squirrel shot up the tree, escaping with only his life.

The dog had part of a squirrel tail in his mouth.  “Tastes like chicken, ” he thought as he proudly carried his trophy back to the house.  It was the equivalent of Charlie Brown kicking the football.  The terrier wagged his tail in victory.