Remember this guy?
Our portly squirrel, whom we've nicknamed Franklin.
He often hangs out on our fence.
Staring placidly at our dog Dylan, while Dylan barks wildly.
And in vain.
Dylan decides it's time to take action.
Squirrel Franklin has discovered a bag of kitchen refuse,
on its way to the trash can, but parked there just for a moment.
Dylan is barking so madly, his ears are flying up and down.
"Yo. You barkin' at me?
You wanna piece o'this?"
Franklin is not fazed by the hubbub happening
just inches away from him. He's goin' in, no matter what.
"Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark . . . ."
And . . . "Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark Bark . . . . "
"Yo, chump. Thanks for the eats.
I'm outta here."
I think if we could see closely enough, we might see
a one-fingered Jersey salute from Squirrel Franklin to Dylan.
Dylan takes refuge across the room, where he can curl up on
the back of the club chair, and lean against Annie's head.
And now, it's Sunday, and we're making a small beginning
in our Christmas decorating. There are lights on Franklin's fence.
I need to get the very last of the Autumn decorating into the cellar.
Pumpkins and Santas don't co-exist gracefully, do they?
Have a lovely Sunday! -- Cass
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