And that was a crisis that needed to be handled even more delicately than usual because, on that particular day, Mrs. Baxter had a headache. For reasons known only to Mrs. Baxter, whenever she had a headache, Sparky wasn’t allowed inside. It’s worth mentioning that the coincidence never bothered my pal in the least. Back then dogs liked being outside. Don’t get me started. Turns out Sparky had been doing some backyard reconnaissance (on a totally unrelated matter) when, out of nowhere, a squirrel the size of an Irish wolfhound’s head “accidentally” dropped an acorn into our humble-but-adequate water bucket. It was the kerplunk that alerted Sparky to the intrusion, but his justifiable reaction that alerted me to his awareness of it. All hell broke loose which””news flash puppies””is the way hell usually breaks. Don’t get me started. I did my best to assure Mrs. Baxter that there was nothing to worry about””that between the two of us, Sparky and I, the rodent would have better luck establishing permanent residence in a raging bonfire or the cold depths of outer space””but the poor woman was inconsolable and got, in my opinion, uncharacteristically liberal with her jar of aspirin. It goes without saying that what happened next was entirely the rodent’s fault. Sparky and I formed a perimeter around the mighty oak and began, simultaneously, lamenting our physical limitations while sending a commanding message to the squirrel. It was a well-coordinated effort that took hours. That’s how we did things back then. Don’t get me started. Eventually, sometime around sunset, the squirrel had no choice but to realize our commitment to justice and (in a manner that I, to this day, still find irritating) hopped from one branch to another, to a telephone wire, to another tree that happened to be rooted in my good friend Vern’s backyard. Don’t get me started. Vern’s approach was entirely different, which pretty much sums up Vern. Instead of brute force, my neighbor (God rest his soul) engaged the rodent in a short discussion about  “the futility of everything.” In a fraction of the time it had taken Sparky and I to get our point across, Vern had persuaded the squirrel to take its chances on the high-voltage wire betwixt our two properties. Lessons were learned. Which reminds me of the time Mrs. Baxter explained that she was going to have some very important guests over for dinner and asked me to “please, for God’s sake please, do whatever you can to make sure Sparky doesn’t ruin everything.”

Signed,

Morty