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Authors: Julianna Kozma
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racket, squeaking and chirping, making a loud clicking noise. As soon as it saw Dad it pounced on the screen window of Hannah’s bed, and scrambled outside through a newly chewed hole on the other side of the tent. Sure enough, Emily was right. As the neurotic rodent glanced back for a last look, Dad saw the scar. Then the stumpy tail disappeared through the hole.
“I can’t believe he came back,” said Dad, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s just not possible. I dumped him far away.”
“The cat came back, the very next day,” chanted Hannah under her breath. She thought the whole thing hilarious. As Dad opened the door again, Crazy Squirrel came bouncing over the roof of the camper, hopping closer and closer towards his sworn enemy. More squeaks and trills could be heard in the nearby branches of the spruce as other squirrels joined in on the excitement.
Battle stations! Human attack plans were drawn up. Squirrel territories were invaded. Chases ensued. It was pure and utter chaos.
“This is war,” bellowed Dad as he shook his fist at the brown fur balls frantically running around him. He marched quickly back into the house. A minute later he emerged with the red cooler, cork and string in hand. A bag of peanuts bulged from his pants pocket.
Throughout the morning, squirrels were trapped and forcibly removed to greener pastures many more kilometers away than the Darnley Golf Course. In the end, Dad managed to entice six squirrels into his homemade trap, including the Crazy Squirrel. They were transported, one at a time, to Sea View, located about 8 kilometers away. All this activity used up half a tank of gas. Was it worth it? You bet!
“That should do it,” he nodded with satisfaction. “Got the Crazy Squirrel, and five more to boot. They were insurance, just in case any of them decided to follow in Crazy’s footsteps. Unlike the Acadian deportation of the 1700s, the tree rats got what they deserved.”
Hannah thought it was more about revenge than anything else. No squirrel was going to beat her dad.
The remainder of the day passed quietly. It was a hazy lazy kind of afternoon. The gusting wind turned into a gentle breeze. Across the road from the Blue Lobster, tall yellow rye grass swayed slowly, flirting with the butterflies that hovered above. Hannah watched as small bees gathered pollen from the wild rose bushes that bordered the front porch. Emily bugged Mr. Bean, trying to entice him to wake up from the afternoon nap he was taking in his cage. He was strategically positioned under a red beach umbrella, enjoying the warm weather, head tucked back under his wing, stubbornly ignoring all poking and prodding.
“Hi! My name’s Jack, but my friends call me Jack Jack.”
Surprised at the sudden intrusion, Hannah jumped off the stairs where she had been sitting, quietly reading her Hardy Boys book. She came face to face with a blond-haired blue-eyed boy about her age. Emily came dashing up from the side of the house to critically inspect the strange boy.
“You’ve got freckles,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Yup, and they get worse in the summer,” agreed Jack. “I read somewhere that you can get rid of them by rubbing lemon juice over the spots. So I gave it a shot. Made no difference that I could see, but my ma said I smelled as good as her clean laundry. That’s me, fresh lemony scent Jack Jack.”
He had a big smile plastered across his face as he continued to gaze at the girls, and then the Bean. He did a double-take. Where was the bird’s head?!
“Where are you from?” asked Emily. Hannah hung back, a bit shy. She usually let her sister break the ice first, and then made friends when she was sure they didn’t bite. Sometimes Emily had her uses, thought Hannah. Guess everyone needed to have a use in life, even the Bozo.
“I’m visiting my grandparents. They live just down the field in the back of your house,” said Jack, pointing behind Hannah to George and Helen’s
“I can’t believe he came back,” said Dad, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s just not possible. I dumped him far away.”
“The cat came back, the very next day,” chanted Hannah under her breath. She thought the whole thing hilarious. As Dad opened the door again, Crazy Squirrel came bouncing over the roof of the camper, hopping closer and closer towards his sworn enemy. More squeaks and trills could be heard in the nearby branches of the spruce as other squirrels joined in on the excitement.
Battle stations! Human attack plans were drawn up. Squirrel territories were invaded. Chases ensued. It was pure and utter chaos.
“This is war,” bellowed Dad as he shook his fist at the brown fur balls frantically running around him. He marched quickly back into the house. A minute later he emerged with the red cooler, cork and string in hand. A bag of peanuts bulged from his pants pocket.
Throughout the morning, squirrels were trapped and forcibly removed to greener pastures many more kilometers away than the Darnley Golf Course. In the end, Dad managed to entice six squirrels into his homemade trap, including the Crazy Squirrel. They were transported, one at a time, to Sea View, located about 8 kilometers away. All this activity used up half a tank of gas. Was it worth it? You bet!
“That should do it,” he nodded with satisfaction. “Got the Crazy Squirrel, and five more to boot. They were insurance, just in case any of them decided to follow in Crazy’s footsteps. Unlike the Acadian deportation of the 1700s, the tree rats got what they deserved.”
Hannah thought it was more about revenge than anything else. No squirrel was going to beat her dad.
The remainder of the day passed quietly. It was a hazy lazy kind of afternoon. The gusting wind turned into a gentle breeze. Across the road from the Blue Lobster, tall yellow rye grass swayed slowly, flirting with the butterflies that hovered above. Hannah watched as small bees gathered pollen from the wild rose bushes that bordered the front porch. Emily bugged Mr. Bean, trying to entice him to wake up from the afternoon nap he was taking in his cage. He was strategically positioned under a red beach umbrella, enjoying the warm weather, head tucked back under his wing, stubbornly ignoring all poking and prodding.
“Hi! My name’s Jack, but my friends call me Jack Jack.”
Surprised at the sudden intrusion, Hannah jumped off the stairs where she had been sitting, quietly reading her Hardy Boys book. She came face to face with a blond-haired blue-eyed boy about her age. Emily came dashing up from the side of the house to critically inspect the strange boy.
“You’ve got freckles,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Yup, and they get worse in the summer,” agreed Jack. “I read somewhere that you can get rid of them by rubbing lemon juice over the spots. So I gave it a shot. Made no difference that I could see, but my ma said I smelled as good as her clean laundry. That’s me, fresh lemony scent Jack Jack.”
He had a big smile plastered across his face as he continued to gaze at the girls, and then the Bean. He did a double-take. Where was the bird’s head?!
“Where are you from?” asked Emily. Hannah hung back, a bit shy. She usually let her sister break the ice first, and then made friends when she was sure they didn’t bite. Sometimes Emily had her uses, thought Hannah. Guess everyone needed to have a use in life, even the Bozo.
“I’m visiting my grandparents. They live just down the field in the back of your house,” said Jack, pointing behind Hannah to George and Helen’s
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