A Monkeychip Tale

You may recall the story about the bumblebears, but that isn't the first word I've made up. I renamed chipmunks "monkeychips" as a child. Like all furry creatures--I loved the little guys.

So of course when I found Pepper the dog barking at a monkeychip she'd chased and trapped in a bucket, I wanted to save it. The bucket was about half full of sand, so it was too full for Pepper to knock over, but not full enough for the monkeychip to be close to the rim (and within reach).

Pepper was strong, especially when in pursuit, and I was just a kid. I tried to pull her away, but couldn't overpower her. So I got a dog biscuit (always a surefire bribe) and tried to lure her away. She had none of it. She continued to bark, growl, and paw at the bucket.

My parents had enough sense to keep me from getting too close to the wild, even though I wanted to feed all the furry creatures by hands. I grew up in Colorado, see, where we often had wild bears and mountain lions in my backyard (literally) and where I'd hopped over my share of rattlers sunning themselves on hiking trails. You're liable to have some problems if you don't keep a proper distance.

So I was trying to think of another plan without getting too close and leaned over the bucket to assess the situation. I'd never seen a flying monkeychip before, but in an instant, all four monkeychip paws were clinging to my shirt. I felt the claws on my chest and saw the little guy looking up at me--inches away from my face. I screamed and shook my shirt like you do when you're trying to get crumbs off. That's what you call instinct.

When the monkeychip hit the ground, it made easy prey. I was left to watch Pepper chomp the monkeychip I'd tried to save. Pepper had instincts too.

The last thing I saw was its tail.