From The Tree Part 3: Business Lunch

The air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers, something the bees appreciated greatly. Mister and Miss Sparrow were having a siesta with their chicks and the rustling leaves snored along with them. Their chicks were nearly old enough to leave the nest and start their own adventures, times like these were few, and precious. Miss Sparrow watches over all of them lovingly.

But like all good things... a scritching scratching sound pattered underneath them on the fence. Mister Sparrow, Mortimer, opened an eye and looked over the edge of the nest, four squirrels and one chipmunk, this must be the troupe Gladys keeps telling him about. The noisy ones. Gladys nuzzled him excitedly. Happy to see It was those gits again! Back for another tussle with that confounded hound. Should be entertaining to see what they've come up with this time! Well, so long as none of them get hurt and they keep it down.

The group lined up along the fence as normal, but this time they all had a strange glint to them. It was hard to see, but it looked to Mortimer like they were all carrying some sort of clear sacks among other supplies, string and whatnot. Were those cut up sausage pieces? How curious. He cocked his head at Gladys inquisitively, who looked just as perplexed back at him. This was new.

Francis was right, a new can of Watkins had appeared on that same rickety folding table. A much larger one this time no less. He had watched the portly, bald, elderly man put it out there himself three days ago. He could not discern the flavour from here, but the Watkins logo was clear as day to him. A loose pile of unshelled nuts rendered in pastel colours contained within a yellow diamond. Below in artistic calligraphy was scrawled 'Watkins' in deep brown ink. Designed originally by Tamara Star in 1991, it replaced the old logo which was merely a cartoonish peanut shell inside a yellow circle.

With that he'd put out the call to his compatriots, they gathered the unsold hot dogs the day before, Stored them in the house's old root cellar after having sliced them into portions as per Harold's instruction. Bringing them here in several bags, one for each of them. Their target was snoring on the lawn, basking in the midday sun. After his fill of peanuts the other week, he did indeed feel a bit ill. Truth be told, they weren't much to his liking.

They all looked at Harold, who nodded back at them. Francis took a deep breath and looked at Chuck. His friend shrugged, put two fingers to his lips, and whistled loudly. It was time to see if the mad squirrel truly knew what he spoke. It took a moment, but Sheffield roused at the sound, smacking his lips, confused. Then he noticed them, and when he did, he barrelled towards the fence. Jowls flapping barking and snarling at the quintet out of his reach. The family of sparrows winced collectively at the sound. But were nonetheless intrigued. What were they doing?

Chuck took one meat disc from his bag, thicker than his arm, it was heavy and unwieldy. Looking at Francis questioningly, who looked at Harold much the same. Harold nodded curtly, eyes casual, stroking his chin fur. Francis turned back to Chuck with a shrug, to which he sighed and, well, chucked the piece towards the barking mongrel. The group watched as it lodged deep in his throat. Barks changed to hacks, coughs and pained wheezes, Chuck looked at Francis with concern, this wasn't supposed to happen, was it?

Flicking his tail. Nose a-twitch with mild panic, Francis looked at him and the others as the dog rolled on the grass, coughing madly. Getting back to his feet, he planted them, tensed, and focused all his breath into one loud hack. Sending the impeding chunk of meat bouncing into the lawn. Sheffield sneezed and shook his head, then lapped up the slimy sausage chunk into his gullet, to everyone's disgust. He looked up at them, confused.

He opened his mouth to bark again, but Chuck held up another piece. Sheffield closed his mouth, grumbling and licking his lips uncertainly, shifting in place. Chuck flicked his wrist downwards. The dog's ears perked, head tilting to the left, bemused. Chuck flicked again, harder. Sheffield, disgruntled, but also fond of hot dogs, sat with a thump. Chuck tossed him the piece of sausage, made with 100% absolutely totally real meat as determined by the results of Henry Mulden v Never Better Hot Dogs LLC 2003. He was mesmerized as the dog's jaws snapped it cleanly out of the air, swallowing it instantly, it was a wonder he didn't choke all over again. But it was working? He looked at Harold sheepishly, convinced of his claims now.

Harold moved next to Chuck and Francis, and motioned to Gerry and Darlene with his right hand. The two of them nodded, and put down their sacks of hot dog pieces. Leaving towards the west side of the fence with many sandwich baggies and a spool of thread. Sheffield's eyes followed them closely, but a sharp squeak brought his attention back to the remaining three. Chuck tossed him another treat. Harold grabbed a meat disc from his own bag and put his hand on Francis' shoulder reassuringly. Chuck sighed, putting their hot dog bags down, they left to follow Darlene. They knew that Harold would be fine on his own.

Sheffield kept his eyes fixed on Harold, or rather, the treat in his paws. Harold squeaked joyfully at him as he threw him the treat. Sheffield was already learning, that was good. Dogs are not so different from the residents of the house, they want things just the same. He pulled out another treat, the things the dog wanted may be different, even opposed to what he and other squirrels want, but the same rules apply. Sheffield deftly snatches the treat out of the air. The problem Francis had was that he believed the only option was to work against the dog, instead of working with him. Harold pulled out another piece. Sheffield waited patiently. On the west side of the fence, Gerry and Darlene began their descent, Francis and Chuck weren't much further behind.

Harold looked at Sheffield, sitting, licking his lips. Sheffield would learn that he would get what he wanted if he in turn gave him and his friends what they wanted. For now, Sitting quietly away from them was enough.

Gerry arrived first on the deck, His paws burning a bit from the sun soaked boards. He wasn't sure about this plan, but he would make things up to Chuck somehow. He saw Harold throw another piece to the dog as Darlene climbed up beside and then past him, onto the table. With a gulp, he followed her. Sheffield turned, hearing the wobbling of the table. Gerry froze, but he remembered Harold stating to stay put if this happened, so he stayed as put as a stone. His legs were shaking too much to run anyways. Darlene was much more relaxed, he didn't know how she did it, experience probably. Harold whistled loudly, Sheffield snapped his head back to him, holding another treat up. He was torn, does he go for the rodents... that he's never once caught... and who are all the way over there...?

Those rats can do what they like, he's eating hot dogs.

Gerry blinked, it was amazing, Sheffield was ignoring them! This was not an opportunity to be missed. Darlene popped the lid and peeled away the seal, the smell was just as divine as before, same flavour as well. Gerry jumped into the large can. She handed him a bag and both of them got to work filling them in earnest. Harold watched with a smile as he directed the dog to follow him along the fence eastward, clicking his tongue as they went. Feeding Sheffield another treat once they were nestled in the northeast corner, far away from any of the others, behind the bird bath.

Harold had no reason to hate or fear him, for he understood the mind of a dog. He looked over to see that Gerry and Darlene had nearly finished with the first two sacks already. Gerry tied a string around each. Darlene plopped the roll of bags beside him, along with the string, Grabbing his finished bag, which was nearly as large as he was, and hoisting it out of the can with both hands. She dragged it and her own to the end of the table with some effort.

Looking over the edge of the table, Francis waved up at her while Chuck waited skittishly beside him, she dropped the two sacks down to them, Chuck caught his with a bit of a huff. Francis was flattened by the impact of the other, Chuck just shook his head and helped him up. Carrying the bags to the railing, they each pushed them through and let them fall to the grass. Returning to wait for the next batch under the table, Francis determined not to make a fool of himself again.

Gerry was nearly done filling another two sacks as Darlene returned. Seeing him shovelling nuts inside with both paws, she was surprised just how swift he was about it, as well as his deftness with knots, very talented. She lifted the two new sacks out while he began on another, the can was more than half empty already.

Harold wished he had more time with this one, He was quite friendly. Only chasing them because they threatened his domain. Now he was not even growling at him. Looking up at Harold with a panting smile, expectant of the next piece. Harold was running quite low on treats unfortunately, down to his last bag's worth. But no matter, he could see it would be more than enough. The others had worked quicker than expected. He only wished he'd had more time. Attention like this seemed all too brutish and manipulative for his taste. But a more mutually beneficial and understanding relationship would take time to build. For now, this would do. Once Francis and his friends understand the finer points themselves, he could leave it to them.

Gerry's nails scraped against the bottom of the can as he did his best to fill the last bag. But there was a trite too much left to fit. Exasperated, he tied the bag off. Darlene returns to the can, stretching briefly before looking inside to grab the next sack, seeing Gerry's cheeks puffed to the brim, a bit of a nut poking out of his mouth as he climbed out of the can past her. She could only shrug. Grabbing the bag and making their escape as swiftly as possible they met the other two on the grass. Seven large bags of nuts lay in a heap including the last they'd brought themselves. Gerry was never going to be able to carry one of those on his own, so the task fell to the rest of them. He did help secure two bags each on Chuck and Darlene's backs, Only one for Francis. With great effort they dug their claws into the ratty wooden fence and climbed. Hearts pumping in unison, fearing the dog would choose this moment of all to chase them. But when they reached the top and caught their breath, they could see that Sheffield was still just as placated as before. Completely uninterested in their goings on's. Chuck and Darlene ferried the last two bags to the top.

Good thing as well, since Harold was now holding the very last of the treats. He looked over to see the others dragging the bags to an intersecting fence. He tossed the last piece to Sheffield, clenched the crumpled hot dog bags under his arm and, made his way westward along the north fence. Sheffield, for his part, did not follow. He looked towards Harold, somewhat perplexed at all that had just transpired. He found that he didn't want to chase him, he didn't know quite what he wanted at the moment. Except, perhaps, a nap. He'd had quite the feed of hot dogs.

Chuck regarded Harold somewhat coldly, his plan having worked far better than he'd ever like to admit. But he did admit it, and thanked Harold for his efforts. On flat ground the weight of the sacks was much easier to bear. Gerry helped secure them on everyone's backs. Cheeks still full of peanuts, without swallowing a single one no less! Gladys and Mortimer both congratulated them on their ingenuity, Gladys was even happy that they'd kept the whole ordeal quiet. Everyone's spirits were high, and after exchanging some pleasantries and accepting some more compliments from the birds while Gerry finished rigging them for the journey, it was time to set off. Slowly but nonetheless surely, they all made their way home.

It all felt very anticlimactic, really. No chases, no death defying stunts. Yet adrenaline still poured through their veins, especially Francis. Practically vibrating with anticipation for the inevitable feast. The plan went off without a single hitch. Harold distracted the hound just like he said he would. Not merely filling his belly with sausage to the point of lethargy as his plan had been. Harold was more calculating.

Harold corrected, however, that he hadn't merely distracted Sheffield. He was working on building a relationship with him. Though it sure looked like he was just feeding him endless pieces of hot dog to the rest of them, That was merely their misunderstanding. A relationship of such low trust cannot hope to be transformed into one of mutual benefit and understanding in one meeting. Trust would need to be restored, perceptions altered to something more accurate to the current state of things. And that alteration must necessarily be one sided for now.

They mused on this point as the breeze cooled their fur. Climbing Jacobson's bridge, and into the window, the group was met with wide eyed stares at the sheer volume of exotic nuts they all carried on their backs. The wafting of Watkins catching their noses as they passed. Secluding themselves off in their meeting room, the band unrolled their packs and celebrated. Gerry emptied his cheeks onto the table in front of him to begin nibbling on his share in earnest. Everyone else dug in too, Watkins Tuscan Barbecue, it was truly a reward worth savouring.

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Sweetness and the damp scent of a recent rain permeated the still air. The boards, still wet, could be hazardous to the foolhardy. Such as one young brown squirrel in quite the hurry, running along this road of the picketway. Quickly, past bushes and intersections, carrying with him a bulging opaque bag. Two friends followed, carrying more. He wished they'd all left a few minutes earlier. Seeing a knot in the wood, it looked like they made it on time.

On the grass, in front of a large back porch, an old white hound was sleeping, likely to the chagrin of its owner. But he enjoyed the coolness of it. The squirrels stopped in a clearing between the tall bushes of the north fence. The leader whistled just like he was taught. The dog grumbled awake. Sleepy eyed and smacking his lips, he snorted happily when he saw the trio. Grunting to his feet on stiff legs, one side of his body was soaked, covered with flecks of loose grass. He climbed the stairs with careful steps. and walked to a ratty old folding table. Twisting his head to the right, he grabbed a small can in his jaws and gingerly lifted it away. Trotting back down to the fence, he plopped it at his feet, looking back to the squirrels, panting happily, wagging his tail.

The three squirrels descended, setting down their own cargo at the dogs feet. Who picked it up daintily in his teeth and left to lay down on the deck with it. The squirrels got to work, popping the lid, filling their other bags. The dog untied his own treats, crunchy peanut butter balls! Delicious.

Inside the house, an elderly man sips coffee with his wife On the couch. Watching through the window with smiles. They looked forward to this time of year, a now familiar scene of animal commerce. This was not what he'd expected when he started leaving those cans of nuts outside that day five years ago. But his faith in the craftiness of squirrels was rewarded, and now they get something out of it too. They keep some of the other pests away and his gutters have never been cleaner.

With the transaction complete, the young troupe waves goodbye to Sheffield and departs. Crossing paths with another group on their way elsewhere for their own delivery. Out in the rest of the neighbourhood, squirrels and chipmunks were collecting nuts, berries and many other things from various pets and their owners. High quality, tasty and exotic foods that they would not get otherwise if it weren't for the humans who live there. Humans who were in many cases all too happy to pay some nuts and other snacks for what they got in return, And off in the house, inside a large and well maintained drey, Francis and Chloe sat with their family. Their youngest son poked his head inside the entrance, excitedly showing them his first bag of Watkins peanuts, The brand new Hickory flavour. He'd learned well.

THE END