From The Tree Part 2: Trust Exercise

Fluff, dryer lint specifically, made quite decent insulation for a nest. Pushing it into the cracks and seams of the carefully woven twigs with her beak, the sparrow twittered with satisfaction. Basic home maintenance may be a necessity but that didn't mean it must be glum. Her head cocked, hearing a rustling below. Hopping along the craggy branch, she peered over the edge to see a group of squirrels, and one chipmunk. Gathering in a line on the fence under the cover of the sparrow's tree. She blinked, one of them was that one from yesterday. Tried to steal that can and got the dog on him, he did. This time he's wearing some strange, makeshift backpack of toothpicks, string and a plastic bag. He's trying again with some of his mates from the looks of it. Well, if that's how some people wanted to spend their time she wouldn't judge, but by George it does make an awful lot of noise once that canine gets involved.

It was another lazy day, sun high, clouds fluffy. Perfect weather for a peanut heist. Francis, along with his soon to be successful partners in crime looked out onto the backyard. The tin of Watkins Peanuts tantalized in the distance. It's glossy paper wrapper glinting in the sun. Sheffield was fast asleep on the deck, snoring loudly on his side. Chuck looked a little nervous, ears flat against his head, tail low, his fur bristling as he watched that mutt. How did he let himself get talked into this? Darlene ruffled his head, which he found this more annoying than reassuring. Gerry was distracted by a pretty white butterfly floating by. Oh, and, Harold was there too.

With a deep, squeaky breath, Francis readied himself. Looking to his cohorts, he nodded. Chuck nodded back, tapping Gerry on the head to get his attention. The two of them made their way along the fence around to the east side of the yard. Darlene and Harold move to their own waypoint on the west. Francis followed, positioning himself across the shortest gap between the fence and deck on the west side. Staying out of sights, hanging on the opposite side of the fence, they waited for the plan to unfold. Chuck and Gerry knew they were up first, They squeaked loudly, trying to catch the sleeping dogs attention.

Ole' Sheff breathed deep, whistling through his nostrils, jowls rippling as he exhaled. Snorting, noticing something amiss, his eyes twitching. Sucking in more air through his nose, He jerked awake with a snort of recognition. Chuck stopped, waiting to see what happened.

Smacking his lips, opening his eyes, the mutt yawned wide, flaunting his impressive curved canines. Scanning his environs with tired eyes to see what the matter was, finding swiftly that the matter was them. His eyes went wide. Barking, recognizing the furry trespassers, flailing his spindly legs in an awkward scramble. Launching himself towards Chuck and Gerry as they knew he would.

Hearing the dog barking fruitlessly, Francis knew it was his turn to move. Crawling over the fence, tension in his throat as he snuck to the ground. Dropping to the soft grass halfway down the fence, heart pounding, prowling swiftly through the green blades towards the tall end of the deck. Empty backpack shifting side to side against his shoulders. Sheffield barking and the thumps of his paws against the fence echoed dully as his claws dug into the ragged support. Climbing inch by inch and quickly as he could.

Stopping just before cresting the edge, he looked over his left shoulder to Darlene and Harold in the cover of the tree, giving them a thumbs up, they nodded, waving their arms at Chuck. Who was busy staring down the angry, barking mutt keeping to the safety of the grass. Not wanting to hurt his paws on the jagged shale that rimmed the east and north fences. Gerry on the other hand was enjoying puffing his cheeks and making faces at the dog. Chuck squinted at him, unsure if he was brave or merely too dim to be scared. Looking across the yard, he saw Darlene and Harold signalling him, he fluttered his own poofy tail in reply, grabbing Gerry by the shoulder and pulling him away, down the back of the fence. Sheffield grumbled and licked his lips satisfied that he defended his backyard once again. Until the distant blasphemous sounds of more heretics invaded his ears. Spinning his head. He saw the new duo of irritants.

Francis heard the thunder of paws on grass coming closer, phase three. He climbed onto the deck just as the barks and snarls began anew. The dog was out of sight, concealed by the furniture against the north railing and the height of this side of the deck. Leaving him free to collect nuts without fear of Sheffield accidentally turning around to notice him. Taking off his pack, he untied the floss at the top, flipping open the flap and setting it down beside the canister. Wedging his claws underneath the flexible plastic lid, he had to push hard to separate it out of its cardboard groove. And with a soft pop, the glitter of the foil seal shimmered merrily at him. A brand new can? Odd, but fortunate. He grabbed the flap of foil, bracing on the top of the lid with his other hand, He pulled and pulled and pulled with all his squirrely might, until, finally, with a puff... the delightful, addictive aroma of natural and artificial flavours nearly overwhelmed him. His eyes and mouth watered and he was returned instantly to that first nut handed to him by an elderly squirrel in the house. Sheffield jumped and barked as Darlene and Harold expertly taunted him. Running up and down the fence, onto a tree branch, then back again. Darlene feigned tripping a few times, making it seem as though the scoundrel had a chance to catch her. Truly a master of her craft. Harold had his own tricks as well. Chuck and Gerry watched, a little embarrassed at their own performance but also inspired about what was possible.

Francis dug his paws in, scooping armfuls of precious Watkins into the bag. One after the other. The smokey scented dust coating his fur, tempting him to indulge right here and now. But there would be plenty of time for that later. For now he must endure and work swiftly. Chuck and Gerry peeked their heads over their side of the fence, Waiting for the final signal. Francis packed one last load into the bag, straining the flap as he pulled it down. Fingers slipping as he cinched the knot tight. Not a single nut more could fit inside the sack. Hefting it onto his back, it was much heavier than he'd expected. Gerry climbed onto the fence in anticipation of the last phase while Chuck tried poking at him to get back down. As Francis adjusted his shoulder straps he heard a familiar and fearful stomach dropping squeak.

Francis' head snapped towards it, staring, ears flexing in horror, hearing only his own pumping heart. Chuck tumbled forward. Gerry was reaching his paw out towards him. His friend, who'd been with him since he was a pup, who had gotten into so much mischief with him over the years, was somersaulting in a flailing panic towards the ground. What happened? Squirrels don't just slip off fences! Chuck hit the grass shoulder first, flopping onto his back with a bounce, the wind forced out of his lungs for a second. Gerry crouched on the edge of the fence, shivering, breathing hard as he stared down at him. Francis couldn't breath at all. Amidst it all, one thing went unnoticed in their collective focus.

Sheffield stopped barking.

The heavy sound of the dog's paws hitting the grass startled them all out of their daze. But the gleeful sparkle in that dogs eyes as he dug his hind claws into the dirt froze Chuck's blood. The mutt launched himself with both legs at terrifying speed towards the proned morsel. Rolling to his belly, nails biting into the dirt with desperation, arms twinging painfully as they flung him onto the shifting shale, Sheffield thrust again, increasing his acceleration, as Chuck dug his claws desperately into the painted wood, leaping with demonic force up the fence... and slipping.

Darlene and Harold chittered loudly and with great panic, trying to regain the white spotted warden of hell's attention. Francis was paralyzed, unaware, his mind a blur of memories of their life together flashing before his eyes. The devil's next thundering bound snapped him back to reality. His body reacted before his mind. Loud screeches followed his feet as he bolted towards Sheffield. Loud enough, it seems, to startle him. Slowing his stride and swinging his head to lock eyes on Francis, who slid to a stop. The extra weight pulled the table with him, tilting invitingly towards Sheffield before clunking back in place, the canister of peanuts rattling. The dog looked back at Chuck, who now was out of his reach thanks to this distraction, snorting, he turned to Francis. One squirrel tasted as good as another.

The speed that dog could move when on good terrain was terrifying. Francis scrambled backwards on the unsteady table, the air erupting with chattering from all sides as his friends all desperately tried to grab his hunter's attention, to no effect. Sheffield had his prey, there was no point thinking about the others. Muscle memory served the squirrel well in his panic as he leapt towards the railing, his easy, reliable escape route. Pushing the table over from the force of his legs. The peanuts scattering everywhere when the can hit the floor boards.

The railing got closer in his racing vision. His arc was good, but the motion seemed off and didn't feel right... oh no. His heavy load of nuts pushed into his back and shoulders as they shoved him towards the ground, he reached vainly for the edge of the railing, mind blank as it slipped from view. Landing flat on his belly, forcing all the air out of his lungs in a painful squeak as he slid onto his side. Eyes clenched shut, teeth gritted. Now it was everyone else's turn to freeze. Pushing up on sore arms and legs, he couldn't get himself to move fast enough. The thundering of paws behind him turned to scraping against wood, rapidly approaching.

The loud yip surprised both of them as Sheffield skidded to a stop, bopped on the forehead by an indistinct grey blur. Francis blinked, seeing the fluttering shadow whizzing around for another pass, chirping angrily. Miss Sparrow? The dog snorted, shaking himself off with a contemptuous growl. Snapping at the bird, catching nought but air in his jaws amidst her elegant evasions.

Instead, feeling the wispy talons land on his snout, pecking him once, firmly, on the top of his nose. A harmless though infinitely irritating jab which hurt only his pride. Unable to twist himself fast enough to catch her deft leap into the air once again.

Though the spectacle was amusing in its own way, Francis could not afford to stay and watch. Pulling himself to his feet he squeezed himself through the railing, thankful he designed his pack to be only as wide as he was himself for just such a possibility. Hopping to the grass below, the indignant snarl behind him marked another match won for the bird.

The fall was a mite more painful than normal on account of his extra cargo but nothing his body couldn't handle. Dashing to the fence, he was surprised the dog and she were still going at it. Though Sheffield sounded to be on the defensive now. Miss Sparrow pecked him sternly, like scolding a chick. The dog's ferocious howls and barks were becoming ever more disgruntled as Francis climbed. The relieved faces of his friends awaiting him at the top made the extra strain more bearable.

After a quick breather, and a few hugs, they all watched the spectacle of a one ounce bird chasing an eighty pound dog across the yard. Running with his tail between his legs no less as the sparrow jabbed ferociously at his hindquarters. He cornered himself behind the stone birdbath in the northeast part of the yard which the sparrow landed on. She stared down the mutt growling back at her from a safe distance. Deciding he'd had enough, she flew back to the tree under which Francis and his compatriots sat. She hopped down to meet them. Francis began to thank her as she approached, but she cut him off with a loud cheep. Hopping closer, she gave him quite the ear full. After all, didn't he and his fellows realize how much noise their escapades were making? Enough to wake her chicks that's what! If it weren't for all that dog's harumphing she wouldn't've intervened at all, she reckons. And she made sure to let Francis and his band of miscreants know that if this happens again, she'll let that mongrel eat its fill and see how disagreeable he is with a belly full of common tree rats. Honestly, did their mothers never teach them the simple decency of peace and quiet?

Francis nodded apologetically. Everyone did. The fiery bird made sure of that before giving them one last glare and flapping back to her nest. And her name was Gladys for their information, but Miss Sparrow would do just fine for them! Everyone's shoulders were sunken, Francis' not least of which thanks to the load of sweet and savoury peanuts on his back. They began to head out, Francis in front, the rest following close behind. Happy everyone was in one piece but shaken at what could have been and nearly was. Gerry stuck close to Chuck, feeling foolish. The scent of Watkins emanating from Francis' pack raised his spirits at least.

The warm breeze rustled the trees sombrely as they wove across the picketway. As they waited at an intersection for another family of squirrels to pass, they could hear Sheffield crunching on the spilled peanuts in the background. Chuck hoped he'd get a stomach ache from it.

A sharp bird song cut through the ambience behind them, Miss Sparrow, Gladys, was trying to catch their attention it seemed. Likely they left some detritus behind that offended her. Well, they all turned to hear what it was. Instead, she flapped down, landing on a bush beside them, Twittering her congratulations on finally getting a fill of those... those Watkimacallits. She only hopes they'll mind themselves and be more careful in the future.

It brought a smile to everyone's face, perking their ears and hearts, Francis waved his thanks to her one last time as she flew off before the lot of them continued on their way back home.

...

A white wisp of dandelion fluff drifted on a disparate breeze through the second story hallway. Bumbling into what was once the office, and later a place for the wife to do her morning exercises. Now a community for the new, more fuzzy residents. A row of open shelving that once held books and the occasional sleeping cat now serve as the foundations for several squirrel's homes. Dreys, constructed of twigs, leaves and other soft insulating materials gathered from outside.

The weathered wooden floor was a commons where families could gather and children could play. Among them, Chloe sits with several pups and their day's haul of berries and wild pine nuts. Packed in sacks made of cloth scraps and twist ties. Maintenance mice push miniature hand brooms fashioned with mascara sponges and cotton balls acquired from the alley of a nearby grocer. Honestly, who just throws out an unopened package of cotton balls? They were put to much better use here, keeping the dust bunnies at bay around the house. Chloe gives the mice a couple pouches of tasty seeds from her own stock with a thankful smile.

The dandelion seed drifts closer, fiddling in fits around them as they lay out a clean square of cloth between them. Pouring out portions for each squirrel, young and old. The dandelion threatens to settle on top of it until it is sent spinning out into the corridor by the flick of one of the children's tails.

Air currents from the open windows pull the drifter further down the hall, Bobbing its way passed passerby's, a blue jay's flap flushed the tiny seed though a particular hole in a particular wall that smelled of sweet and savoury things. Landing, finally, on a particular knotted stub of a table around which sat five particular rodents. Many plans, many schemes; many, many successful woodland creatures had entered that room as confused drifters much the same. Leaving as successful members of society. They, unfortunately, were among those less successful, at least for today. Yes, their efforts had allowed Francis to gather enough nuts for each of them to enjoy a small parcel. But, not nearly as much as he'd initially thought. Such a parcel was not worth the near loss of any of their lives. Much less that of his oldest and dearest friend.

And, though fatigued, Francis was not so disheartened that he would give up on the sweet smokey taste of Watkins. Made with only the most natural of ingredients and quality flavourants, it says so on the packaging. After all, they had managed to enjoy some from this venture, it was merely a matter of learning how to enjoy more next time. The others were far less determined than he, however.

Chuck explained that as he'd tried to reach for Gerry, when he'd brazenly climbed back on top of the fence, some of the old white paint gave way. Sliding under his feet in a single large flake, and he along with it. He had refused to accept Francis' offer of his portion of the nuts, this was his dream after all, and Chuck felt he deserved to indulge in it. Besides, he had to admit, these peanuts were owlishly tasty. He could see why Francis coveted them so. With the caveat that he would not like to play bait again to get more. Gerry was more insistent however, and would not take no for an answer. Feeling responsible for the matter due to his aloof foolishness, he shoved his entire parcel in Chuck's arms... save one nut he'd enjoyed a moment prior.

Darlene, on the other hand was in relatively high spirits. Sipping on a bead of fermented blackberry dew as was the traditional accompaniment to a Watkins peanut. Or so she says. Ribbing Francis in good humour for his melancholy. After all, no one got hurt, they all got to eat a fill of delectable peanuts, and they all learned a thing or two along the way. Oh, and Harold was there too.

Francis wasn't sure he agreed with her casual analysis, and was lost in thought while the rest enjoyed their prizes. In some ways this was worse than outright failure, each earning only a small armful of peanuts for all that danger. A tease. Francis realized he hadn't thought that part through. He hadn't realized how little his pack truly held, or rather, how much it was being portioned, until he was doling the spoils out to his compatriots. Shall they embark on more and more raids, each fraught with the same risk as the first, only for a single sitting of smokey sweetness afterwards? If it were for the entire tin of Watkins, that might be another story. But the dog ate what remained of that one. Would there be another in time or would he need to find another source?

Even if they could distract Sheffield for long enough, how would one little squirrel bring that many peanuts back home? He surely could not carry that whole can up the fence. What was the solution, more members? More mouths to split the spoils between? On top of that, despite their mocking of the mutt, they all knew he was not truly so dimwitted. He would catch on to their ploy sooner rather than later. And one day... things would not end so well for one of them.

In the end, the small bits he and his crew had happily munched on would be all they could expect. He trilled dejectedly, ears drooping. The meeting was less than fruitful, no one, not even Darlene, was very keen on another adventure risking life and limb for a few nuts any time soon, no matter how savoury. But none could think of a better method either. So, after enjoying what they had, the group dispersed.

Francis wandered around the house for awhile before settling off in a corner to nibble on some of his stash of brandless, unsalted peanuts. Grown in a numbered field, packaged in a factory known to no one. These you can get practically anywhere, scattered by some elderly humans as a sort of token charity at the park. It was much like a sort of squirrel gruel. Nutritious enough, and tasted like it too.

As he sat there feeling sorry for himself, he heard a familiar soft squeak to his right, He looked up, surprised to see Chloe standing there with concern in her eyes, tail perked behind her back, whiskers twitching. She must've been wandering by with her friends and saw him sitting there. Tidying up perhaps, if the tightly folded clump of translucent plastic she carried was any indication. Kind hearted soul as she was, she asked what was wrong. Francis, too embarrassed to admit he'd nearly gotten his best friend eaten with his foolishness, only shrugged and said he'd not been feeling that well that day. But Chloe was rather sharp as squirrels go, and she knew there was more to it. Resting her hand softly on his shoulder, she looked right into his anxious eyes. Asking him, point blank, if that mean dog nearly got him today. Sheffield may not have, but she sure did, even if only half correct. Francis nodded in reluctant agreement. Her sharpness was one of her charms.

Chloe sighed and shook her head, putting down the plastic as she sat down beside him. Francis noticed the emblem as it uncrumpled itself. Familiar red, yellow and black shapes, he picked it up to look closer. On it was a picture of a sausage overlaid on a sunflower, the sausage was smiling. it was the emblem of Never Better Hot Dogs. They also do bratwurst and other cylindrical meatstuffs. Francis looked at Chloe, ears twitching, swivelling as he wondered where she'd gotten this. Chloe indicated that it was for one of the children who thought it looked funny, so she picked it up during a forage and brought it back for them. Francis nodded, looking back at the wrapper while she explained. She thinks they want to hang in their drey when they're old enough to move out, but she's not sure.

Yes... Yessssss... Francis could remember now! Maybe this could be it, the solution! Ecstatically he thanked Chloe, who was taken aback. A little confused, but grateful that he seemed to be feeling better now.

...

The meeting room felt especially charged this day... though not entirely with excitement. It was a miracle that everyone was willing to gather once again. Perhaps they were not as disheartened as he'd thought. Still, hopefully optimistic as they were, they were only there to hear him out. Chuck was incredulous of the whole thing, sitting with his arms crossed, picking his teeth with a fine wood splinter after a feed of walnuts he'd stored a few months prior. He wasn't sure what ill scheme had gotten itself into his friend's head this time. Nor was he sure if he wanted any part of it after the last adventure. But, he knew Francis, he knew that he wouldn't risk something like that happening again. So he remained politely intrigued. Darlene was slightly tipsy, mostly coherent, and quite high spirited. Twirling a whisker with her left hand, she was confident in the young'n. He wasn't dull nor foolish despite his own sentiments about himself, he would have something interesting to say if nothing else. Gerry had been the first to arrive, fifteen minutes early, He sat with rapt attention and chewed on a few seeds he'd brought while others filed in with various lesser degrees of enthusiasm. They had taken note of his promptness, change in posture, change in attitude, and they all had a similar idea of why. It straightened their own backs, after all, if he was serious... Oh, and Harold was there, too.

At the head of the table, Francis held up the wrapper, the light glinting off its grey translucent surface and smiling sausage logo. Some of them recognized it, Gerry was confused. Francis stated plainly that there was a hot dog vendor that sets up shop in the parking lot of the nearby grocer. He's heard it said that at the end of the day he throws out his unsold tubes of miscellaneous beef, pork, and 'other' in the nearby dumpster. The same one the house already searches for cotton balls and other discarded human paraphernalia. Without finesse, he believes they could obtain those unsullied dogs and feed them to Sheffield to placate and distract him while they stole the entire tin of Watkins. Dogs only ever think of food anyways, right? If he's full, he won't harass them.

Chuck stared, eyes unblinking, glassy. Struggling to ascertain what substances Francis must have consumed to take such an idea seriously. Feed the dog hot dogs? Was that the plan? Leaning forward on his elbows he asked what he saw as a rather reasonable question... Has Francis ever seen a dog not want to eat? Surely the mutt would simply eat them along with all the sausages no matter how many they fed him. Darlene laughed, thinking back to what Miss Sparrow told them, Francis had truly taken it to heart. Sure, Sheffield might be slowed down some, but not enough to save them. Besides she had her own question for Francis. Will there even be more nuts to find? The last tin was spilled all over the deck, or did he forget?

Francis lowers the wrapper, his ears flattening. He remembered, but that was precisely it. That house has had a tin of Watkins sitting on that table for as long as he can remember. Sometimes the flavours are different, sometimes the two elderly humans are enjoying them. He does not know why, but there is always a tin. Furthermore, he noticed something strange during their last raid. The tin was still sealed, brand new, never opened. Merely placed on the table in that state and left for days. The resident humans store such a delicacy outdoors. As odd as that may seem.

Chuck and Darlene's ears twitched at that, that certainly is odd behaviour for a human, normally humans store food inside their homes. But Darlene had seen firsthand in her younger days that there are exceptions. Sometimes during the winter humans will occasionally store certain items outdoors, meats usually, taking advantage of the cold to preserve them it seemed. Perhaps this is similar somehow. But would they continue to do so now after having lost an entire, unopened tin of Watkins? Sponsor of the Watkins Waddler's children's charity to help young families send their kids to summer sports camps?

Francis' ears folded, eyes looking to his right with thoughtful concern. He was unsure, he admits that much, but he intended to continue scouting the area to see. Humans are creatures of habit after all.

Gerry cleared his throat, pressing his two forefingers together timidly, he pointed out that... even if a tin does appear and even if Sheffield would be subdued... sausages are very heavy. Would carrying enough of them all that way even be possible? He wanted to be supportive of Francis, he wanted to do better, but as the smallest member of the team he knew he was not up to such a task.

Francis didn't have an answer for these questions, He slumped back, trying to think. But no paths presented themselves. He thought he'd had an epiphany when he found the wrapper. He thought he'd found a solution, something that would fix everything. But now he realized he was being just as naive and idealistic as before. Stupid, lost in his mad fantasies of feasts of Watkins award winning peanuts just like before. He could feel their eyes burning into him, scrutinizing him, finding every flaw.

The warm yellow light buzzed softly, small flecks of dust hung in the air. Gerry counted the rings on the table. Thirty seven. Chuck got up from his seat, Francis looked at him with pain, fear. Chuck walked towards his friend. Putting a paw on his shoulder, he sympathized with him, but he could not support this idea, not after last time. Francis looked shocked, sad, panicked as Chuck walked past him, bushy tail brushing Francis as he begged him to wait. Darlene was the next to get up to leave, the kid had spunk, she liked that, but Chuck was right, this plan won't work and she didn't get to her age by betting on long shots. Gerry wasn't sure what to do, looking back and forth nervously between Francis and Chuck. He couldn't kid himself. He got up and silently walked to the exit as well. Francis sat, paralyzed as he watched his friends and team mates abandoning him. Carrying his dreams of Watkins with them. He slouched, defeated, he had tried doing it alone several times, he had tried working alongside others. He had been so close. Now... now it's all gone, and he couldn't blame them for their decision.

But, then they heard a sound, a chuckle, soft and almost mocking. Chuck and the rest looked back, Harold was still sitting in his place, grinning, brushing his long grey chin fur. Chuck didn't appreciate his laughter. What did the codger find so funny anyhow? Harold stated, with a cock of his head, that he found it amusing that neither he nor Francis nor Darlene for that matter had noticed. The more surly side of Darlene responded to this one, unamused and bearing little love for enigmatic riddles, she wanted to know what it was he thinks they had failed to notice exactly?

Harold took a deep breath, settled comfortably into his place, and cleared his throat, Chuck and Darlene's ears twitched impatiently. Harold was slow and deliberate in his motions, leaning forward to lock eyes with them. He wondered... how they had not realized that the solution to their problem lay within the problem itself?

More riddles, Chuck had no time for this. He had peanuts at home which would be more than enough for him. He chittered angrily at Harold to get to the point or stop wasting their time. Harold asked him one question...

Does he know what a dog is... exactly?