Chapter 9 “And now, introducing: WWIII”
I am not a happy camper today. Here I was, going along with my own private war and doing just fine, in a manner of speaking, when along comes an uninvited participant and decides to join in on the fracas. Seriously, I am trying to view this as the Military channel would: strategy-wise, this has suddenly gotten a bit too complicated. My battle plan has hit a snag – two of them, in fact – and I think this is going to spell disaster for the whole lot of us.
It all started with my trip up to see my horse….
Every Saturday, my friend Cindi and I take a 30 mile ride to go visit our horses. Roxy, my horse, dances from one foot to the other at the gate eager to receive the carrots, apples, mints and other goodies that I faithfully bring to her. Meanwhile, Spanky, Cindi's horse, stands there, every inch looking like the proper English gentleman: calm, unruffled and giving Roxy a somewhat disdainful look. I don’t know why, but I found myself telling Roxy about the ‘adventure’ going on back home. In typical Roxy-style, she gives me a few licks on the face, nudges me rather vigorously with her head, then snorts and stamps one foot two or three times. “Never mind all that, “ she says in horse language, “just keep the treats coming!”
After we visit our horses, it’s a trip to the local farmers market, where everything from fresh produce to yard-sale treasures can be bought. There is a candy stand there that has stuff like you would not believe! I usually get Roxy a pound or so of Canada
Back home later on, I go to work and add a handful of the Autumn Mix to his trap. For good measure, I place a wrinkled, squishy little tomato on his concrete slab, almost as an after-thought.
Suddenly, Harry’s back door pops open and out bounds his dog, Haylie, who tosses a toy in my back yard. Max starts to bark, as does Haylie. The toy bounces along the ground and – you guessed it – smacks into the trap, causing the door to snap down. If Wicky were anything closer than 50 feet to all of this, he is carefully hiding out, now. I reset the trap door again and toss Haylie her toy. Harry appears on his porch and slowly it dawns on him that I am fiddling with the havaheart trap again.
“What’s the string for, Marie?” he asks.
“That’s so I can pull it and make the little door close, Harry,” I patiently explain. Harry laughs good-naturedly, and adds, “You still haven’t caught that critter yet?”
I go on to explain recent events: how Wicky is still running around, making himself at home, eating up a storm, getting drunk, etc., etc. AND how Chuckie has made a reappearance. Uh oh. This was a grave tactical error on my part.
Harry just hates Chuckie with a passion! If you think I’m fussy with my garden, you don’t know Harry! Where I have six tomato plants, he has 30. And….peppers, cucumbers, carrots, onions, and one year, even beets! The man is a regular Farmer Brown! To him, Chuckie is the devil incarnate and he will do anything in his power to get rid of him. NOW I have Harry’s attention. Suddenly, the laughter stops; and as a big thunder cloud appears over his head, Harry comes up with a plan of his own. Grabbing the huge, raccoon-sized havaheart trap from his shed, he brings it over into my yard and proceeds to set it up in front of escape hatch number one, muttering the whole time to himself.
“Uh, Harry…why is this trap on my side of the fence?” I timidly ask.
“Because!”, he says, working like a mad-man. Because why, I ask. “Because the hole is on your side of the fence,” he explains with his own logic, stuffing the trap with lettuce, carrots and something I didn’t even recognize. I wonder if it occurs to him that the hole also has another ‘side’ to it – in his yard. I keep quiet: better not interfere with a man who is on a mission, I correctly deduce.
Oh good grief!!! Now I have two traps set up in my yard…and even worse, Harry is absolutely determined to snag my only ally! It dawned on me that I have an entire world war developing in the microcosm of my backyard – and somehow, I have lost control! To make matters even worse, I see a shadow out of the top of my eye and look up to see a huge bird (Hawk? Owl? Vulture??) go whizzing by over-head. The Air Force has arrived!
I go back up to the house; Harry goes back to his yard, all self-satisfied that he is doing something to protect his garden…and I look down at Wicky’s trap. The squishy little tomato is gone – that quickly!! The Autumn Mix in the trap is untouched, but that’s OK. He knows it’s there. I hope.
That night when Richie got home from work, he asked me about how things were going with little Wicky.
“I haven’t heard much about him lately,” he says. With a huge sigh, I fill him in on the day’s events. He smiles, and even chuckles a little bit. Then, from out of nowhere, he adds….
“Hmmm..well, you’ve got one more week to catch him…then he’s mine!”
WWIII has officially begun.
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Note: to continue reading about Wicky, please look to your right and click on each successive chapter's link.
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