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Cry after cry,
and answering cries,
were turning the silence
into bedlam.

Jack London-White Fang












Hidden away in her drey,
Arbutus read the dime novels over and over.
Both fascinated and repulsed by the
absolute untruths being hurled against
the squirrels of Edmonson County.

"They turn the cowardly humans into heroes," she sighed.
"For man hunts the weaponless squirrel with a gun,
and then twists the story so perversely as to
make the squirrel the villain."

Stockton Dupres was dead. And the squirrels of
south-central Kentucky were being annihilated by
the trophy hunters who came like a plague,
in the wake of his notoriety.

It seemed to her that no matter how ridiculous the lie,
if it were in print, people would believe it.

But Arbutus had a plan.
She was not without her own human servants
and one of them, Widow Vanfleet, had a
newfangled device called a typewriter.

Arbutus' ability at the typewriting proved to be astonishing.
She hid herself away in the widow's study for 2 days,
refusing food, water and sleep.
For she was in a fever, possessed by something,
a new life… emerging from her.

On the third morning she staggered from the study
and allowed the widow to view the manuscript.

After reading a couple of pages, the widow got up
and walked over to the bookshelf. She reached into
a small crevice between two books and pulled out
a small flask of whiskey.

Arbutus, exhausted and confused, sat on the
velvet settee and watched the old lady drink.

Finally, Widow Vanfleet sat down her empty flask
and gave the squirrel an approving look.
"You've done it, my girl. But I hope you know
this is going to change all our lives."



To be continued...



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Original art,
All squirrel animation
and photo alterations by b.kee(c)2003
Most music on this site from unknown origins.

©1997greysquirrel@greysquirrel.net



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