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[St] Speaking of squirrels



I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential
neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect...


I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and
slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out
from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a
squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it
encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no
time to brake or avoid it - it was that close. I hate to run over animals,
and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger
to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never
fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!


Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on
his hind legs and facing my oncoming ST with steadfast resolve in his
little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he
screamed and leapt!


I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you
gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular ...
as he shot straight up, flew over my windscreen, and impacted me squarely
in the chest.


Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he
brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing,
and tearing at my clothes,


He was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt,
summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This
furry little tornado was doing some damage! Picture a large man on an ST
not geared up for once, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves,
puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight
of his life with a squirrel. And losing...


I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed
to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the
left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the
throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there.
It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the
pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have
headed home. No one would have been the wiser.


But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off
squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH! Somehow he
caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of
the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact,
he landed squarely on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and
extremely distracting activities.


He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not
improved. Not improved at all.His attacks were continuing, and now I could
not reach him.


I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw,
only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking
back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the
throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a ST can only have one result.
Torque. This is what the ST is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel
screamed in anger. The ST screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in ... well ...I
just plain screamed.


Now picture a large man on a ST, dressed in jeans, a slightly
squirrel-torn-t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe
50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one
wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are
both screaming bloody murder.


With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the
handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant
squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into
somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how
to release the throttle .... my brain was just simply overloaded.


I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the
massive power of the triple. About this time the squirrel decided that I
was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he
is an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my
neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed
partway, he began hissing in my face.


I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the
squirrel, however.


The RPMs on The Dragon ST maxed out (since I was not bothering with
shifting at the moment) so her front end started to drop. Now picture a
large man on a ST, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly-torn t-shirt, wearing
only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel,
with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed
full-face helmet.


By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse. Finally I got the
upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my
helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked
... sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of ... so to speak.


Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on
a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some
paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a ST, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt
flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at
probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with
all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police
car.


I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the ST under control
and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and
skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross
street. I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I
really would have. Really. Except for two things. First, the cops did not
seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When
I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide
open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk
into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who
had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street and was aiming a
riot shotgun at his own police car.


So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the
professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I
could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from
the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back
window, shaking his little fist at me, shooting me the finger ..


That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car.


A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his. I took a deep
breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice
Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just
buy myself a new pair of gloves and some Band-Aids.

Jack "Rude Dog" Hays
972-952-5065
"I'll see you on the dark side of the Moon"

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