SQUEAKERS & bANDIT

Squeakers and Bandit lived with their mom in a small, yellow house in the middle of a sleepy cul-de-sac.

The house came with a decent yard, which was both their domain and their duty to protect. They had to be vigilant, for it was that time of the year again… migration season.

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One particular Saturday morning, they were out patrolling the fence.

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“Here, kitty kitties! Come to momma!”

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Hearing their mother call, Squeakers and Bandit sprinted across the yard for their breakfast. Their morning meal consisted of bits of salmon mixed with a hint of shrimp. The medley was so delicious that they inevitably let their guard down.

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To their horror, a flock of fifteen geese had breached the perimeter. The scene before them was littered with feathers and treachery, as they found themselves looking upon a full-scale Canadian invasion.  

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“Sound the alarm,” Bandit bade his much larger, fuzzy brother.

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Squeakers saluted and then hurriedly ran to their toy box. He found the squeak toy shaped like a taco and then bolted towards the window. From there he thrust his arm outside and began to squeak the toy repeatedly.

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It didn’t take long for reinforcements, their neighbor, a corgi named Winston, to respond.

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“I’m here, I’m here,” Winston called from his backyard. “What’s the situation?”

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“It’s bad, Winston. We’ve got a code MAPLE SYRUP, fence to fence.”

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“My God…”

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“Exactly. We need the big guns.”     

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“We’ll be there in five.”

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Retreating from the window, Squeakers went and joined Bandit down below, who waited by the small flappy door.

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“Winston’s bringing the calvary,” he reported.

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Bandit nodded. “It’s time then.” He placed his small hand across the flappy door but hesitated. His eyes slowly rose to meet Squeakers. “Show no fear.”

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Like Valkyries from legend, Squeakers and Bandit burst from the flappy door and stormed across the back porch. Swooping down from the steps, the battle-hardened veterans of countless squirrel skirmishes, split their assault.

Squeakers used his bulk to charge through the thickest group of geese, while Bandit flanked left, snapping at the unnaturally backward, knobby knees.

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The geese were surprised but quickly regrouped honking and flapping their wings territorially. Bandit launched himself in the air, landing hard on the back of a gander. He latched his hands around the goose’s neck and shook it. The goose fought back, pecking Bandit on his rump and tail.

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Squeakers’ charge had lost momentum, and he now faced three hissing geese, backing him into a corner. Squeakers hissed back, his fur standing on end.

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The pair put up a valiant effort, but they were outnumbered. The geese closed in, bringing the darkness with them.

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“Winston!” Came a shout from the other side of the fence. “You get back here right this instant! Winstonnn!!!”

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Suddenly, Winston slipped under the hole at the gate and charged towards them like a prized thoroughbred, his short legs barely touching the earth. He barked nonstop, even as he snapped at the webbed feet of the intruders. The geese wavered in the face of this new assault.

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“Dang it, Winston!” The garden gate swung open as an irritated college student trudged into the yard.

Winston’s owner paused as he took in the scene of carnage before him, but the shock didn’t last long.

“Everybody out! All of you! Out! Out! Out! Shoo!”

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The geese were no match for the haunting eyes of a pre-med student, and they balked in the face of one who had been dead inside for months. 

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It was then that the momma of Squeakers and Bandit opened the back door. “James, is that you? Did you throw a ball over the fence?”

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James sighed and, with great effort, summoned forth his customer service voice that he only reserved for the workplace and the elderly. “No, Mrs. Atkins. Winston slipped his leash and ran into your yard.”

Scooping up his turncoat corgi into his arms he turned to face his neighbor. “Mrs. Atkins, you’ve got a yard full of wildlife back here. It’s not even ten in the morning, and you have a flock of geese and two raccoons just strolling around like they own the place.”

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Mrs. Atkins looked alarmed. “Raccoons? Oh, my goodness! Those things have rabies! Come here, my poor sweet babies. Here, kitty kitties!”

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Summoned by their momma, Squeakers and Bandit stumbled up the porch steps to stand at her feet. They stared up at her lovingly as they awaited their rewards from a brutal yet triumphant campaign.

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Speechless, James watched as old lady Atkins ushered two raccoons into her home with promises of knitting them new sweaters and kitty treats.

James shot a reproachful look at Winston. “We have got to get you dog friends.”   

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