Jeff the Squirrel is in trouble. It's big trouble. It's Big Trouble in Little China type of trouble. It's not looking good for our little resident and his little family. Got to do something here, can't back away. But I'll be honest, I'm at a loss.
So I do the only thing that makes sense. I send in the minions. It's time to see if their training has been for nothing.
Jeff the Squirrel, as you can figure out, is a squirrel. But he's our squirrel. He lives in our backyard. When we first moved in, it was just him. Little Hoss was only 2 and Bubba Hoss didn't care about anything that he couldn't crap on or eat. But they all loved the squirrel. So as is our nature in this family, we named him. Jeff seemed appropriate at the time. We name everything and the kids help.
We have Ted, which is my wife's car. We have Edgar, my car. We have Ted the Garden Gnome, no relation to the car. We have Fred the cheese frog which is actually a tree frog that hangs on our windows. Arnie, Little Hoss's blanket. Princess Candycane, the big inflatable snowman I put up at Christmas that my neighbors love so much. We are a naming family. And we have Jeff the Squirrel, who at this moment looks like he's fucked.
Jeff appears to be a family man type of squirrel. A good guy, gathering nuts for his little ones. Sometime over the last 2 years, he found himself a woman. Wooed that little thing and somehow convinced her to move in to his tree with him. Next thing you know, a kid pops out. I feel a certain connection with Jeff the Squirrel and often talk to him about our parallel situations. Just trying to get by without losing all of our nuts.
But Jeff and his family are screwed at the moment. Because right now, there is a big freaking Hawk swooping down on him from our back porch.
The kids came and got me from doing the dishes (code for "I was playing a video game) and said "Dad! Jeff the Squirrel is playing with an Owl!" Naturally, I thought they were full of it and just trying to help the digital zombies escape my wrath. So we went to the window. But it was not an owl I saw sitting on our porch, 10 feet away from us. It was a huge freaking hawk. It was almost cartoonish, all he needed was a fedora and a cigar and I would have thought we were watching a Disney flick. And he was going after Jeff.
In the zoo when you see them you marvel at their majestic nature, secure in the knowledge that they won't come down and claw your face off because of their little leather hood. When you see them in real life you think, crap, that things huge and is going to claw my face off.
But what to do? Jeff the Squirrel needs our help. The Hawk, who we have now named Hans Grueber, takes another swoop at Jeff. He misses, thanks to some fancy Heisman footwork by Jeff, and landed in a tree in the yard.
This was our moment. We either act now or loose Jeff and his little squirrel babies. Can't do it man. Can't walk away. Can't let the kids see this. We either stand up and fight or cower in fear. This is a life lesson to teach the minions. Today, we fight Hans, yippee ki yea motherfucker. So we go out on the back porch.
It occurs to me that I have said and taught my children a few stupid things in the past. Things that Hossmom will probably smack me for later like she did when I told her that I taught Little Hoss how to use the nailgun. This could be one of those things.
Reading this you probably are worried about the children. This tells me that you've never read my blog before. I'm worried about the Hawk, man. I know my kids, I know what they are capable of. My daughter broke an "indestructible" cell phone without even thinking about it. Honestly, I'm a little scared for Hans.
So without much thought, because that's how this things usually work out for us, we head out to the back porch. The dogs follow. They see the hawk swoop once more at Jeff. They bark and run back inside. Cowards.
We get to the railing. Jeff is climbing up a tree, does a mid-air somersault matrix thing, twists and runs the other way. Well done, my friend. We need to act now.
I look at the minions. The wind goes still. The sun glimmers through the trees creating areas of shading in which Jeff squirrels though trying to avoid the next attack. The kids smile at me. I nod. They are unleashed.
"ROAR!" They yell. Bubba Hoss has been enamored here lately with Dinosaurs. It's the scariest thing that they know.
"Rooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!" They scream together again, drawing out the syllables. Hans turns his head and looks at them.
"Hey Hawk" Little Hoss yells. "You go away, that's my Jeff!" Yup, my little girl is taunting a hawk.
"Cock a doodle do!" Bubba Hoss yells. I have no real idea why. But I will give the little man credit. It's loud and he has followed up his sister's threat.
Now they both start yelling cock a doodle do. Louder and louder and louder. I think that Hans the Hawk is confused. I know I am.
Hans looks at Jeff again. Then he flies away.
Not even mother nature can handle the loudness of my children. We all clap as Hans flies away, surely cussing that he won't be earning his 20% on the beach. Jeff the squirrel heads up his tree and his family follows.
So when some wild-eyed, eight-foot-tall hawk grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jack Burton always says at a time like that: "Have ya paid your dues, Jack?" "Yessir, the check is in the mail."