Bandit

 On a hot summer day, Gus and Izzy relaxed in the cool grass beneath an old oak tree, eyes closed, unaware Bandit watched them from high up in the neighbor’s elm. Feeling safe, the squirrel twitched his bushy tail, eyes locked on the freshly filled bird feeder brimming with goodies. It hung from a thin wire, swaying gently in the breeze, a tantalizing challenge for a critter with a notorious reputation.

Bandit scrambled down the tree head-first, his tiny claws gripping the bark. At the bottom, he checked the area for any danger lurking nearby, then scurried through the grass, pausing several times to make sure the dogs still slept peacefully. Seeing their eyes closed, he turned his attention to the feeder. The mean old bird lady purchased the one with a guard made to close when a heavy creature tried to steal food, specifically meant to thwart his kind. But Bandit was no ordinary squirrel. He often outsmarted traps, dodged hawks, and once he even swiped a peanut from a picnic table mid-lunch. To him, this feeder simply represented another easy mark.

He darted the last few feet to the pole, and in a blur of red fur, grasped hold of the shepherd’s hook and shinnied up to the feeder. Once underneath, he paused to calculate his next move.

Soon, Bandit had a plan. He made his move, startling a mama sparrow who grabbed a mouthful of deliciousness and flew off to feed her babies. Then, Bandit launched himself through the air, paws outstretched and landed with a loud thunk on the feeder’s roof. It spun wildly, sending the precious food flying. Two mourning doves scouring the ground for breakfast looked up and chirped a thank you as they dug into the surprise windfall. 

Bandit clung onto the slick metal until all movement stopped. With a back paw wrapped securely around a wire to stay anchored, he dropped his body down along the side until his mouth dug into the wells filled with food.

Below, the birds chirped their outrage, but Bandit didn’t care. He’d won again … until … Gus opened one eye, then the other. When Gus realized they were sleeping on the job, he nudged Izzy awake. Like a shot, both dogs raced toward Bandit, barking their mean barks, lunging high in the air. 

The cunning squirrel knew he’d outwitted the dogs again. He filled his mouth with one final gulp of lunch, then leapt from the feeder to the wooden utility shed behind him. From there, he soared to the safety of an overhanging limb. Perched high above, he turned, his bushy tail flicking with glee, and unleashed a torrent of chattering squeaks, mocking Gus and Izzy’s futile barks. His tiny paws gestured wildly, as if daring the dogs to climb after him, his beady brown eyes glinting with a smug triumph while the frustrated pups lunged helplessly below.