Lawrence Fischman, a word. Please.

A word, please, Mr. Fischman! 

At the tail end of September, the summer occupants are elsewhere. Gone are the bunnies that hopped across my yard like they owned the place. Gone are the brown squirrels in the Shagbark tree, and gone is my flawless back lawn. 

To be fair, my idea of flawless as it pertains to 'lawn' simply means that the green stuff (not picky) covers the brown stuff. For the most part. This afternoon I heard my daughter chiding Lawrence Fischman from the side porch. 

What? What is he doing now?

He's digging holes.

What?

Like a dog.

What kind of holes are we talking about? Squirrel size holes or dog size holes.

Dog size holes.

Holy crap! Make him stop!

Right. Since when have either of us ever been able to make Lawrence Fischman stop doing ANYTHING?

Fair point.

This.

These are not dog holes. 

Did he dig all those, um, wide, shallow holes? Did he denude the carpet of green which covers the patch of brown? Did he?

Yes. Lawrence Fischman has been digging like a dog since the storm.

The storm was at the beginning of August!

Yup. 

For what it's worth, Elizabeth, dogs don't dig bare patches, they dig actual HOLES. 

Whatever. Lawrence Fischman has been making mincemeat of our backyard for two months now. Also, he's hit the front yard a couple of times too.

Yeah. I noticed that. 

I went outside and sat in one of our wet chairs. I crossed my legs, I crossed my arms, I leaned back into the wetness and waited.

It's magical, his ability to pop in out of nowhere. 

Lady, I'm kinda busy here, in case you hadn't noticed.

Yep. I see that.

I'm a little short on time and since we're both sitting out here in the rain, why don't you get to the point?

Lawrence Fischman, you're making mincemeat out of my back yard. And not just that; I'm told you're responsible for the holes in my very well maintained over the summer front yard. 

Lady, are you accusing me of digging holes? I don't dig holes. I excavate. There is a DISTINCT set of skills required to excavate and I, Lawrence Fischman, am a Master Excavator. 

I'll give you that. Have you accomplished this (wide sweep of both arms) all by yourself?

Sigh. Yes. This year I've had to do all of it. By myself. Alone. With no help. 

Um, who, generally, does the helping?

MY SQUIRREL WIVES, MY BLASTED, TRAITOROUS UNGRATEFUL SQUIRREL WIVES!

Now that you mention it, this yard has been a bit empty lately. 

OH NO IT HAS NOT!

What are you talking about?

Lawrence Fischman, up on his hind legs, tale smacking the ground and swishing about in the air:

The CROWS, Lady. The crows and those fucking starlings. 

How is this a problem?

You really are dumb as shit, aren't you?

Enlighten me.

It goes like this: I excavate a nice big bare patch and start moving provisions back to my tree. I get back for another load and those mother fuckers are scratching about, eating up all my stuff. 

OK, so the crows made the massive bare patches.

No. I did. 

....

OK, they may have widened things just a wee bit. But it was MY work! My hole! Bastards chowing down on MY buffet.

I see. Lawrence Fischman, where are your sister wives?

Gone.

Gone, where?

Gone, not here.

Did they leave you?

yis. they ran off about six weeks ago.

To where?

Not to where, with whom.

OK, with whom did your sister wives run off with? I assume the operative phrase IS, run off with.

Yes. That is the operative phrase.

So. Who?

I can't. I just can't.

Oh, come on. You've come this far. We've got fifteen minutes left in your session, so spit it out. Please.

they ran off with the pekinese two houses over across the street where that lunatic with the skateboard lives

Well, no shit! Sorry to hear that, Lawrence Fischman. Why'd they do that? A Pekinese? 

Elizabeth.

What about Elizabeth?

I love her.

Yes, we've had this conversation and also, she loves you too, but not in a squirrel wife sort of way.

Understood, and terms were agreed upon which is when that unholy hoard took off.

They left you over Elizabeth?

Yep. Pissed as shit. I figured they'd be back by now but one of those nasty ass starlings informed me that they'd moved in. Mating ceremony and all.

With a Pekinese?!

Could you stop saying that? Listen, this is the Squirrel Way. The ceremony between Squirrel and Squirrel Wife includes the entire wifely commune. 

Are you telling me you actually talked Elizabeth into a ceremony?

Not exactly.

Then what? 

I was practicing my lines and somebody told.

What lines?

The slightly modified lines of the Squirrel Matrimonial Ceremony. 

How modified?

you know, till death do us part and forsaking all others modification

So you were going to leave them.

Not exactly. I just wasn't going to, you know, be with them anymore. Not once Elizabeth agreed. 

So you just wanted to keep them around as squirrel laborers? 

When you put it that way it sounds kinda not so good.

Probably not. So, is this why you're excavating? Because you have to do it by yourself?

....

Got a question for you.

Shoot.

See this hole over here? Did you dig this?

Yah. I just got started on that one. I was getting that going when Elizabeth started yelling at me again so I had to stop.

How often does Elizabeth yell at you?

Every. Bloody. Chance. She. Can. I'm pretty sure it means she loves me.

I'm pretty sure it does not.

....

Lawrence Fischman, you're going to be one damn lonely squirrel this winter and I can't help but think that early summer's going to be mighty frustrating. 

She's worth it.

Elizabeth is worth celibacy and loneliness? And cold? And possible starvation?

Yes.

OK. I'll let her know. Sessions up, see you next week?

Not if I see you first!

And with a pop!, Lawrence Fischman vanished into thin air. I might need to send Elizabeth over to have a word with that wandering tribe of sister wives. I can't imagine a Pekinese is going to live up to any sort of squirrel wife expectation.