The Chipmunk Chernobyl

It was a Beagle Posse meltdown of China Syndrome scale.  There was system shutdown, with shorted out canine brain circuits crackling and sparking.

The world outside the patio door had fallen into a cosmic alignment. Ten feet away, on the bird feeder, was a fat squirrel.  Four feet down from that, just on the ground, was a bunny munching Spring grass.  And only two feet outside the door was a chipmunk. All in sight at once.  It was a prey trifecta.

The varmint confluence hit two beagle minds with devastating force.  How can a dog make a choice when there is no clear choice?  Tuppence simply froze, stiff-legged, and began to quiver while emitting a thin high keen.  Her eyes flicking back and forth while trying to find which rodent to focus upon.

Tommy began to spin in tightening circles in front of the glass door, whining as he whirled, and letting a pinched YIP each time his field of view passed the aligned critters.

Finally, Tuppence found a bit of a voice, and demanded, “Let us out. Let us out. Let us out.  Must chase one.  Must chase one.  Now. Now. Now.”

Of course I wasn’t going to open the door, and then spend two days searching for beagles as they chased scent trail after sent trail, but I wanted to see where this would go. (I was probably playing with the possibility of neurological vet bills, but what the heck, I’m already Drain Bamaged myself.)

“Which one do you want to chase?”

“ANY one.  It doesn’t matter.  Must chase.  Must chase.”

“Well, Tommy and Tuppy, if you had to pick one, which one would it be?”

“The FUZZY ONE!” shouted Tommy.

I swear, I could feel the heat build up from the beagle fuel core as the melt down continued.  Of course, for their part, all three of the rodents were frozen and staring—as they will when coin flipping on Fight of Flight.  (And, it’s always Flight.)

Still mischievous, I said, “Well, you have to pick one.  You can’t have all three, you’ll ruin your dinner.”  (Always the good parent.)

The squirrel broke the stalemate by taking off along the top of the fence toward the back yard.  The Posse broke down the hall toward the back dog door with the hope of cutting him off.  (Never happen.  The fence leads right to the tree, and the squirrels follow that route without ever coming in reach.  But beagle logic never puts that together.)

Both racing beagle muzzles were in the air joining in an ARROOOOO chorus that could have been a combo fire truck and ambulance coming down our street.

You can sometimes just have too many choices in life.  Often, a single Hershey’s Kiss is better than a whole box of chocolates.