A bit larger in build than Francis and a degree less nimble, Chuck and he had known each other since they were pups. And, in a series of squeaks, clicks, and flails, Francis recounted his failed peanut heist. Chuck sighed, when was Francis going to learn? No matter how many Deliciousness Trials they’ve gone through at Watkins’ prestigious Tasteologly Labs (located in Reginald Missouri) they’re not worth getting eaten by a dog for! Chuck sympathized with his friend, he really did, he was just worried is all. Francis understood this, but he had a dream, a dream of peanuts brushed in a powder of ingredients both real and less so. Then baked at three hundred and seventy five degrees Fahrenheit for twenty minutes until it melts and congeals into a thin, savory coating. It was the perfect snack.
After a few more pleasantries, Chuck excused himself, having to sort out his own spoils of the day. Francis congratulated Chuck on a good days forage before being left with his thoughts once again. Around this part of the house squirrels and their family’s happily chittered this way and that. But in one corner, he saw another familiar face. Chloe, playing with a group of pups. Seemed like a game of tag or some such. Looked fun anyways. She was such a nice squirrel, Francis had planned on maybe asking if she wanted to go out with him sometime. Take a walk, perhaps. Maybe she’d even want to be his squirrelfriend. But with no Watkins slow roasted peanuts in his possession, the chances of that seemed slim to none. He sighed, what was a small tree dwelling rodent to do?
The problem was that mutt. Dumb, drooling idiot that he was, he was still exceptionally strong and quick. Not to mention large and, of course, smelly. The moment that hound locks eyes with him, lady luck calls in her tab. Francis sighed and let his eyes gaze lazily around the house, People having fun, playing together, eating together, laughing together. He focused on Chloe, the pups, and their game. Chloe trying to catch one of the pups who hid behind another, Tossing a piece of gravel the size of his tiny fist to a third. Ah, that was the game, keep away. Chloe turned to chase the new gravel keeper, clearly taking it easy on the trio, who laughed and giggled at their trickery.
Then Francis got an idea. An owlishly, deviously wonderful idea. He needed to talk to a few people...
...
Inside of an old linen closet, through the hole in the wall first gnawed out by the mice and reinforced by the chipmunks, sat an old round ornate wooden serving platter that was little more than a section of tree cut out as to expose the rings. Left behind when the kids cleaned out the house, whether forgotten or unwanted the home’s new benefactors would never know.
Above it hung a solar cell patio light, appropriated and installed into the ceilings here and elsewhere by the joint efforts of squirrels and blue jays. Illuminating a cadre of hopefuls. This room was a planning stage for raids long past, many members of woodland society started their journeys in this very room, and now so to will all of them.
First, of course, was Francis, who had gathered them here from around the house. Those who were interested in a taste of Watkins and adventure.
Second was Chuck, Francis’ best and oldest friend. The voice of reason in his life, reliable, cautious, but always willing to help. Crazy as this all was, he was willing to at least hear Francis out.
Next, Darlene, an old timer with with rusty red fur and many successful raids under her belt. Easy going and a little long in the tooth, she met the call to adventure with a shrug.
Forth, Gerry, Gerry is a chipmunk. Gerry is somewhat perplexed as to how he got here and why, but, Gerry prefers to go with the flow.
Oh, and, Harold was there too.
Francis outlined for them a plan to get the nuts, the precious Watkins Tuscan BBQ. So that they may all enjoy their smokey sweetness together. A plan of daring and subterfuge that even Chuck was on board with, even if only to keep his friend from doing anything too wild. It was simple and elegant and they all got the idea. Even Gerry.
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