Once upon a time there was a young squirrel, called Squirrel Timmy who was a perfectly
ordinary squirrel (for his age, colour, and tail boundary). He lived in a tree
with his mother and father, and his young baby sister, Honeysuckle. All was fine
and dandy in young Squirrel Timmy's life except for one small point - Squirrel
Timmy had a little problem. However, as this problem was of a rather intimate
nature, we shall ignore it completely and tell the story of
Squirrel Timmy and the Emperor of Soil
One day, Squirrel Timmy was swinging from tree to tree gathering
acorns. He had made a sack that morning from two dock leaves sewn together
with the thin silvery yarn that is customarily found hanging from a spider's
bottom, and into this sack he was now putting the objects of his gathering.
Presently the sack grew full and heavy, and Squirrel Timmy grew very weary.
"I think I'll just rest my tail on that branch yonder" he squeaked,
and hippity hopped over to the old moss covered oak branch that accommodated
his weight with severity and vigorousity without equal in this part of the
woods. It was a good tree, comfortable and wholesome. And so it came to
pass that Squirrel Timmy did fall into a deep sleep.
As he entered the shady dell the chickmaiden offered him a walnut shell
brimming with sparkling dandelion wine. He raised the delicate flowery nectar
to his furry lips and he did swig from the shell until it was dry as a bone
that had been left in a hot desert for a million years. Then he did raise
his shell for to be filled again with the juice of the gods, a fine cordial
of potent happiness! Oh joy! Were it not that all squirrelhood could be
as happy as he!! He then grew aware of the pittery-patter of squirrel hooves
behind him, and lo and behold there was his baby sister, Honeysuckle playing
hopscotch through the bracken and large dead insects. She rubbed grapes
into her fur as she did this. As Squirrel Timmy watched, Squirrel Lucy (his
father) and his mother (who didn't have a name, on account of being the
sixth born of the litter on midsummer's eve - an ancient squirrel tradition
dating back to 1973 - see The Squaharabata for the origins of this cultural
ceremony, or quirk), bounced into view on large orange musical space hoppers,
smeared with the wax of enormous spanish bees, which make the riding of
an accomplishment of grand perplexity. More and more did Squirrel Timmy
sup, swig and quaff until his dreams, hopes, fears and sorrows did roll
into one, at which point (as is often the way with these things) he met
Moby Chicken, the largest fowl in the world, who pecked poor Squirrel Timmy
until his eyes did pop.
Squirrel Timmy woke with a start, inadvertently knocking the home-made acorn
container from the branch. The vegetably bag cascaded downwards to the ground
where it did land in a dishevelled heap on top of a small mound of moss.
"Bother!" squeaked Squirrel Timmy furiously as the acorns rolled
out of the leafy sack, only to be swallowed up by a small hole in the ground.
Then Squirrel Timmy remembered - he had been asleep in the oldest oak tree
in the forest, the one that had grown next to The Hollow Mound. Squirrel
Timmy shivered, lavishly.