Adaptive Curmudgeon

“Bear lives matter! Bear lives matter! Bear lives matter!” Bart was so infuriated with racist dogs and racist eagles and all the unfair cretins who took the food that was his because he wanted it that he was seeing red. Sammy was right! There is nothing worse than a white dog attacking you just because you are black! It was totally unfair! It was…

Bart never really thought about it before, but there it was right in front of his eyes! Sammy had a big streak of white right down the middle of his back. Sammy was racist!

Bart brought up his foot and stomped HARD.

Edward the Eagle, who loved his excellent vision, regretted it at this moment. The skunk, having become more or less an over pressurized vessel, exploded under the bear’s paw. Eagles have strong stomachs but Sammy was one seriously nasty creature and seeing the inside of Sammy as a great pink sphere of organs and stench was too much. The eagle spread his wings and took flight. He was going to get as far from the horror as he possibly could. He especially wanted out of there before the stink traveled up into the trees.

Mr. Curmudgeon saw the same technicolor atrocity through a nine power scope and felt the same revulsion. He almost lost his lunch. He eased his finger off the trigger, clicked the safety on, and flopped on his back behind the log. Oh God, it was so revolting!

A bit of wind tickled his face and he shook off the scene that had revolted him. Thankfully the wind was in his favor; blowing not from the skunk towards him but the other way. Anything that would keep that scent at bay was a blessing. He decided to clear out fast before the wind shifted.

He moved to retreat from what was unquestionably going to be the most horrific smell in the history of exploding skunks. But first, what about the bear?

Steeling himself, he glanced over the log and brought up his binoculars. The bear was still there. It was frozen in place; pinned to the spot by a stench so overwhelming that no living being could endure it. There were skunk bits dangling all over the bear. Internally, the bear’s mind had locked up.

Some things are so gross that they’ll make a bear go catatonic. That’s a fact you won’t find on Google.

Mr. Curmudgeon shuddered, if the bear didn’t have neurological problems before, it would now. Assuming it didn’t find a way to kill itself during the next several days (which would be a mercy) it was going to smell horrific all through the hibernation season. Possibly for the rest of its miserable life.

He edged back, grabbed his pack, and bugged out.

And now you know what really happened to the bear and the skunk.

The Curmudgeon eased the rifle up and over the log. He didn’t know if bears got rabies or what but whatever that bear was doing was unnatural. Also, he couldn’t figure out what was going on with the skunk at the bear’s feet. Was the skunk diseased as well? Was there a single disease that would affect both a skunk and a bear?

Bart the bear was still stomping back and forth and by now he was infuriated to his very core; “Bear lives matter! Bear lives matter! Bear lives matter!”

At his feet Sammy, who had a hair trigger on a good day, had turned his own dial to eleven. He was on the verge of exploding. It’s a little-known fact that skunks can increase their spray’s strength and capacity through practice and focus. In terms of spewing liquid revulsion, Sammy was already the best in the business. Having spent hours screaming about the injustice of all things and especially how dogs are racist he had built up an unprecedented charge of spray. If you looked at him closely, he was bulging at the sides. His fur was puffed out. The pressure within his bowels was far greater than he had ever created before. He was proud of himself and anxious to use his newfound powers.

“Racist dogs steal our food! Stink them up!” It wasn’t much of a chant but Sammy didn’t care. The upcoming raid on the apple tree would be amazing! He wished Bart would hurry up. He’d have to spray that dog soon or he’d burst!

Mr. Curmudgeon was conflicted. Should he shoot the skunk? Should he shoot the bear?

On the one hand bears are large and can be dangerous. Just that morning one had surprised his wife in the backyard. That was a vote in the pro-shoot bear category. On the other hand, bears are just woodland creatures and this morning’s bear had sensibly run away when the dog barked. Plus, bears make tasty eating. Best to encourage any sort of edible wildlife that hangs around.

Yet this bear obviously had some sort of brain disease so it was probably not safe to eat. Proper bear behavior would be to wander around eating berries and whatnot. Stomping back and forth roaring at the sky just didn’t make sense. Even so Mr. Curmudgeon held back. He liked bears in general. He’d never had much problem with bears, even while camping. He wished his Google search had given information on whether this bear was contagious and should be eliminated from the population. Maybe it was just a stupid bear? Maybe it stepped on a hornet’s nest? It was hard to tell.

Skunks, on the other hand, are nature’s terrorists. You couldn’t coexist with them because if they got in your sheds and wood piles their stink would ruin everything. He thought about the family of skunks that had moved under his barn. He tried to discourage them with loud radios  and laboriously sealing all entrances. It did no good. In the end he had to shoot all of them and even now the barn still had a bit of a funk when the weather was damp.

He didn’t like the “war of the skunks” when it had happened and he was still bothered by it in retrospect. For one thing, the mother skunk had pushed the little kittens out one at a time over a period of several nights. What kind of mother does that?!? Also baby skunks look just like kittens. So cute! Nobody wants to shoot a kitten! He had a terrible fear he’d have to answer for killing anything that cute when (if?) he arrived at the pearly gates.

But skunks never quit causing trouble. Just a few days ago he had to chase a skunk away from the cat food. It’d taken some clever shooting to get the thing off the lawn without killing it. He didn’t want to shoot a skunk on the lawn. That would stink up everything. Maybe this was the same skunk that nailed the neighbor’s dachshund? That poor thing had been sprayed so badly it hadn’t been let in the house for months.

Yep, that was the right decision; kill the skunk first and see what the bear does. He drew a bead on the skunk and adjusted his breathing. The skunk looked messed up anyway. It was bloated or something. It looked kind of almost spherical.

He let out half a breath and eased off the safety…

Edward waited for the human to do something. What was taking so long?

Finally, the Curmudgeon reached into his pack and withdrew one of those small computational devices humans stare at whenever they get confused. Edward couldn’t make heads or tails what those things did. From eavesdropping on snippets of conversation the best he could tell was that they were used for stalking a prey called Pokémon. The way humans spoke about them, they must be tasty.

Two time zones away, NSA software noted an anomalous use of a phone. One of those prepaid cell phones (which really should be outlawed) had been activated for data use.It’s rare that a data system is utilized for the first time many months after initial voice and text activation. Anomalies are always a sign of incipient evil and/or an opportunity to acquire more Congressional funding. Both being excellent outcomes!

The GPS signal was turned off so the NSA didn’t know where the phone was. Ha, ha, ha, like that anyone believes that! Instantly and automatically the spot of contact was mapped and additional metadata was extracted. Voting district, DNA sample, what the user ate for breakfast, ratio of operating tractors to dead ones; the usual. Oddly, the microphone seemed to be picking up some sort of angry animals in the distance?

A bored, underemployed, non-governmental, contractor swiveled in his chair and read from one of his monitors. Instantly, and a little bit frighteningly, his supervisor appeared behind him. “What’s up?”

“A prepaid phone has just activated its data plan.”

“So?”

“Well, the phone has been active forever, but the data plan has never been turned on. Also, it was turned on in the middle of the field, nearly a mile from the nearest road.”

“That is interesting!” The supervisor, who seemed to have no name, agreed. “What’s he doing?”

The analyst frowned. “He just did a Google search; ‘neurological disease in black bears’. I have no idea what that means.”

“It’s code! No normal human being cares about neurological disease in black bears!” The supervisor thundered. “We have discovered an Islamic terrorist!”

The analyst sighed. Supervisors came and went so fast. It was so hard to train a supervisor because they all had MBAs which pre-selected for the nearly unteachable. This one had made it only six months and now he was going to have to start all over. But it was a done deal. Because he knew it was going to happen next, the analyst covered his ears and ducked.

An explosion rocked the building. Lines snaked down through a hole that had been blown in the ceiling. Several huge, heavily armed, men rappelled down the lines. The supervisor didn’t know what hit him. He was maced, then he was tasered, then he was pummeled. He offered no resistance but two men took turns kicking him in the balls; just in case. Meanwhile a third zip tied his arms behind him and a fourth injected him with something blue.

The supervisor blubbered in fear. Then he noticed a patch on the bullet proof armor on one of his assailants. “Since when does Walmart have a mercenary division?”

The Walmart mercenary faced the helpless man and drew an evil looking pistol. “Hey guys, did he resist arrest?” He asked of the room in general. There was a general murmur of assent.

Blam!  He shot the supervisor in the foot. “Shots fired! Hazard pay for all!” He announced to a general cheer from his compatriots.

Then he addressed the supervisor. “First of all Walmart, in keeping with its family friendly policies, does not endorse violence or hire mercenaries. I am officially an ‘extreme greeter’ and you have been greeted. Second you are under arrest, pursuant to the ‘Double Secret Probation’ clause of the ‘Pen and Phone Act of 2008’. Remember, if the president does it, by definition it’s not illegal. Also thank you for shopping at Walmart.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“We are taking you to an undisclosed location where you will submit to voluntary reeducation or we will kill you.”

“Why!?!”

“Clearly you haven’t been reading incoming memos!” Explained a second mercenary. This one was not employed by Walmart but was rather subcontracted from a joint venture of Apple and Starbucks. His uniform looked much nicer than the others, it fit perfectly and the shades of camouflage were exquisite. “It is official executive direction that there is no such thing as Islamic terrorism! You said the word aloud and that’s not cool man! You should know better!” He shook his head. “But we’re here to help. In order to encourage you to embrace diversity you’ll get a few water board sessions and then you will voluntarily submit to a mandatory lobotomy. After that you will be reassigned a new job as a telemarketer advertising for a sex toy factory in Bangalore. You will be paid three bucks a day and all the cats you can eat until you are retired by execution at age 75.”

The former supervisor had no time to respond; he was clipped to one of the ropes and at a radioed signal he was was reeled up. In short order the other mercenaries were reeled up as well; all but one.

The remaining mercenary addressed the analyst “did you see anything?”

“Of course not. Not only that but the electronic trace that I didn’t see has been deleted even though it didn’t exist.” This wasn’t the analyst’s first rodeo.

“Cool, we still on for poker Thursday night?”

“Heck yeah, see you then.”

Thousands of miles away, crouched behind a fallen log in the forest, the Curmudgeon grimaced at his cell phone. “Google search unavailable at this time?” Really? He turned the phone off and shoved it in the Faraday cage envelope where it belonged. Clearly he was not going to get any information about bears going crazy in the forest.

He would have to just wait and see what happened next. It was almost like life was an oddly serialized blog post.

After seeing the scary lawnmower, Bart needed to get his courage up again. Unlike Bart, Sammy was always ready for a fight but Bart had full intention outliving Sammy by years and years.Bart wasn’t alone in this. Throughout the forest most woodland creatures pretty much assumed Sammy would be dead by fall.There were monarch butterflies that considered Sammy a short-timer.

To jumpstart his rage circuits, Bart started stomping back and forth in the forest complaining loudly about the unfairness of life. “Those apples belonged to him! Anyone who would destroy Bart’s food was a monster! The dog was a racist! Edward was a racist! Everyone was a racist! He was surrounded by racists who stole his food because they wanted him to starve! They were taking his stuff! It was his stuff because he wanted it!”

Sammy loved it. He scampered around Bart’s feet shouting encouragement. “Dogs suck! People suck! They stole your food! Those racist jackasses deserve to get the ‘stink treatment’!”

The two creatures’ bad attitudes fed off each other. It went for hours. By late afternoon Bart had formulated a chant. He was proud of his chant. He shouted it over and over again. “Bear lives matter! Bear lives matter! Bear lives matter!”

Sammy ran around in circles at Bart’s feet. He didn’t have a chant so much as random sayings: “White dogs are racist!” “They stole the apples!” “I’m gonna’ stink you up!”

The two creatures were so invested in their chanting and screaming that they didn’t realize the lawnmower had been shut down. Nor did they realize that Mr. Curmudgeon had heard the commotion.

Edward eagle watched as the Curmudgeon slipped into the forest. It was already a very interesting day and now this? Outstanding!

The Curmudgeon moved very slowly. Not for the first time, Edward felt sorry for the pathetic creatures on the ground who had to stalk for hours when a decent set of wings would have done them wonders. The Curmudgeon was carrying a rifle with one of those magic tubular things on top. He was also carrying a small backpack.

The Curmudgeon slithered through the forest with excessive caution. Eventually he was 75 yards from the roaring bear and chittering skunk. Interestingly he didn’t point the rifle at the creatures. Instead he reached into his backpack and grabbed an object that look like two of those magic tubular things glued together. Edward shivered, it was disturbing to think that humans might have vision in excess of an eagle! What would they do with such deadly power?

The Curmudgeon observed for nearly an hour. The bear and skunk, getting increasingly angry every moment, had no idea they were being watched.

Edward’s right, someone will get shot in the next post… Stay tuned.

Sammy skunk had decided that the only reason a white dog would bark at a black bear was racism. The obvious solution to such an unforgiveable sin was, in Sammy’s eyes, to ‘stink ‘em up!’

Edward eagle tried to defuse Sammy’s rage. “I don’t see how a dog can be…”

But Sammy didn’t let him finish his sentence.

“You know who else is white? Edward here, this feathery asshole in a tree, is white. Look at that head! White as snow. ‘Bald Eagle’ is not the right word, he should be called ‘White Eagle’. And that means he’s a racist eagle!”

Bart was thinking about this. They were his apples. And the dog was a racist dog. He’d been a victim of a hate crime! He was gonna’ go back there and get his apples and kick that white cracker dog’s butt. He deserved the apples because he was a bear! Fuck them all!

Edward decided to watch the rest of the show from a safer vantage point. He took flight and drifted in a circular path that approached the farm indirectly. Silently, quieter than death itself, he perched on a tall tree with a good view. Something interesting was sure to happen.

Mr. Curmudgeon was unaware of all of this. All he was aware of was that the lawn was going feral. He walked through some ankle deep grass, gave a silent nod of acknowledgment, and strode to the riding lawnmower. He had a ridiculously large lawn but, because the world is filled with irony, he arbitrarily began mowing beneath the apple tree. Edward was delighted! Ripe apples had fallen from the tree and they were getting chopped and scattered by the noisy mower. It would be hard for Bart to get a meal of them now. Excellent!

Bart and Sammy were en route to the tree but stopped at the forest’s edge. Both were shocked at the ongoing devastation. Dozens (maybe hundreds!) of apples were getting destroyed! Those bastards! It was horrific to think of all that good food that belonged to Bart being stolen!

Sammy was prepared to waddle right across the field, confront the giant roaring lawnmower, and ‘stink it up’ right there in the mid afternoon sun. Bart wasn’t sure what ‘rifle’ meant but he had seen what happened to the deer every fall. He decided to retreat. He coaxed Sammy to join him by promising they would go forth as soon as the deadly lawnmower was gone. Further he promised Sammy the eventual rampage would be of epic proportion. Only then did Sammy relent.

Is that not a cliffhanger? Stay tuned…

While Bart the bear merely complained about the cruelty of the universe, Sammy the skunk ranted. “Dogs are pussies! You just stink them and then they run away. If you’re lucky you get the human too. Teach ‘em a lesson!” Sammy was enjoying the story.

Edward was trying to work out the story in his mind. “The ‘rope’ on the dog was a leash. I think are designed to keep dogs from getting lost. If a human was walking a dog at the same time you were in the yard… wouldn’t that indicate the human was unaware of your presence?”

“Oh yeah, the human didn’t see me at first.”

“Stink them both! Stink them all!” Sammy was hopping from foot to foot, as if desperate for the opportunity to spray a human and a dog at the same time.

“So anyway the dog was yelling at me. I can understand dog language, and it was barking out all sorts of nasty mean things. A lot of stuff about ‘violating territorial integrity’ and ‘challenge to battle to the death’ and meanest of all it kept repeating ‘get off my lawn’. Who needs that kind of abuse?” Bart was playing for sympathy but getting none from either Sammy or Edward. “I was just eating apples which belong to me because I want them and I’m hungry. They should give them to me because I’m a bear. And I want them, which is really the main point. That they’re mine, I mean.” Bart paused to sort out his thoughts. “Anyway that big stupid dog was fixing start a big battle. And it would probably involve the human too, since she wasn’t letting go of the leash.”

Bart sighed, “I tried to make a peaceful overture. I grunted and did my best explanation which was ‘I’m really big so buzz off’. Then I stood up so the dog would know how big I am. It didn’t work. The dog would attack a mountain if it was on its owner’s lawn.”

Bart shook his head. “Things that would take on a fight they couldn’t possibly win? That’s just stupid.”

Both Bart and Edward involuntarily glanced at Sammy. He loved nothing more than to ‘attack’ anything in its path. He never considered ‘winning or losing’. He came from a large family of skunks which had been born near that very apple tree. All of his siblings had died grisly deaths; which most woodland creatures thought was an example of ‘losing’. Among the forest it was generally assumed it was better to not be dead; which is ‘winning’.

Of his huge family, Sammy was the only one left. It had been more luck than skill. Just looking at Sammy, you knew he was going to go out in an ugly manner. The mortality clock was ticking whenever Sammy was around. You could hear the Grim Reaper smile at his every utterance.

Bart continued. “So when I stood up I figured the dog would run. Instead it came at me! It was growling and barking. Stuff like ‘this ends now’. What the hell does that mean? The human could just barely restrain the dog. She was pulling it hard to get it back inside the house. I decided to run for the forest.”

“It was just a dog! You could’ve killed it 10 times over!” Sammy was practically screaming.

“Maybe. But that particular dog is pretty damn big.” Bart muttered. Realizing he’d made an admission he’d rather not, he hastened to add, “I mean I’d have to kill it fast before the human came back with a boomstick… or I suppose it would be a shotgun?” Bart glanced at Edward to check if he’d used the right vocabulary.

“For you, I think they would use a rifle.” Edward pondered. “Humans have shotguns and also rifles. The latter can fire much farther and they seem to kill things of any size. They have these strange tubes on top that give humans eyesight a lot like,” Edward paused to make sure they understood the full import of what would come next, “…eyesight nearly equal to mine.”

“Sounds weird.” Bart waved his hand dismissively, obviously no human could really hurt a bear.

“You know how the people at that farm always hang a dead deer just before winter?” Edward continued. “They seem to be able to kill a deer from a very long distance. They can do it to a bear too.”

“Bullshit!” Sammy puffed up his fir. “Nobody has ever taken a shot at me from a very long distance.”

“I think that’s because they don’t care if you live or die so long as you keep your stink away.” Edward explained in his most reasonable voice. “I suspect they are perfectly happy leaving you alone as a resident of the forest.”

It was meant as reassurance but it didn’t work. Edward had infuriated the skunk. It seethed with white hot rage.

“I’m not worth shooting?!? Is that what you’re saying!?!” Sammy assumed all things centered around him and here was evidence to the contrary. He hopped about near Bart’s foot. “Let’s go there, right now, you and I. Let’s go Bart! We’re going to find that dog and stink him up!”

Bart had to admit, Sammy’s confidence was infectious. Bart started working himself up into a good rage to join Sammy. “You know what this is about? This is about… This is about…” Bart couldn’t really figure out what to be upset about. He began to lose steam and think about taking a nap.

Sammy intervened. “I know what it is about. It’s about that damn dog. That dog is white and you are a black bear. A black bear! The dog is racist!”

Bart the bear was pissed off. It had started out as a fabulous day but in midmorning the shit hit the fan. Now he was digging through a stump eating grubs instead of the delicious apples a bear like him deserved. When he was done he leaned against a nearby tree and scratched his ass. Speaking of ass, the wind shifted and he caught a full on snout full of “eau de skunk”.

Sammy skunk was waddling through the forest. “If that didn’t stink, I would eat it.” thought Bart.

Sammy, unconcerned by Bart’s considerable bulk, wandered up to the stump and started looking for grubs of his own.

“Dude, you ate them all?” Sammy complained.

“I would eat you too if you didn’t stink.”

“Bring it, fat boy.” Sammy had nihilistic bravery that crossed the border of stupid and planted its flag solidly in the land of batshit crazy. Something he had in common with many fellow skunks, most drooling idiots, and all terrorists.

Bart wondered, for the 10,000^th time, if he should just rip Sammy into pieces. Sadly, you can’t do that to a skunk without ending up smelling like a skunk yourself. Bart sighed.

“Good afternoon gentlemen, though perhaps the term ‘gentlemen’ doesn’t apply here?” It was Edward Eagle, a pretentious git with a vocabulary that made Sammy’s head hurt. He perched in a tree well above Bart’s reach (as he always did, for he was not a fool).

“There’s nothing good about it!” Grumbled Bart.

Aside from catching and eating cats, nothing made Edward happier than gossip. So he patiently waited while Bart’s gears started to turn and the story began.

“I was eating some apples, from that tree… You know the one, the apple tree by the red barn.” Bart began.

“I know that place!” Sammy interrupted “There’s cat food there. Why just last week I got a whole bunch and it was delicious.”

“Would that be three nights ago, during the full moon, when I heard several shotgun blasts from that farm?” Edward prompted.

“He missed!” Sammy enthused, “Stupid human comes bumbling out of his house and I’m like ‘tail’s up bitch’ and he does the boomstick thing and I’m like ‘you missed pussy, I’m outta’ here’.”

“Boomstick?” Edward rolled his eyes in his head, which is a disturbing thing to see in an eagle, “I believe it was a pump shotgun.”

“Whatever,” Sammy capered about, “he missed, and I ain’t dead, and screw his pansy ass!”

“Hey! If you two are done interrupting…” Bart growled. Everyone went silent, Bart glowered until everyone seemed sufficiently cowed. Only then did he continue. Critters needed to know he was a bear and they were shit. “So there I was, gobbling up a bunch of wild apples…”

“Wild? The human planted them. Why do you think they’re so close to the barn?” Edward just couldn’t help interrupting.

“Are you mental? Even humans can’t build a tree. If the tree is somewhere it’s because it grew there. And that means it belongs to everyone. And what that really means is that it belongs to me!” Bart hated explaining stuff to Edward.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, if there’s a tree it grew there. Humans suck!” Sammy, who was always agitated, was even more vitriolic than usual. The more disturbed he got, the worse he smelled.

Edward wondered if the skunk’s stink was a matter of concentrated bad attitude. Or perhaps it was coagulated stupidity? Surely if emotions affect an animal’s being then Sammy, who was an equal mix of stupid and angry, was built from the ground up (including personality) to repulse other beings.

“As I was saying,” Bart glared at everyone “I was eating apples, from the tree which belongs everyone which really means it belongs to me, and inside their stupid house thing their stupid dog was barking…”

“Dogs suck! Whenever I see a dog I’m like ‘I’m gonna stink you up’ and if I get the chance I stink them but good. I’ve nailed three dogs this month alone! Every dog was like ‘I’m so sad I messed with Sammy!’” Sammy had an internal clock. Once every few minutes he had to scream invective at something. However, it wasn’t merely bravado. Sammy never went longer than a month without spraying either a human, their dog, a car, an occasional cat, or some combination of them. Sammy was a force of destruction and bringer of chaos. He’d been shot at more times than Bart or Edward could count. Yet he still lived. He was infamous among the forest community.

“I was ignoring the dog.” Bart didn’t bother acknowledging the interruption this time. “The dumb bastard was locked inside a house. What was it going to do to me?”

Edward waited, obviously the dog had done something. Gossip was wonderful!

“I knew the man of the house was gone. I saw him drive away.” Bart nodded at his wise planning. “So then I’m eating the apples and wow are they good, and I’m ignoring the dog which is going apeshit inside the house… But there was someone else in the house, a female I think. I didn’t expect that. She comes out with the dog and she’s holding its rope.”

Stay tuned… I’ll continue Bart’s story in my next post.