The meadow had been tense the last few weeks as deputy weasels roamed the area, slapping together sticks and dragging away animals they didn’t like, which seemed to be everyone. The groundhog had gone deep beneath the meadow, hoping if she stayed quiet, they wouldn’t bother her. She knew she outweighed the skinny little freaks, so that was an advantage.
The blind woodchuck buried her head in some leaves in her burrow and tried to muffle the yelling that was coming from above ground. She had almost fallen back to sleep when the shouting voice was suddenly right in her ear: “Wake up!” her cousin screamed, “they are trying to deport Steve!”
The woodchuck sat up abruptly. This was not her fight—she just wanted to be left alone. She’d been sleeping a lot lately, which was odd in the spring because she should be out looking for a hook up. But Steve was her favorite iguana who had come to live in the meadow just a short time ago. He was the worse card player ever and her best friend.
“Where is he?” she demanded of her cousin. “Is he safe?” Shirley put a single talon to her lips and pointed to a tunnel off to the left. “When we saw the L(Ice) men cometh, I told him to hide in your bathroom,” she whispered. The meadow population had started calling the enforcers L(Ice), because they were covered in tiny bugs. Thinking about them made the woodchuck scratch her haunch furiously. You could see the minute vermin crawling in and out of the fake flak vests they had ordered from that company along the Amazon River.
“Just because they are enjoying their armadillo cosplay doesn’t mean they have any authority!” hissed the woodchuck. “You and I know that,” said Shirley, “but the foxes keep telling everyone the iguanas are criminals, not just bad card players. The animals don’t know who to believe.”
“We need to do something to distract from L(Ice) so that the iguanas have time to escape. You organize a rally to get all the other woodland creatures out marching and yelling and singing protest songs, and I will focus on expanding the tunnels so the lizards can get across the meadow unseen and into the forest where they will blend in with the leaves”.
There were plenty of unknown factors to deal with—could Shirley get the word out to attract a large crowd to march? Could the woodchuck dig quickly enough to expand the tunnel across the entire meadow? Would the heartbroken iguanas ever believe in the promise of freedom they had found in their new home? Except for the part when they froze stiff if the temperature dipped below 40 degrees, they loved living in the meadow.
A crowd had gathered in the woodchuck’s burrow as the news spread. “I’ll get started on flyers right away,” declared one of the beavers. “Maybe I’ll try using that free design service I’ve heard about—I think it’s called Canvas? It’s like a bag of dried-up markers and robots draw pictures for you?”
“No!” exclaimed the woodchuck. “All signs and flyers should be made by hand—it makes us look less corporate. What should we call the March?”
“I think it should be called No Smoking!” shouted out a capybara. “Because smoking is bad and so is the weasel!” There were shouts of “Yes!” and “The weasel is an Ash Hat!” which had the woodchuck sighing and Shirley rolling her eyes. “No one here has cigarettes, let alone a Bic lighter; we’re not calling it that. Anybody else?”
“The No Parking Rally!” cried the chipmunks in unison. The woodchuck glared at them and said pointedly, “Do you have a car? Or cars?” They shook their heads sullenly and blended back into the crowd. They were sure that one was a winner.
“Here, I made a sign!” The hoary marmot thrust a poster into the air that said No Bakings! in large bubble letters. “Because we are not lumps of sourdough starter that the weasel can mold into any shape he wants—we are a free meadow!”
The woodchuck looked at Shirley, who shook her head imperceptibly. The message was spot on, but the bread metaphor seemed a little flaky. Suddenly the woodchuck grabbed the sign and tore it in half. “Hey!” shouted the marmot. “I worked really hard on that!”
Shirley held up the torn poster for everyone to see: It read No Kings! “This is it!” she shouted. “Because the only king of the forest is the lion, and he doesn’t live anywhere around here, which is just how we like it!”
Cheering ensued and the crowd started making signs for the big march. The woodchuck checked on Steve, who was sleeping comfortably in the bathroom. She didn’t care if it was nit picky—she would hide him from L(Ice) as long as it took.
She began digging.
There are No Kings! marches across all fifty meadows on this Saturday, June 14th. Whether your sign reads No Smoking! or No Baking!, just make sure you’re there!
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