Tag: writing

No comas Taco Bell

The woodchuck smoothed out the carefully preserved catalpa leaf and placed it on the sunny rock. The tree lost its leaves in one big clump in the fall and some of them were as big as beavers; after they dried and shriveled, they looked like sleeping rats. The woodchuck was often startled when she went up to talk to one of them and it turned out to be mulch.

Spread out on her favorite rock, though, it made a perfect tablecloth. The day was warm and sunny for the end of February and since she kept waking up from hibernation screaming with anxiety, she figured she may as well have a picnic. She had saved a tidily wrapped little surprise since the end of summer and now it would be her lunch. 

As she lifted the slightly stale bean burrito to her mouth, salivating at the thought of the delicious cheese, refried beans and sour cream about to coat her taste buds, it was suddenly slapped out her paw with a howling “STOP!”

Shirley stood over her, quivering with indignation as she pointed the burrito at the woodchuck. “Are you kidding me?” she screamed at her cousin. “We talked about this! We are boycotting Taco Bell because they are huge contributors to the campaigns of the very animals who are trying to destroy our forest and democracy!”

The woodchuck watched in horror as Shirley flung the burrito as far as she could, which was only about seven inches because her front paws were quite short.

“I didn’t buy it,” protested the woodchuck. “I found it behind the dumpster next to the Taco Bell. I don’t think that should count–I’m not supporting them; I’m helping with the problem of food waste!”

Shirley seemed temporarily stumped by this statement–it was a loophole she hadn’t anticipated. “I think you’re being disingenuous; it’s the intent behind the boycott that matters. If you care enough about trying to stop the weasel and the muskrat from destroying everything, then you have to be willing to do whatever it takes, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

The woodchuck didn’t know what disingenuous meant but she would never admit that to her cousin. “I am a true supporter! I emptied all the stuffing out of my WalMart bag quilt and threw it away.” She did not mention that her long toenails had ripped a jagged tear in the plastic and that her burrow was now a snow globe of floating feathers.

“I know you’re trying,” sighed Shirley. “We’re all trying. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough, but every little bit helps, I suppose. Are you ready for the big economic blackout tomorrow?”

“Ready!” shouted the woodchuck, although she was surprised to find out it was finally February 28. This had been the longest month in the history of the world. “I will not spend any money on anything and we will take down the large corporations that depend upon our dollars to buy yachts!” 

Shirley seemed pleased with the response and hugged her, neither of them mentioning that they were woodchucks and had no money or opposable thumbs to use credit cards. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waved as she left and then thrust a tiny paw in the air. “Cancel your subscription to WaPo! Fuck Jeff Bezos!”

The woodchuck had no idea who Jeff Bezos was, but she nodded enthusiastically. As soon as Shirley was out of sight, she ate the rest of the burrito. It could have used a little more sour cream.

Here is info about the economic blackout, which is on Friday, February 28. So if you need cat food, get it today.

I was very sad to find out that Taco Bell has a high percentage of donations to Republican candidates. RIP, my delicious Caliente Cantina Chicken Quesadilla!

Reality Bites

The woodchuck sat terrified in her burrow. Only her snout and beady black eyes were visible as she sank deeper into the plastic bag stuffed with random bird feathers that was the warmest thing she owned. Outside, above her, a fire raged. It was fueled, not by flames, but by anger and hate and animals who seemed to be voting against their own interests; she’d heard all the chickens had bonded together to elect the weasel. Why you would vote for the beast that regularly took out entire coops was beyond her, but one of them had told her “they just didn’t know what the weasel’s opponent stood for.”  

The woodchuck did not engage with fowl because she knew you can’t change people’s mind by arguing with them, although it never stopped her cousin from trying. Shirley was on her way over to the woodchuck’s burrow, her own plastic bag packed with essentials. She had a plan; they would cross the border to the next meadow to escape whatever terrible things the weasel had in mind for their own beloved field.

The woodchuck knew people saw her as a narcissistic cynic; always looking out for herself and not concerned for the other animals. But they didn’t know about her concealed vein of naivete and optimism. She had never really believed the weasel would come back to their meadow because she couldn’t fathom that the other animals would vote against themselves. Sure, everything cost more since the big sick had locked down the meadow, but wasn’t that the fault of the big corporations? What did they think the weasel was actually going to do about that, since he planned on trying to repeal minimum wage and get the eagles to take out all his enemies?

Shirley ducked into the burrow, dragging two huge bags of sticks behind her. “What are you bringing?” snapped the woodchuck. “I thought we were traveling light.”

“I needed all my favorite sticks to remember this place by,” Shirley said in a quivering voice. “I love this meadow.” Tears ran down her snout and she was suddenly sobbing as hard as Hannah had on Love is Blind when Leo broke up with her. 

The woodchuck was not an affectionate animal, but watching her cousin cry broke something in her. She wrapped her tiny arms around her bulky best friend in a hug as big as she could give, and the two of them stood there for a long time.

“Shirley,” she said softly. “We can’t leave.” Shirley was still sobbing hysterically, and the gentler side that the woodchuck never showed ran out of patience. “SHIRLEY!” she shouted, slapping her relative across the snout. “I know you’re sad and scared and anxious —so am I. But we can’t leave. We are the elders in the meadow here and we have to stay and show them we will not be cowed. We have to keep fighting for all the things we believe in and letting them know just because we lost, we will not bend to their will. We will not vanish without a fight. We’re going to live on. We’re going to survive.”

She wasn’t exactly sure how they were going to do any of that and she realized that some of that pep talk might have been stolen from the president’s speech in Independence Day, but it did the trick. Shirley took a deep breath and the tears slowed. 

“My God,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but you’re right. We have to stay and let the other animals know we can still all band together and keep trying.” She hugged her cousin and said she was going home to put all her sticks back where they belonged.

After she left, the woodchuck stood in silence in her burrow. She wasn’t sure she really believed all that stuff she had just said to Shirley, but at least her cousin had stopped crying. That was something, right? Taking care of each other.

She had found an old string of twinkle lights at the dump, and they worked fine after she replaced the fuse. She strung them from twigs across her burrow, and it made a comforting glow in the cozy tunnel. Today she would rest, and nap; maybe even break into that stash of Snickers bars she had been hoarding since Halloween. She thought about postponing hibernation but changed her mind; after a long sleep through the winter, she would wake refreshed in the spring and ready to do something. She wasn’t sure what that might be, but it would sure be something.

There was only one good thing about all this being over—at least she wouldn’t be getting any more emails and texts from the Democrats wanting more money.

As a form of self-care, I am putting up my Christmas decorations early. They make me happy, and I could sure use some happy right now.