Tree Evictions, Animals, Translations and More
After lunch which included aforementioned drink (or two), I got more orders from headquarters. Great! The new orders were to post an eviction notice on the large, but sadly, damaged tree in the front yard. The notice would let all inhabits of said tree (i.e., birds, squirrels, etc.) know they had 3 days to move out or suffer the consequences. The damaged tree would be taken down (hopefully not by bomb, that didn’t work so well the last time — we’re still dealing with lawsuits from the neighbors). I wish I had had three dirty martinis with lunch instead of trying to be “responsible” and only having two. Not exactly HR policy, but my motto is what headquarters doesn’t find out won’t hurt them.
The back story on this one is about two weeks ago, there was a terrible firestorm and half of the tree in the front yard came down. The trunk split in two, and half of the trunk came down in spectacular fashion. I wasn’t on duty at the time; I only saw the aftermath. I’m sorry I missed it, though. Although I’m very sad at the loss of the tree, it would have been so much fun to have experienced the firestorm. I know, some people hate it but I live for that shit. I was 20 miles away, getting some stankie on the hang down, and there was no evidence of anything amiss until I came back on duty, two days later (happily satisfied, I might add). I only saw it when I came back and saw the ruins, dammit, and of course left me to round up some able bodies to clean up the mess. However, you know what they say: it’s not what you know, it’s who you know and I know some very handsome young men — and woman — with strong arms and chainsaws who came running when I called. Yeah, work it baby!
Back to the present: I trotted outside like a good operative and posted the sign. It wasn’t my best work but the printer was on the fritz (again!) and something tells me the repairrabbit was out getting high on the same stuff the dead squirrel was on because I saw him sacked out in the back of the building, with a fist full of feathers clutched in his tiny little paw. This is really getting serious when you can’t rely on repairrabbits. They are usually everywhere; they multiply like mad, you know.
Now that I posted the sign, I realized that I needed to talk to the General about how he was able to talk to both me (a human) and the squirrels AND know what was going on with the ducks while he was a groundhog. Either he’s a genius at languages (a possibility), or he had a translator. If it’s the latter, I want to know about it and where I can find one since I’m getting deeper and deeper into the investigation and I can’t just point to shit and hope I get my point across, like I do with repairrabbits.
I went out back and approached the shed. I’ve never spoken to the General when he wasn’t outside his home under the shed, and I was unsure how to reach him since he didn’t seem to be moseying around the yard, or as he puts it “making his rounds” (no, he has no official standing here on the Base but we let him pretty much do what he wants since he brings us a lot of intel).
The General’s entrance to his home was a hole under the shed, to the right of the main door, left of a bank of hosta plants. The hole was not too big, about 10 inches across. I got down on my knees and peered inside. I couldn’t see anything so I placed my hands on the edge of the hole and leaned a little further to get a better look. There appeared to be a yellowish light inside, so I leaned a little further. Suddenly, I lost my grip on the edge of the hole and tumbled in. The hole was apparently much larger than it originally appeared to me because I fell about 10 feet and I landed in a “WHUUUUMP” on a floor map that said “Welcome to My Home. Got a Warrant?”
I rubbed my forehead since I seemed to land headfirst, and shook my head to clear the dirt out of my hair. I looked up to see the General, a Sandhill Crane (how it got down the hole I’ll never know — those suckers are BIG), a squirrel, two mice, and a chipmunk, all looking at me questioningly. They were seated around the table (well, the mice were standing on top of the table, peering down at me). The table was set for a poker game, with glasses of what seemed to be whiskey or bourbon. Well, at least they seemed to be having a jolly old time while I was getting a massive migraine.
“Ahem,” said the General. “Can we help you, doll?” He a teensy bit tipsy, as he had never called me “Doll” in his life…and never would again if he wanted to see his next birthday.
“Seriously, did you just call me doll?” I said, at once acting offended (which I was), while at the same time trying to maintain my dignity since I DID just crash through the General’s front door, uninvited, and landed on his front doorstep (so to speak), quite literally on my forehead. So much for a respectable entrance, without knocking. But then again, how does one knock on soil? I do need to ask him when he isn’t quite so … tipsy. “And are you playing poker, in the middle of the afternoon, and drinking bourbon??” I asked him, trying to act offended. All this time I thought he was a groundhog. Living under the shed. Which he was, but he was also running poker parties and drinking better stuff than me. Really, what’s wrong with this picture?
“Miss Swan, I heartily apologize for my momentary lapse in judgment for calling you ‘Doll,’” the General loftily stated. “However, you took me by surprise by crashing MY cocktail party. I didn’t know you would be interested, otherwise I would have invited you.”
“Well, that is quite nice of you,” I replied, knowing full well there wasn’t a chance in hell the General would have invited me. However, this was a nice segue into the real reason why I had come to his abode in the first place. “However, I would have had a hard time conversing with all of your guests which is part of the reason why I came to talk to you this afternoon. I wanted to ask you of your knowledge of other languages, such as duck, squirrel, etc. However, seeing you with your current guests, it appears you have either knowledge of languages that is vaster than I had previously thought, or perhaps you have a translator?”
“Ah,” chuckled the General. “What you need is the ‘AnTrans App.’ Do a search for it on your phone, you’ll find it. Once you install it, the program allows you to understand what the animals are speaking as well as translating what the animals are saying instantaneously. I would have thought YOU would have heard of it, since your friend Rico was the one who developed the app.”
“You’re kidding. Rico did this?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I have to contact him and give him a piece of my mind for not telling me. He is practically my brother and I can’t believe he didn’t mention it. This will make him rich!”
“On the contrary, I don’t think he’s made a dime off of it” said the General. “From what I can gather although you’ll have to get the story straight from him, he developed the app when one of his beloved dogs was ill and he wanted to be able to converse with him before he passed. Once the dog passed, he didn’t want to make any money off it, although he did make sure the app was universal with all animal types and species. It’s only been out for a month or so, but it’s been amazingly popular. Of course, it’s been very recent since Rocky died so maybe Rico just doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Seriously, how do you know about Rocky and Rico, and the AnTrans App and I don’t?” I asked the General. “I’ve known Rico almost my whole life.”
“Well,” the General said, pausing for a moment. “Rico stopped by here a few times but you hadn’t been around too much during your down time last year. He and I struck a bit of a friendship and I found out that he’s a bit of a card shark. He actually won quite a few hands of poker off me, and the man DOES love to drink. If you do speak to him, tell him I just got a new bottle of Buffalo Basin Bourbon in case he’s interested.”
“Thank you so much, General, you’ve been a great help. I’ll also pass along your message to Rico when I talk to him. It seems he and I really do need to catch up.” I said to the General. I made my apologies to his guests for crashing their party. The General translated, of course. I made my way back up the tunnel to the entrance, and shook my head about the surreal experience of being in the General’s residence, under the shed, seeing the animals playing poker, drinking bourbon, and talking about an app that allows animals and humans to converse.
I think it’s going to be a four martini, liquid dinner.
