OPINION: Sylvia And Her Mining Company Become Victims of Squirrel

Sylvia
by Anne Sullivan
“Sylvia!” I shrieked, “How many times have I told you to stop digging under the house?”
Without stopping, her paws spraying dirt behind her, Sylvia answered, “I don’t know exactly. Maybe four or five times.”
“So why are you still digging?”
“Because the gold from the Lost Adams Diggings is buried here. I know it.”
“No, it’s not,” I said to divert her. “I happen to know it’s buried up-canyon where the tall rocks are. Why don’t you do more digging there?”
‘I would,” she replied over her shoulder and still without ceasing her labor, “but there’s no way to transport the gold down here.”
“What about your sweet little wagon pulled by squirrels?”
“There’s been a problem with that,” Sylvia said, actually stopping her digging. “The squirrels have gone on strike.”
”How come? I thought you were paying them with my walnuts.”
“The strike wasn’t because of lack of payment. You remember that two-timing rat of a squirrel I was interrogating under the house. The one that escaped when you stopped me from killing him.”
“Yes, I remember well. It was considerably more than interrogation.”
“Not really,” Sylvia said. “It was sanctioned by the government of Swingle Canyon.”
”What government is that?”
“RingWorm, Gordo and me. The Big Three Government.”
“Lord help us and perish the thought,” I said with a sigh. “Anyway, what’s that poor squirrel got to do with the strike?”
Sylvia’s usually kind face registered her rage. “The big sissy evidently went to the grievance rep to complain about his treatment and the union steward took his side. I tell you, help isn’t what it used to be.”
“Maybe not, but what happened?”
“All our squirrels went out on strike and now they’re suing me for everything I’ve got. That stupid squirrel said I bullied him. It’s all your fault; you should have let me kill him.”
“It’s a poor leader who passes the blame.”
“Huh?” said Sylvia, resuming her digging. “Anyway, now we have no way to transport the gold.”
After digesting this news, I suggested, “What about using some other animal to pull the wagon?
There’s Gordo. What about him?”
“I already asked him. He says it’s not in his job description. I have been wondering about the mice. Didn’t they pull a carriage for that Cinderella person?”
“I believe they did. That’s a great idea,” I said. “We have a plethora of mice this year. Giving them honest work might keep them out of my bedroom. Think of the mouse lives that could be saved.”
“A lot, I guess,” Sylvia allowed. “It will take many mice to pull the wagon, especially when it’s full of gold.”
“How will you recruit them?”
“I’ll put it to them that it’s better than death by sticky trap and axe. That ought to convince them,” Sylvia said. “If that doesn’t, RingWorm and Gordo as their overseers can crack the whip. Gordo enjoyed practicing his whip cracks until he broke the whip.”
“To show you how sincerely I believe the gold is buried up-canyon and not under my house,” I said, “I’ll stake you to another whip, a bigger one.”
“Do you really and truly believe there’s gold in these here rocks?” she asked.
“Bound to be,” I said, and maybe it wasn’t a lie.

OPINION: Sylvia And Her Mining Company Become Victims of Squirrel