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Location: Washington
Joined: 03/11/2006
Posts: 80
squirrel attack- sort of a long story.

CRUISIN' WITH A SQUIRREL
> --Author Unknown
>
> I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential
> neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!
> Little did I suspect...
>
> I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns
> and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile
> shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of
> me.
>
> It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road
> when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but
> there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close. I hate to
> run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel
> should pose no danger to me.
>
> I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear.
> Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!
>
> Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was
> standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with
> steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at
> the last possible second, he screamed and leapt!
> I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die
> you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!"
>
> The leap was nothing short of spectacular... He shot straight up, flew
> over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly,
> he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he
> brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling,
> hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity.
>
> As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and
> jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern.
> This furry
> little tornado was doing some damage!
>
> Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in
> jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a
> quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a
> squirrel... And losing...
>
> I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally
> managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil
> rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right
> curb, as I recoiled from the throw.
>
> That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It
> really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the
> pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have
> headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no
> ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This
> was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
>
> Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and,
> with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump
> and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his
> rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also
> managed to take my left glove with him!
>
> The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.
> His attacks
> were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say
> the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one
> hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back
> unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the
> throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have
> one result: Torque! This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is
> very, very good at it.
>
> The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel
> screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in...
> well... I just plain screamed!
>
> Now, picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed
> in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather
> glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a
> quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of
> death on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody
> murder.
>
> With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on
> the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving
> the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to
> crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car.
> Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle...
> my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back
> brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big
> cruiser.
>
> About this time, the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient
> attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant
> NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got
> INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.
>
> As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face.
> I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect
> on the squirrel, however.
>
> The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with
> shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.
>
> Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in
> jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove,
> roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy
> squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By
> now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
>
> Finally I got the upper hand. I managed to grab his tail again, pulled
> him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could.
> This time it worked... sort-of.
> Spectacularly
> sort-of...so to speak...
>
> Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled
> off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to
> do some paperwork.
>
> Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in
> jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one
> leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming
> bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live
> squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
>
> I heard screams... They weren't mine...
>
> I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the
> front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to
> a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross
> street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove
> back)... I really would have...
> Really... Except
> for two things.
>
> First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned
> about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of
> the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side
> was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly
> moving away from the car.
>
> The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street,
> aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
>
> So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the
> professionals handle it" anyway.
>
> That was one thing. The other?
>
> Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and
> upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the
> squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is
> one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat
> shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.
>
> I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right
> turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I
> decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a
> whole lot of Band-Aids.
>

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