Strange Tails

“Would our new guest like to introduce yourself?” said the rabbit.

“Do you mind if I just … ” Squirrel sat at the back of the room, pointing to the floor. He was happy where he was.

“It’s perfectly safe, dear. You are amongst friends.”

“His name is Squirrel,” said Siobhan.

“Chiffon, tut, you know we prefer gender-neutral terms.”

“OK, they name is Squirrel, but for the hundredth time my name is pronounced Shiv-awn.” After a brief hacking cough she reached for another cigarette stowed in a pleather pouch at her shoulder. “Shiv-awn,” she repeated.

“Thank you, Shiv-awn. Squirrel, please take a seat. We have water and a selection of berries on the low table. Help yourself.”

“Any candy?” he asked.

“We prefer not to harm our bodies with chemicals,” replied the rabbit, eyeing Siobhan’s cigarette reproachfully.

Squirrel hopped up and sniffed at a bowl of small red bumps.

“So there’s no chocolate in any of these?”

“No.”

He plopped back down, retaking his sentry at the rear. Siobhan leant in closer.

Squirrel peered around the dull brown room. The only bright colors belonged to a few strung-up lab coats, still brilliant white and pale blue, probably long neglected. Several kidney-shaped basins had been placed in one corner, full of what looked unpromisingly like water. Noticing his wandering eye, Siobhan explained the basins were for bladder relief; while, of course, denying you the actual relief of leaving the room to do it.

“So,” continued the rabbit, addressing the room, which as far as Squirrel could tell consisted primarily of even more rabbits. Their numbers surrounded one cow and a mid-sized shaggy thing of indeterminate origin. Whenever the cow moved, the rest of the room adjusted to fit.

“We heard a wonderfully raw and viscerally truthful poem from our comrade Neville.” A small furry head popped up at the front, span around, and took a bow. A soft pud-pud-pud of furry feet greeted him. “We feel your pain in this monstrous carnivarchy, Neville. Thank you. May the resistance continue.”

Taking their cue, Siobhan and Squirrel clapped and whooped for the groundbreaking poem they had evidently just missed. Small furry heads peered around and scowled.

“Sorry, keep forgetting,” replied Siobhan. “No loud noises,” she added, for the benefit of Squirrel. “It’s oppressive.”

“So a whole roomful of vegans trying to not to fart? Interesting. What’s a carnivarchy?”

“A flawed and unjust social system skewed to the needs of meat eaters. I agree with them, of course, I just wish they weren’t such pussies about it.”

“Ahem,” coughed the lead rabbit, who wore a sticker labelled ‘Flopsy’. “Our next item is the weekly graze-in. As you know, the time tomorrow is 6 a.m. and a full attendance is appreciated. Any extra gatherings will be distributed, as usual, to those less fortunate than ourselves.”

“Who’s she referring to?” asked Squirrel, before correcting himself. “Sorry, who’s they referring to?”

“Gerald. They’re a sheep with a sprained ankle. I think that’s it.”

“So we’re just a Gerald away from the bottom of the pile.”

“According to Flopsy.”

A light ripple of paw-pudding and hoof-clicking traveled around the room. Squirrel swung one claw towards another and then stopped himself just in time.

“Jasper,” said Flopsy. “I believe you wanted to say something to the group?”

The hairy creature of indeterminate origin stood up and cleared its throat. A wide, reverberating voice followed. “Yus, thank you Flopsy. As you all know, I’ve been working for some time on my thesis regarding the predatory ideology of the banded mongoose community, and its deleterious effect on asparagus farming.”

The hairy creature peered up momentarily. Buried somewhere in all that hair were two small, shining eyes. They sought confirmation from the crowd but found only hastily pasted-on smiles. Flopsy visibly sagged.

“Well, ahem, I have printed for this group some recent findings which clearly link said mongooses with a hitherto unwatched sub-group of otters, whom heretofore—”

Siobhan leaned into Squirrel. “Let’s get out of here before he makes us learn something.”

“Righto. At least he won’t be lecturing us on French Fries—that is a bit of a hot potato. Hey, what’s a heretofore?”

“It’s in case the here-to-three breaks down.”

A mid-sized pond of forward-staring, glassy-eyed faces failed to register the pair as they tiptoed quietly from the room, except the face of Flopsy, which assumed a disapproving look its owner had clearly spent some time mastering. The truants shrugged shoulders and squeezed out the door.

Siobhan leaned against the wall outside and struck up a cigarette. “I have somewhere to be,” she said. “See you tomorrow at the graze-in?”

“Well … ”

“It’s really quite peaceful you know, and not nearly as pompous as the anti-carnivarchy support group. Come, looks like you could do with a few friends, even if they are wetter than a fish in a shower. Besides, I’ll be there,” she smiled, as best she could.

“Sounds early.”

“It’s the only time to go. The sun’s coming up, the dew on the leaves is beautiful, and best of all, the flesh botherers are still sleeping off their meat comas. Deal?”

“Alright. Even if you won’t tell me what a heretofore is.”

“Ha ha! And I thought you’d like a pun.”

“A pun?”

“You know, like, what’s a Grecian Urn?”

Squirrel brightened. “About 20 bucks a week,” he said.

“See. We are going to get on famously.”

***

“Not that way!” barked Gavin. “You will wander outside the perimeter.”

“Oh, right.” Potbelly stopped at a fork in the trees before rejoining him. She thought for a moment. “Wouldn’t it make sense for our prey to just migrate out of the perimeter?”

“You’re talking about dumb animals. They never learn.”

“Dumb doesn’t necessarily mean stupid,” she protested, not liking the connection. “But anyway, you’re saying only the stupid ones stay in the perimeter?”

“Correct.”

“Like us.”

“Corr … no, not like us. We’re following the rules. It’s different.”

“Do you always follow the rules?”

“Rules exist for a reason. We want to minimize the impact on our surroundings. Besides, we want to prevent creatures from the Silence getting lost.”

“Aren’t they all carnivores? Can’t they all just follow their noses?”

“Most haven’t experienced the outside world like you. Some wouldn’t know their nasal passage from a hole in the ground.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does anybody other than a chosen few, like you and Tina, ever get to leave the Silence?”

“They can leave any time they choose.”

“But do they?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I guess you’d have to ask them. Safety. Collective spirit. Some are involved in research on the human machines.”

“Who makes the rules at the Silence?”

“A committee. Headed by Coralane.”

“Who else is on the committee?”

“I don’t know for sure. I think there’s a goat somewhere.”

“If you don’t know then who does? Is Coralane running everything?”

“I told you, it’s a committee. Now quit your waffling. It’s bad enough we have the pack scaring everything up a tree without you and your twenty questions.”

“You don’t need to kill. There’s food back at the compound.”

“Some food. Not limitless, and I hunt because I want to, like I said. We have to stay sharp.”

“Sharp for what, I mean, if no one’s ever going anywhere? What are we practicing tracking skills for? Finding the remote?

“Shh!” ordered Gavin, who stopped abruptly. Potbelly barely missed parking her snout in his butt.

Finally she saw the movement. Her sense of smell, strangely ineffective for a dog, gave her no clues as to what it was—which she now put down to her brain plumbing rather than a natural biological reaction to a repeated exposure to Squirrel—but her eyes and ears remained keen. She saw it move again, and whatever it was, it clearly hadn’t seen them.

Potbelly followed Gavin’s careful footsteps, unsure what was coming next, but already deciding that whatever it was, it was going to be his problem. She wasn’t going to hunt again. The tension, the aggression, the blood lust, it felt uncomfortably like Cujo; it put her in touch with her inner herbivore.

Suddenly there was silence, with just a hint of leaves. Then Gavin mumbled something, and much more quietly than Potbelly had anticipated.

The larger dog crouched to leap, front forelocks tensed, hind quarters first raised and then lowered, finding their optimal position. It made Potbelly think of the library in Springville. He must have done the same thing there, preparing to pounce, watching her sleep. Thank heavens for Squirrel.

Squirrel.

Gavin leapt, and there, just as he did so, let out a high keening yelp, twisting and landing and then gnashing at Potbelly. Despite the violence she didn’t release his tail, instead keeping her eye on the gray bushy one disappearing up a tree. Side-stepping the hot blasts of vitriol, Potbelly let go only when the furry butt of the alarmed rodent escaped.

Gavin clamped his jaws around Potbelly’s neck and pinned her hard to the ground. She whimpered from fright until no longer able to resist, no longer able to push breath through her constricted windpipe. Her eyes bulged in certainty that everything was done, sharp canines pressing into her spinal cord, tears welling, but all the while, somehow, still registering in her peripheral vision a young squirrel looking down at her, curiously.

Gavin released his grip. He pulled away, snorting hard, his deep breaths rumbling like a distant juggernaut. He ran his tongue across the same canines Potbelly still felt piercing her neck, mopping up just a little drop of blood from their tips.

“Get up,” he demanded.

She tried a leg gingerly, discovering she could move after all. Trying to cough but finding it hurt too much, she rolled onto her front, gathering her strength to push upwards. Her engine was spluttering back into life, but still that neck pain throbbed.

“Rule or no rule, you do that again, and I will kill you.” Gavin lurched forward again, just an inch from her face.

Potbelly didn’t respond. She stared at the ground, and at the lower half of the beast before her. Her whole head pulsed. She let it sag down farther, fearful of doing more damage.

“Find your own way home,” he said, and left.

Potbelly folded onto her haunches and cried a tearless cry.