Futile Endeavors: The Call Harkens

Why is being productive so hard?

*  *  29  *  *

I was almost to the car. Just a few more feet.

But the squirrel scampered by, leaving me no choice but to follow it. I mean, really. What else could I do? It was a squirrel! I chased it across the park, dodging and weaving as best I could to stay on its trail. It finally zipped up a tree leaving me nothing to do but stare at it and wait.

So I waited.

And waited.

And . . .

The butterfly sitting on the trunk of the tree moved its wings slightly. Not a lot. Just enough that I couldn’t help but to see it. When it took flight, I did the only logical thing and jumped with all my might to try and catch it. Sadly, I failed and landed hard on the ground. The butterfly fluttered by without paying me another thought.

That’s when the nut hit me on the forehead.

I looked up to where I expected the nut had originated to find the squirrel staring down at me, snickering. It twitched its tail enticingly, forcing me to keep my eyes focused on it. It was almost as though . . .

At the last minute, I spun 180 degrees to find a second, fatter squirrel and a rabbit standing mere inches away from me. At the sight of my impressive and intimidating demeanor, they bolted. I couldn’t let such almost-perfectly-executed deception go unpunished, though, so I took off after them. Their legs could move faster, but mine were longer. I was gaining on them. In fact, I was just about to catch the fat squirrel by the tip of his tail when the butterfly drifted between us.

It was at that moment that I realized they were all in cahoots.

It was, really, the only logical explanation.

The squirrels, rabbit, and butterfly had all planned this from the start. From the very first moment I had laid eyes on the first squirrel, I had been playing into their hands . . . paws . . . and/or wings. It was time to put them on the defensive.

Mustering every ounce of self-control in my body, I ignored the butterfly and located the rabbit. She had circled around back toward the tree, so, knowing she must be turning back to regroup and reconspire with the ring-leader squirrel, I took off in her direction.

The Frisbee hit me in the side of the head rather hard.

Or at least it would have if I wasn’t so quick.

Ok, I’ll be honest. It wasn’t even close. But I did see one and for all anyone really knows a strong, well-placed gust of wind could have sent it careening off-course and then it could have gotten a crazy bounce followed by a well-timed trip on my part leading to my head coming into direction contact with the Frisbee.

It could happen.

Either way, the disc flew through the air with an unnatural wobble and just enough of a whistle to ensure that I heard it. Frisbees are crafty creatures. It’s never smart to turn your back on them. I usually go for the preeminent approach, personally.

I attacked the disc, snatching it out of the air and pinning it to the ground.

The butterfly flew by, so I dropped the disc.

The rabbit reappeared, so I forgot the butterfly.

The two squirrels regrouped and snickered from the tree, so I turned away from the rabbit.

A followed by someone else, so I chased them.

I familiar whistle sounded, so I dropped everything else.

My best friend waved to me from the open door of the car, so I remembered what I had been doing in the first place.

Finally, I managed to get myself safely into the confines of the car. My friend closed the door, started it up, and we were on our way. I stuck my head out the window, because what else are cars for, anyway?

It was the best day ever.


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