In case you’ve ever asked yourself, “Self, what is it like to get scolded by a chipmunk?”  I can tell you that unlike squirrels, which emit a sort of rasping shriek when irked, chipmunks make their displeasure known through a series of pointed cheeps.

Ol’ Robbo got the rare chance to spend a bit of time in the hammock this lovely fall afternoon.  Evidently,  one of the local chippies had decided that the metal tubing of the base makes a very nice place in which to hole up.  Thus, as I lay gazing idly at the trees and the sky overhead, I gradually became aware of the sound of scratching from somewhere below my toes.  I glanced down just in time to see Mr. Chippy’s head emerge from the end of the crossbar.  Our eyes met and he instantly froze, leaving us locked in a stare-down for several minutes.

Eventually tiring of the thing, I broke my gaze and reached over for my tea mug.  Mr. Chippy immediately took advantage to bolt for the nearby hedge, from which he began to pepper me with what I’m sure was the chipmunk equivalent of some very coarse language indeed.

For myself, I hadn’t any sympathy for his ill-bred taunts.  When Mr. Chipmunk (who, by the way, does mighty well out of the largesse of my bird feeders) offers to pony up his share of the Port Swiller Manor property taxes, then we’ll talk  about shared proprietary rights and benefits.

Until then, he can put his cheeps where the monkey put the nut.

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