The nest usually inhabited by the much discussed bald eagle duo, Liberty and Justice, was invaded Tuesday night by an apparently uninvited guest, a furry member of the mammalian species, a raccoon.
“Two eggs,” said the raccoon, gleefully rubbing his paws together. “Dos huevos. Deux oeufs. Really, I should leave a note.” He chuckled, then composed a poem in his head:
I have eaten
the eggs
that were in
the nest
and which
you were probably
hatching
as eaglets
Forgive me
they were delicious
so eggy
and so …
“Hmmm. How would one describe an egg other than ‘eggy’?” Rutherford wondered. “ ‘Sweet’? Not really. ‘Yolk-y’? I shall have to think on that.”
Rutherford bit into the first fragile ovoid, cracking the shell and sucking at the moist, eggy contents within.
“A little pungent, this one,” he said. “Still, needs must.” He finished it, ate the second egg, then scampered over the lip of the nest and carefully lowered himself down the tree.
Rutherford was headed toward a poorly secured dumpster when he caught sight of something unusual at the edge of the forest. “That’s odd,” he said to himself, scampering over to investigate.
Meanwhile, up above, Liberty and Justice had returned to the nest in a whoosh of feathers.
“Oh no!” said Justice, distraught. “Where are little Pledge and Allegiance?”
Using his beak and talons, Justice began to sift through the twigs of the nest.
“I never agreed to that,” said Liberty.
“To what?” said Justice.
“To those names: Pledge and Allegiance. Ugh.”
“But they fit. I’m Justice. You’re Liberty. Pledge and Allegiance go with the theme. ”
“I’m tired of the theme,” Liberty said. “I always liked the name Logan if it’s a male and Kelsey if it’s a female.”
“But what would Mr. President and First Lady say?” Justice asked in a pleading tone.
“Oh like you care,” Liberty hissed. “If you cared so much about those eggs, why did you leave me alone for two weeks?”
“You weren’t exactly alone,” Justice said.
“Don’t you start.”
“How many times do I have to apologize, Liberty?” Justice said, pleading. “I said I was sorry. Now help me find our offspring.”
Liberty hopped to the rim of the nest, then turned to face the wind. “They’re gone,” she said.
“Gone?” Justice stammered.
“They were never going to hatch,” Liberty said. “I couldn’t keep them warm by myself, with you off wherever you were. Aaron Burrd was useless. By the time you came back, the eggs weren’t viable.”
“Oh, Liberty. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“You’re right,” Liberty said. “But what’s done is done. Still, I hate strangers in my nest. Someone has to pay for this and I think I know who it is.”
With two flaps of her muscular wings, Liberty launched herself from the aerie. She had spotted a raccoon down below. There was egg on his face.
Rutherford B. Hayes stopped in the clearing a few yards from the thing that had caught his attention. It was a statue of a deer, placed, for some strange reason, at the edge of the tree line. He crept closer, curious.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said a voice. Rutherford turned to see a squirrel perched on a broken tree stump.
“And who might you be?” the raccoon asked.
“I might be Pursuit of Happiness or Ulysses Squirrel Grant, but in fact I am Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act,” said the squirrel.
“Well, Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act, who put this statue of a deer here?” asked Rutherford.
“That’s not a statue,” said the squirrel. “Look again. But I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”
Rutherford circled the deer. He could see now that the animal was breathing, the ribs of its thin chest expanding and contracting slowly. And in the deer’s eyes was a haunted, faraway look.
“Chronic wasting disease,” said the squirrel. “Also known as prion disease. Proteins are attacking its brain and spinal tissue.”
“Why, that’s horrific,” said Rutherford.
“I know. Creepy, isn’t it? I think I actually prefer a rabid fox to a zombie deer. You know where you are with a rabid fox. Watch out!”
Smoot-Hawley’s scream startled Rutherford so much that the raccoon flinched just as Liberty’s talons were closing around his neck — or where his neck had been. The talons clutched instead at empty air and the eagle landed in a tangle of brush.
“Baby killer!” she shouted.
“Madam,” said Rutherford, “my apologies. But we both know those eggs were never going to hatch. I performed my typically useful service. Besides, we have bigger worries.”
The raccoon nodded toward the deer. It had started to move, awkwardly, one trembling hoofstep at a time.
“It’s headed toward the city,” said the squirrel.
“Well,” said Rutherford, “it’s the humans’ problem now.”
Twitter: @johnkelly
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