This one put me into hysterical laughter.  If you can read this without losing it, you have one hearty constitutionand NO sense of humor!  Please place all beverages in a safe place, thank you!

Subject: Motorcycle and squirrel 

An original true story, written by a Battalion Fire Chief in a

Mississippi town.
I never dreamed that 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


Animal lovers never fear squirrels, I discovered, can take care of


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, "Banzai!" 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


This was an 


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... 


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


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


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.
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!


~ by justmytruth on March 3, 2009.

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