The scarab beetle, feeling secure in its homemade tunnel five inches below the surface, heard a scraping sound and began digging furiously downward. A long saliva sticky tongue put a quick halt to its escape plans and the beetle was sucked rapidly toward the surface and into the waiting mouth of the hungry armadillo. The armadillo with its keen sense of smell could find its prey even six inches below the hard packed dirt in the side of the drainage ditch. Seconds after swallowing the hard-shelled insect the armadillo with its equally keen sense of hearing began picking up vibrations from deep within the ground. These sounds, not unlike a large earth mover might make, brought back memories to the armored beast of nests being torn up and having to constantly relocate its home burrow. Over the last three years the armadillo had to move five different times, even though the last six months had been relatively free of disturbances in its lifestyle. Standing on his hind feet, he twisted his head back and forth but couldn’t pinpoint the direction of the noise. Deciding it was unsafe anywhere in this area the armadillo dropped back down on all four legs and scampered hastily back to its burrow more than a hundred yards deep into the thick forest. Three deer, a buck and two does, were nibbling on fresh leaves on young oak saplings when a deep vibration under their feet alerted them to danger. The buck, clearly the leader, raised his head and turned it slowly to the right and then the left. His nostrils flared trying to pick up a strange scent. His sensitive ears twitched rapidly back and forth trying to pick up a noise that he could identify. Puzzled, he jerked his large white bushy tail frantically to signal his two does. The does, seeing the danger sign from the buck, jumped quickly over to their familiar game trail and headed toward the safety of their lair deep in the forest. The buck, pleased that the does responded quickly to his alarm signal, took one last look around and hastily followed his does to their home.
A horned owl, high in the branches of a majestic magnolia tree, was following the movements of a field mouse that was intent on collecting the bright red seeds from the magnolia pods. The owl, planning his attack, was suddenly jolted, by an abrupt shaking of the trunk of the hundred year old tree. Discarding his plans for dinner, the owl flew quickly off the branch he had been perched on and flew deep into the forest. The mouse, unfazed, continued his search for seeds. The tree, quiet now, continued just being a tree.
The weathered white wooden sides of the twelve-foot long boat rocked gently in the gray water as Jeff Finley leaned his four hundred plus pounds over the battered plank that served as the back seat of his fishing boat. Lifting the scarred lid of the ten year old red and white plastic cooler, he didn’t have to glance downwards for his pudgy fingers to grasp the icy metal sides of the Budweiser that lay nestled with its companions, like new born chicks in an overfilled nest. Chips of ice fell off the near frozen twelve ounce can as he expertly flicked the tab top and brought the container to his ample size lips. Draining half the can and belching with a ferocity that echoed across the still lake he set the can on the gritty floor and turned towards his only son, Todd.
“You know boy, this is the life. A peaceful morning on a beautiful lake surrounded by miles and miles of dark green woods. The sounds of ducks flying overhead. This is almost heaven boy.”
Todd Finley, at seven years old, forty-six pounds, and a mop of bushy blonde hair was a sharp contrast to his balding dark haired overweight father. His sleep encrusted eyes were barely opened as he partially suppressed a yawn with the back of his fragile looking small hand and answered in a squeaky voice.
“I know dad but why do we have to start so early. Don’t the fish ever sleep in?”
“Come on son, where’s your sense of adventure? The early worm catches the biggest fish or something like that. You’d be up already watching those cartoons anyways, so you might as well learn about nature from an expert like myself.”
The disability checks that Jeff Finley had been receiving for the last five years supported quite well his retired type life style. His very caring wife’s paychecks from her job as an office manager for a large industrial firm paid the rent, utilities, groceries, and school clothes for their son. She didn’t mind if Jeff splurged his money on his hobbies and outdoor activities. Her theory was a happy man was a lot easier to live with and besides he took care of Todd whenever he wasn’t in school. Jeff was by far not a greedy man and he quite often tried to donate his income to help with the bills but she had repeatedly assured him that her paychecks covered the bills with plenty to spare and that he worked very hard until he got injured so he deserved this permanent vacation.
Jeff bought her flowers at least once a week and surprised her sporadically at other times with little gifts that she knew came from his heart.
Her only regret was the weight he had gained since the fallen crane boom at the construction site had pulverized his right leg into a mass of jigsaw type bone fragments and he would never walk without a leg brace and a cane. This lack of activity plus a combination of at least a case of beer a day and tons of snacks had turned him into a jolly rotund butterball with eyes that twinkled like Santa Claus. Jeff was in pain almost constantly but his family and friends had never heard one complaint or word of pity from him. He had a philosophy, whatever happens, happens for a reason and you might as well make the most of it.
“Well dad, how long are we going to stay out here? I promised I would go over to Billy’s house this afternoon to play his new Nintendo game he got for his birthday.’
“Don’t worry son, we’ll leave about one o’clock. We’ll have a boatload of fish by then and the sun will just start getting too hot to stay on the lake. You may not want to go in by that time though because you’ll be catching fish right and left. The speckled perch are really going to be biting this morning and you know how much fun they are to catch.”
“Ok dad, but promise me we’ll go in if we’re not catching anything.”
“I promise Todd, but I guarantee you will never forget this day. It’ll really be exciting, trust me!”
Dilford Bailey, at thirty-eight years old, was probably best described as a pompous ass. His pencil thin heavily waxed brown mustache set precisely one half inch above his tight always frowning thin upper lip gave the appearance of being painted rather than grown on. His wire rim glasses perched halfway down his long pointed nose brought back memories of a cranky schoolmaster even to those who never a had the misfortune of learning the three r’s from one. Bailey’s eloquent use of very long words brought not only a sense of boredom but also a feeling of being lectured on any subject he decided to pursue at any given moment. His employees all regarded the resort manager as a royal pain but they all groveled nevertheless in front of him because they had all heard the rumors about his past work history. The rumors, many of which were actually true, buzzed around the hotel whenever a new employee started work.