Samuel and Sarge

The Throne

 Samuel heard “Sarge” whispered that night.

“We can’t do it.  We tried today, but Samuel is too strong for us!”  The Mommy sobbed. 

Samuel heard The Daddy sigh.  “Sarge. He’ll do it.”

What can’t Nana handle?  Samuel thought.  That woman could handle a charging bull.  Oh…today Nana tried to cut his hair.  The Mommy had a lock hold on him which usually worked. Not today. Heh.  Heh.  That was a fine moment.

The next day, The Daddy drove Samuel to a dingy barber shop far away.  Afternoon was passing into dark when they walked through the door. CLOSED said the sign. 

A scrawny old man stood waiting for them.  Old, but his arms showed muscles and tattoos.  Semper Fi.  Old, but ‘don’t mess with me’.  “This your boy?  Looks like ya.  Well, climb up, kid.  Let’s see what ya got.”

There was a throne.  Entitlement at last.  Finally.  Someone recognizes my true place.  He climbed up, surging with power.

 Sarge moved.  Awfully fast for an old man, Sarge had straps around legs and arms, then a red cape over Samuel. 

“Put yerself over ‘im.  He might pull loose.”  The Daddy launched himself across Samuel’s lap.  Samuel heard a buzzzz, and his eyes widened.

Limbs struggled against the restraints; one leg got free.  Lashing out, it hit The Daddy square in the groin.  Groooooan.  Buzzzz. 

Swinging his head around, his baby teeth clamped down on flesh. Semper Fi.  Grrrr.  Buzzzz.

Kick.  Bite.  Groan.  Grrrr.  Buzzzzzzzzzz.

It was over.  The cape sent hair flying, straps were undone. 

The Daddy hobbled around the shop.  Sarge wiped the blood from his arm and lit a cigar.

Samuel crawled down, leaning over to throw up.  Power is hard on a 2 ½ year old tummy.

He saw his reflection in a mirror.  Samuel rubbed his nearly bald hair.  Tears formed.  Okay, Nana.  You win.

Buzzzzzzz....

Samuel and the Squirrel

Source

Looking through the kitchen sliding glass door, Samuel and the squirrel eyed each other.  Both waited for the other to blink.

Bored, the squirrel scampered off, snatching a fallen pecan for his cache of winter supplies.

Samuel sighed.  This had turned out to be a disappointing day.  The Daddy was home, and had said, “Hey, Buddy.  Daddy’s gonna do some work on the computer.  You stay put, okay?”

Stay put?  The Daddy had fixed him up with a harness that was secured around his chest, tethered to the kitchen table.

Stay put?  He could wander about six feet, and then The Daddy would say, “Buddy?”

While The Daddy killed Zombies on the computer in the dining room, Samuel gazed jealously at the squirrel that scurried around the backyard. If only, if only.

Samuel pressed his face against the glass door, watching as Ginger-the-fat-tabby soundlessly squeezed through the pet door.  It was too small for Samuel.

This is a soulless existence.  Samuel hung his head.  I cannot endure such inhumanity.  Inspired, Samuel focused his thoughts on the pet door and the squirrel. 

The Daddy’s briefcase lay open on the chair.  Phone, keys, papers—his for the taking.  ‘Buddy this, big guy!’  Samuel decided.

Samuel retrieved the cell phone and shoved it cautiously through the pet door.  The squirrel examined it.   He snatched it up, scampered up the tree, and dropped it into the chasm of winter food.

Success!  Samuel took the keys, clutching them in his moist chubby hand.  No sound.  Squirrel took them, ka-ching.

Papers?  No problem.  Flash Drive?  Easy-peasy.  Again and again, until all gifts were accepted. 

Samuel looked at the nearly empty case. My job here is done.  He lay down on the floor, giving the squirrel a sleepy smile.  Hard work is always rewarded.