The Colonel’s First Story, pt. 4

We have nearly come to the end of Colonel Birdwhistle’s first story from the book.  Click here to start at the beginning: Part 1 .

And now, I submit to you Part 4:

“An excellent question,” replied the Colonel.  “We used local ingenuity, my dear.  Local ingenuity.  You see, the people there have been trapping monkeys for hundreds of years.  The monkey is a clever animal, but he is more selfish than he is clever.  He can figure out how to get his hand on something to steal, but once he has it in that hand, he won’t ever let go until it is his.  So we tied several crates to the top of our cart, each with a freshly cut mango inside.  Then we made holes in them just large enough so that monkey hands would fit in but the mango wouldn’t come out.  On our trip, the monkeys descended on our cart and smelled the mangos.  They fought over which ones got to stick their little hands inside to grab those fresh mangos.  When we stopped the cart, the monkeys scattered — all except the ones with their hands stuck in the crate, too greedy to let go.  So, we would untie those crates with monkeys attached and give them to the locals to…to take away… and relocate.”400px-Vervet_yawn

He held up a hand again and pointed at it adding, “So the very thing that they cause trouble with gets them into trouble, too.”

“Did you get rid of all the monkeys in Africa, sir?” asked a boy with bright red hair and a nose generously sprinkled with freckles.

“No, young fellow,” laughed the Colonel.  Then he pointed at the large tree behind him.

“You see this tree.  It has squirrels in it right?” he said to general agreement.  “If I were to take the squirrel family that lived there away, another family that lived say, over there in that smaller tree would look at it and say, ‘that’s a nice tree and there are no squirrels living in it.  I’ll bet it has lots of nuts.  We should go live there.’ And they would.  So you would never have an attractive tree like this with no squirrels, right?”

The audience bobbled their heads as if they understood.

“It is, unfortunately, the same with monkeys,” said the Colonel.  “We removed as many as we could, and by the time the next ship came in, there were at least as many monkeys there as there had been before.  And they were stealing from us again.  To them, our supplies were just like that nice big tree the squirrel family wanted.  So they came in droves with their cute little hands and chit-chit noises and robbed us blind.”

He finished his story by slapping his knees to add emphasis and the children laughed.  The mothers behind them clapped their approval, and the Colonel couldn’t suppress a “dreadful vermin,” muttered under his breath.

Conclusion coming soon

Virgil Creech

Vervet Monkey photo credit: Whit Welles

Save the Speakers!

My first car was a 1969 Orange Volkswagen Karmann Ghia.  It was wonderful!  Well, to a 16 year-old boy it was wonderful.  Truth is, the floorboard had so many holes rusted in it that I could see the road I was travelling on.  The heat was non-existent, the windows often came off track (and sometimes fell out), and I could hear a mocking laugh from the windshield wipers when I turned them on.  But I loved it.  I first saw it as I pedaled past a used car lot in my hometown in Kentucky.  Every town has that cheesy lot – with all the ropes of ugly plastic flags hanging from pole to pole and a small building housing a used-car salesman who looked and dresses exactly like Herb Tarlek from WKRP in Cincinnati.  When it came time to buy, my father took me to the lot to confront Herb with the admonition to let him do the talking.  Yeah, sure Dad, I’ll be quiet.  That guy saw me coming.  Maybe he’d seen me ride my back past him, lusting after the orange beauty.  Anyway, he wouldn’t budge off the asking price of $900, so my father staged the fake walk-out – a negotiating tactic he should have warned his naive son about.  Of course, being an idiot, my immediate response was to yell, “But I want that car!”  I don’t think I grabbed onto his leg and rode him while he stormed away, but I might as well have.  Guess what we paid for the car…$900.

Karmann Ghia

It lasted 9 months.  $100 per month, which was a lot of money to a kid in the mid-80’s.  I had just picked up my friend Will on a Friday night when it breathed its last.  Like its inconspicuous color, it died in grand style.  The engine threw a rod and caught on fire.  My response to the flames was to yell, “Save the speakers!!!!”  I had just bought them for a considerable sum and installed them myself.  So with the back of the car on fire and a crowd gathering, two 16 year-old morons dove into the miniscule back seat to rescue the speakers.  I honestly don’t know if we saved them, but I do remember trading the piece of junk in on a white Oldsmobile that my classmates dubbed “The Egg.”  Quite a step down from my orange glory.

I tell that story for one reason – my laptop died a few weeks ago and I wanted to offer a piece of advice to would-be writers like myself.  My advice is to buy several external hard drives and flash drives and save everything often OUTSIDE of your laptop. If you are savvier than me, use a cloud.  Save often.  Daily.  You never know when something you love is going to die.

I got everything off of it except for a couple of my most recent edits and ideas.  Of course, the lost files were literary genius, I’m sure – the most witty and superb crafting of verbiage ever formed in the English language.  Whatever they were, they were destined to be my breakthrough pieces.  And now they are lost.

I’m very happy with my shiny, new, green laptop, named Shrek by my kids.  A far better name than my second automobile.

Save, Save, Save…  Don’t trust one drive, save and oversave.  Save early and often.

Oh, and don’t go back into a burning car for speakers.  That’s a bad plan.