So there I was, standing by my motrocyle. I had just attended the most popular National Management Asssociation event of the year, the annual Santa Maria Barbecue, in Titusville, Florida. As usual, the food and fellowship were outstanding.
As I was digging through my saddle bags, I pulled out my jacket and night goggles. It was a beautiful Central Florida evening and I was looking forward to a pleasant ride home. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a cute little squirrel climbing down the tree, only a few feet away from me. I thought, "Oh, a cute little squirrel."
The next thing I felt was a tickle at my ankle, followed by a brushing of my calf, then my thigh. There was a pressure as I felt my shirt being slightly pulled down at the back. Still, I was refusing to believe what my brain was telling me, until I was forced to look over my shoulder. There it was, a scrawny ball of fur clinging to my back. The squirrel. He just looked at me.
Now, being a mature man, just about six feet tall, and weighing in at over two hundred pounds, I reacted in what I felt was an appropriate manner for being accosted by a small furry animal that could have weighed no more than a pound. I freaked out. I immediately began running in cirlces, trying to shake the thing off my back. When it was obvious that wouldn't work, I broke into what I'm sure was a very entertaining combination of the Jitterbug, the Twist, and the Dance of the Seven Veils. I even let the squirrel take the lead. He just laughed at me.
Knowing that, at any second, I'd feel his tiny little squirrel vampire teeth sink into my neck, I grabbed a nearby pole and began to swing violently around it. He didn't budge. (I did however, manage to pick up some very attractive bruises and scratches on the inside of my arm.) I even tried to use the pole to brush the beast off me, but I was afraid I'd just be pushing him into my back.
Finally, just moments before I'm sure he would have begun sucking my brain out the back of my head, I gave one more aggressive twist and I was able to swing him over to one shoulder. At last, I was able to reach him with one of my hands, and I managed to push him to the ground.
The last I saw of him, he was laughing derisively, flipping a tiny little middle finger, before scampering back up his tree.
The ride home that night was a relaxing finish to what had been (mostly) an enjoyable and fun-filled evening. But as I rode south, passing under telephone wires and past trees, I'm quite sure I saw several small furry animals, pointing and laughing.