The Golden Bee

A happy nut harvesting-burying-forgetting-finding-losing-finding-burying-harvesting-forgetting-burying season to all! Forgive me for intruding in this space, but I feel the need to stand up and defend the good name of squirrels everywhere. Let me introduce myself. My name is Tintinaboo Fuzzbutt, Esq., and I am at your service.

Let me also apologize for the lateness of this rejoinder. It has been quite the busy summer and fall -- what with the great number of nuts requiring harvesting-burying-forgetting-finding-losing -- so this is really my first opportunity to answer the slanderous barbs so callously advanced upon these pages some months ago.

‘Heinous’ does not begin to describe the opprobrium and vitriol loosed on these pages. I have been vilified. Pilloried. Vituperated! Hmmph! “Garden Rat,” indeed!

Ahh. Here, here. Let us try to keep our heads about us. No reason we can’t be civil to one another. Perhaps we should sit and share a tankard. Your best brew, mind.

--Yes, yours. You pant-wearing monkeys are the ones that figured out fermentation. You’re the ones with thumbs. “Ooh, look at my thumbs! Look at what they do! They bend in the... opposite direction... from my other fingers. Oooh!” And yes, you do sound like that.

Just like that.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes.

Neither I nor my forty-odd immediate family members will deny backyard residency. The food is plentiful, the cats are contained, and our contract is agreeable. Nor will we deny occasionally lopping the head off an obnoxiously cheerful tulip. Nor will we deny occasionally uprooting the entirety of the bulbs you planted. Occasionally. Just occasionally, as is our contracted right.

But not a single one of us is responsible for the despicable desecration of our goddess, Beealzibuzz, The Golden Bee. Since ancient times, we have worshiped her image. Prayed to her glory. Made offerings of the uprooted bulb. Followed her teachings; “If you see a tulip head, lop it off. Do this in my name.” Amen.

No, if you truly wish to discover the malefactor in this sad, blasphemous tale, look no further than Stygius Night, raven, noted apostate, and member of the heretical Blackheart Society. Sightblinder, the children name him. Find his lair and you will find the Eye of Beealzibuzz.