SKINFLINT'S Last Stand

Ole Skinflint loved two things more than anything else in the world; the first was making money and the second was hoarding it. Skinflint was so miserly that he wouldn’t give two nickels for a dime.

The old man was so miserly that he would boil a neck bone to make stew and then boil it again so as not to waste the aroma.

The Chic-Choc Mountains is a mountain range in the central region in Quebec, Canada, which is part of the Notre Dame Mountains, which is a continuation of the Appalachians.

At the base of the Chic-Chocs was a small town that Skinflint called home.

It was a splendiferous day in late October when the red squirrel scurried into town. Squirrels mostly don’t bother people, but the fact that there are so many of them is not always a good thing for humans. Then again, you might say the same thing about people if you were a squirrel.

As fate would have it, both Skinflint and the red squirrel had dibs on the same collection of trash. Ole Skinflint poked through the garbage can. The red squirrel bounced out of the can and landed on the ground near Skinflint’s feet.

He kicked the squirrel and it dropped an acorn that was lodged in its mouth. Skinflint picked up the acorn and studied it. The squirrel peered at the acorn with anticipation. Skinflint was so miserly that he could not bring himself to part with the acorn.

Ole Skinflint placed the acorn in his pocket and continued riffling through the trash.

The squirrel zipped back toward Skinflint and he booted it once more, sending it several feet into the air. The squirrel sat on its hind legs. It frantically rubbed its front paws and twitched its nose, all the time staring at Skinflint in quiet contemplation.

Skinflint’s hand wrapped around a milk bottle. He withdrew it from the can and launched it at the squirrel. The squirrel darted aside and then charged toward Skinflint, its legs spread wide and its tail flaunted as its little body rushed toward its opponent. The squirrel let out the loudest war-whoop and launched itself into the air. It slammed into Skinflint’s chest, then quickly bounded off onto a nearby tree. The squirrel conceded the battle and scurried off into the brush.

The electric power lines were no match for the red squirrel’s large gnawing incisors. The squirrel had four teeth that were constantly growing. It was relentless. It did not cease its chomping and nibbling until the power line was cut clean through.

The power line snapped. Electric sparks spewed when the cable touched the ground, causing it to jump and wiggle like a rope dangling in a breeze.

Skinflint’s abode suddenly went dark. He flicked a light switch up and down then looked out the front window. He observed that all of the houses in the area were dark when he noticed the red squirrel sitting on his window ledge.

He walked away and quickly returned with a small handgun. He fired two shots at the squirrel and then looked at the ground below the window.

Nothing.

He opened the door and peeped out. He walked around the side of the house. When he returned to the front, the squirrel was waiting in his path. He approached the squirrel making a clicking noise with his tongue. He cautiously reached for the squirrel and was surprised at how friendly it was.

When he got close enough, the squirrel sprang into action and tried to bite his hand. It jumped on his shoulder, then under his shirt, and then hung off his back.

He shook the squirrel off and it hit the ground hard. He picked it up and tried to kill it with his bare hands by trying to drown it in a small puddle. The squirrel maneuvered itself free and limped away, collapsing in the middle of the street, half dead.

Skinflint smiled at his victory and made his way back through the front door, slamming it shut behind him.

He placed a chair by the window and gazed at the squirrel in the middle of the street. He waited with great anticipation for a vehicle tire to crush the squirrel like a grape, leaving only a purple stain as witness to its existence.

Skinflint dozed off and woke again suddenly with a change of heart.

He sprang up from his seat and retrieved the red squirrel from the street. He gently placed the animal on the grass and disappeared into his abode.

Skinflint answered a knock on his door at dawn. As near as he could tell, it was a distant relative requesting a handout. He slammed the door in the man’s face.

He peeped from behind the curtain to be sure the intruder sufficiently vacated the premises when he saw the red squirrel. It was back again, laying in the middle of the street.

“Dumb animal,” he said to himself.

He slipped on his housecoat and ventured out into the brisk autumn air. He picked up the squirrel and considered placing it on the grass again, but thought the better of it and placed the animal into a tree.

Skinflint made his rounds during the day evaluating burnt-out structures. He returned home and the red squirrel was, once again, lying in the middle of the street.

He took the sick animal inside, placed it in a box and nourished it back to health.

This one charitable event gave Skinflint great pleasure as he was lonely and had no other form of companionship.

Skinflint and the squirrel developed a great friendship. The squirrel enjoyed free reign in Skinflint’s abode. It followed him to and fro. It watched him and learned about storing food, particularly fruits and nuts. Skinflint fed the squirrel, providing it with its fill of acorns and berries and nuts.

When the squirrel was fully recovered, Skinflint embarked on the bittersweet task of returning it to the Chic-Choc Mountains from which it had come.

In return for its companionship, Skinflint took a large stash of nuts to leave for his friend, the squirrel. He felt contented as he sat for hours watching the squirrel busy at work burying and storing its treasure.

About nightfall Skinflint started his journey back down the mountain.

In the dark of the night he stepped on a loose stone. He tumbled to the ground, fell off a cliff and suffered a broken leg for his troubles. His cries for help went unanswered.

On the third day at the foot of the cliff, it was all Skinflint could do to maintain consciousness for he had no food or drink. Through the fog in his head, he heard a gobble sound in the distance.

A wild turkey sprang from behind a bush!

The beast probed Skinflint with its beak. He tried to shoo the animal away but it did not go. He kicked it with his good leg. The turkey kicked him with its feet, using the spurs on the back of its legs as weapons. Skinflint pushed the animal away and it tried to ram him with its body. He grabbed a stone from the ground and smashed it against the big bird’s head. It turned and ran and he threw the stone after it.

Then his head went dark and his consciousness left his body.

The squirrel licked his cheek. Skinflint felt the moisture on his face and opened his eyes. He looked at the red squirrel and smiled. The squirrel placed a nut on the ground beside Skinflint and ran off into the trees, then returned with a mushroom.

Skinflint ate the nut.

He did not know if the mushroom was poisonous but the question was moot. Without food he would die in any case.

The red squirrel worked day and night providing Skinflint with nuts and berries from its stash. The rain came and provided water. The squirrel occasionally returned with mushrooms and bird eggs.

Ole Skinflint stayed on Chic-Choc Mountain for a long time.

When his leg healed, he headed back down the mountain, grateful to the universe for its dynamic exchange of giving and receiving.