Saturday, July 19, 2008

Small Town Politics

The mayor, Woody Woodchuck, stood outside the mercantile and took a long puff on his corncob pipe. “Yep, its going to be a fine day,” he said to the standers-by.

Freddie Fox ignored the mayor. He didn’t think much of Mr. Woodchuck and wondered why they needed a mayor anyway. Sugar Hill had a town manager and that seemed enough leadership for one place. Of course, those silly mice could care less and Jeremy Whitetail had his own agenda. As long as he could jump fences and eat with the cows that lived the life of Riley, what did he care about city politics? The cows had a farmer from outside come in, cut down trees, dig up the land – and you’d think Mayor “Chuckie” would see the danger in that – and plant grass, so they didn’t have to hardly move from one spot to eat.

Meanwhile, the deer families jumped right in and ate that processed food, getting fat as the cows while everyone else had to work for their food. Freddie Fox had to sneak around all over town to find his food, and then catch it! Good thing he was so smart or he’d be digging for grubs like Blackie over in Ridgewood. Bears really were not that smart, ya know? Like ole Blackie climbing up the hollow tree on the corner of Hill and Vine to get honey out of the hive inside. Those bees wrapped him up. His face was swollen for days after that. Ouch! Not Freddie. He would have waited until after dark, snuck in there while the bees were sleeping and got his sweets. Didn’t matter, her didn’t like sweets anyway, but if he did he’d be too smart to let himself get stung all over like that.

Now, the beavers down at Wisteria Pond, those guys were smart. They had a system, ya know? Buddy Beaver was the city manger. He oversaw the building of the dam that gave them Wisteria Pond. Not only did the whole town have a water source, but a fine recreational place for those who wanted such things. The Pond had also brought in more citizens and food. Freddie loved going down for a nice fish or frog supper when he was in the mood for fast food. That sweet couple, the Herons, moved in first, and then the Otters and the whole tribe of Melton Muskrats had come and set up housekeeping on the north shore. Built a whole development of homes just under the bank next to the cypress trees.

No, the mayor was just a figurehead, as they say. All he was good for was riding in his pink Buick whenever they had a parade. That and hollering, “Danger!” in the annoying squeaky voice of his whenever the farmer’s old beat up truck came bouncing down the tractor path, as if everyone in town didn’t hear it themselves. Chuckie was as useless as a three-dollar bill. In fact, Freddie thought ole Chuck might actually make fine eating this winter when things got tight. Mmm, mmm, all that fat and tender meat. Yep, he just might make a fine meal.