For years chipmunks have been frolicking on and around the front porch’s stone rabbit.
On a fine July morning I called out to the gal or fellow who’d darted under the verdant hosta into the drainpipe, “There’s gonna be a new sheriff in town soon. Are you up to the challenge?”
This fine August morning I opened the interior wood door, Henrietta on my heels. A chipmunk and I eyed each other through the storm door’s glass.
What’s that? Henrietta seemed to ask, noticing a chipmunk for the first time.
A look of What’s that? registered on the face with eyes the size of a nail head one might use to hang a small piece of art.
A blur of brown stripes took flight into the potentilla, right where Henri likes to dig. I opened the glass and a blur of black fur was in hot pursuit. When I reached the corner of the garage, I saw four miniature paws scampering along the closed garage doors. Henrietta was still scouring the potentilla for her playmate.