*This article is part of The Ranchor, The Anchor’s biannual satire edition*
One of the greatest observed traditions at Hope College is The Pull. Every year students descend up the pits and watch their classmates pull and rip rope. It is a century-old tradition. Our campus is also home to a beautiful community of squirrels. We don’t much bother them and they don’t much bother us. We live in a mutually beneficial relationship. They feed on our garbage and we take pictures of their adorableness. The Pull and the squirrel community was never supposed to meet, but this year’s Pull was different. This year, amongst all of the ripping and pulling, a small squirrel became entrapped in the rope. The Anchor strives to cover the stories students need to read, so against all odds, our correspondents found that squirrel. His name is Nubbins N. Van Nut, and this is his story:
“It started as all days start. I was happy, carefree. My favorite nut was in season: the round one. I was scavenging near my home. My dear wife Peanutricia was at home taking care of the little ones, Al and Mond. I stepped out of my tree, the great oak, leaving behind a safety I would not know again. When I reached the field outside my tree I was shocked. There was a flurry of activity. The tall ones were ripping apart the field. They dug holes one after the other. There were banners and shouts. I was struck with curiosity. If only I had known the horror that awaited me. Would I ever be the same as I was before I chose to investigate this curious activity? I cannot change my past though I wish I could. I scurried to the pits and looked at the tall banners and just then the terror began. A large twisty long thing fell upon me. I tried to free myself. I wriggled and I writhed. As I struggled, my tail, oh my beautiful tail, became one with the twine. I cried out, ‘Help me please anybody, help me!’ The tall ones paid me no mind. Soon I tired of struggling. At some point my sweet wife would come looking for me. If I stayed put then I would be safe. Oh how wrong I was. The shouting that surrounded me became more ritualistic. The clouds loomed high above my head. Some of the tall ones started to fall into the pits. Others crouched next to the fallen. A few stayed standing and screamed at everyone else.
The worst of it was soon to begin. As I observed and waited for rescue, to my horror, the tall ones began pulling the long twisty thing. They heaved and they ripped. ‘No! Stop! I am still down here!’ For three hours I endured an odyssey the likes of which squirrel kind has never been entreated. At the end, the tall ones cheered. The tall ones sobbed. It mattered not to me, for I was a changed squirrel. Never again would I bound in the meadow. Never again would my glorious tail flow behind me like a furry waterfall. The tall ones took from me, my soul, my joy, my happiness: my tail. At last, after my great trial, my tail had been so wrought and fur so ripped by the ‘rope,’ as the tall ones referred to it, that I was at last freed. I stood upon the rope and looked forward at the tall ones. I bellowed at them: ‘You! You, the tall ones, the ones I had known to feed my family and I. You who had been kind and generous. You who smile and act to care about my brethren and I. You have unveiled your true nature. You care not for us smaller creatures. You have destroyed my most treasured possession. I have been wrenched of my beauty, my joy. I shall never trust a tall one again!’ The tall ones didn’t look up. They ignored me.
I turned towards my home—I needed its safety, but when I got there and Peanutricia saw what had become of my illustrious tail, she turned me away. ‘A squirrel is only as good as his tail!’ she yelled as she pointed me away.
I sit before you now, a member of the Resistance. The tall ones will never give us the respect we deserve. My people! Stand up! We deserve more than the trash the tall ones throw into the metal cans! We deserve to reach the prophesied Dining Hall! Rise with me, my brothers and sisters! Destroy the tall ones in their stone trees! Take control of thon Dining Hall! We shall rule the campus before winter’s death!”
Though the Anchor does not officially stand with it, the Squirrel Resistance has requested we post their recruitment Google Form here. They can also be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.
The Anchor reached out to the Pull for a statement and a representative sent back: “We didn’t know there was a squirrel down there. Oops.”
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