Red Alert!

            I hadn’t visited Baxter in some time, having been off in Albuquerque tending to business with a malfunctioning electrical system in a parking garage downtown. I won’t go into the details, they would bore you. During that time, it had become obvious that Baxter was having a harder time getting around. I could tell from e-mails and calls that it was a problem for him, but not much of one. In other words, according to him, everything was hunky-dory. Also, he had officially retired while I was gone, and I missed all that. But if, for example, I had attended his retirement party, the first thing he would of asked was how the project was going, and through my answer, would have understood that it had been interrupted by my coming back. He would have been disappointed with that.

            The second day I was back, I swung by his house, and he took me from the living room to the kitchen, gesturing toward various gadgets of convenience, and providing background. We got some iced teas, and went out to the patio.

            Baxter was proud of his house and grounds, as small as they were. He could afford more, but lived simply. As always, there were a few bird feeders, and spots where he put food out for the critters. One change I saw, though, was that there was a large pot sitting right in the middle of his small, enclosed backyard, one big enough to have been a water-gathering pot for potential fires; about four feet wide, and a little more than two feet up to the rim. But, there weren’t any plants in it. Just potting soil with two short plastic stalks with butterfly decorations poked into it, and a decoration on the far side, which was a bit taller, with a small, red ball on the top. This, I found intriguing. You never know with Baxter. There were always interesting little changes.

            There was also a new trash can placed at a nearby corner of the garage in back, but I couldn’t make out, of course this was from a distance, how the trash would be placed in it. It was simply a white cylinder, round on top. Knowing Baxter, I thought it might be one that sprayed itself down, or bathed the interior with UV light. You see, Baxter is a walking Sharper Image catalogue anticipating the year to come. Well, you can imagine.

            In conversation, Baxter mentioned that there had been a ‘new development’, but not enough of one for him to ‘come out of retirement’. This eliminated some possibilities, as I pondered what it was, in what I called, to myself, the ‘which pie’ game. Which of the many pies Baxter had a finger in. There were plenty, across a wide range. I was looking forward to hearing where and what the development was, and what his solution would be. But Baxter then turned quickly to the backyard, and raised a hand. The only change I could see in the backyard was that a couple of squirrels had shown up.

            The squirrels bounded across the little lawn, to a small tree near the pot, then into the pot itself. They did this so quickly, they pretty much bounced off the trunk of the tree. This was obviously routine for them. Baxter was excited, and pointed at them, and the entire setting of what was to come.

            There was a noise from a speaker nearby. Then I recognized it as the sound of a klaxon. It wasn’t at a volume that would compel anyone to run, though. It was just a sound effect of a type one would hear in old action or science fiction films. A honking noise that simply raised the level of intensity, and at a volume, say, that a General could speak over, so the audience could anticipate what happens next. Baxter pointed at the pot.

            “And, the flasher.”

            The sun was at a sharp, glaring angle, so I could barely see what Baxter was calling attention to, but the red bulb had begun to flash. It was old school, with a little bulb lit, and a round piece of silver plastic spinning in the middle. Baxter must have gone to great expense to create this alarm system that never existed except in old movies of the week.

            One of the squirrels, one with just a chip off the end of its tail, scooped a butterfly on a stalk completely out of the pot, using both its snout and front paws in a quick maneuver. Then he tossed a clump of dirt in the same direction. His partner just dug under the other stalk, knocking it down, and jerked quickly this way and that, digging. This didn’t do much damage to the decorations. They were made of hard plastic. The squirrels continued to root around, ignoring both the flash of the red light, the muted siren, and a new development.

            What I had thought was a trash can, there near the corner of the garage, came to life. A curved panel lifted on the top, revealing a horizontal black strip, calling attention to the fact that the rounded top of the can was a sort of a head. Two red LED’s which glowed in the strip connoted eyes. The entire contraption separated from its base by rolling out of it. The robot rolled toward the pot, muttering:

            “Dammit.”

            It continued to complain as it rolled toward the pot, and two white arms jutted out alongside its body, and raised themselves. But, this robot wasn’t a storm trooper. The low volume of the voice, and the way it rolled slowly toward the pot, catching a rise in the lawn, tilting a bit, and compensating, made him just another odd participant.

            Baxter turned and looked at me and chuckled, and nodded toward everything happening on the back lawn. The robot muttered in an emotionless voice.

            “Damn squirrels. Tearing up the planter.”

            Now, the squirrels reacted, having been through this before. The one with less tail looked at the robot, and then went back to digging quicker. His friend hopped out of the large pot and to the trunk of the small tree, and began scolding the robot. The robot got hung up on a small clump in the lawn, and spun a bit. Baxter jerked a knee up, and leaned forward, wondering if he should intervene. The squirrel nearest hopped to the edge of the pot for a better look. The robot paused, and turned toward the pot squarely again, with much whirring of gears. Then it freed itself from the clump and continued approaching the pot. Baxter settled back down in his lawn chair. The robot complained:

            “Nasty squirrels. What-are-you-doing.”

            The one in the pot retreated to the other side. The one facing down on the tree trunk extended its neck toward the robot, and gave a bark. The robot came closer. The one in the pot let out a rough chirp, and flew to the trunk, and his friend, and let loose a few, quieter scolds for the robot. And, the robot replied:

            “Scalawags.”

            It stopped at the edge of the pot and raised its arms. The two squirrels climbed the tree and leapt to the branches of a larger one toward the back of the lawn, and watched. The robot rolled to the rim, put an arm over the pot, and extended a hand. The more vocal squirrel let off a scold chirp. The robot responded as it worked-

            “Squirrels.”

            It lifted the butterfly decoration with a magnet in its paw, and with the other extended forearm, raked all of the dirt in the pot level. Then it stuck the stalk back in its place in the pot. A chirp came from the direction of the squirrels, who had now retreated up the trunk of the tree in the back, and could barely be seen. The robot’s response was nearly simultaneous.

            “Squirrels.”

            The squirrel chirped again.

            “Nasty squirrels.” The robot unfolded an arm down, and, with some difficulty, retrieved the other butterfly on a stalk. It put the butterfly back in its place, paused, and began to roll backward, leaving the pot as it was before the squirrels arrived.

            A squirrel back there chirped again.

            “Squirrels.” The robot said, as it backed to its recharge base. Then, I believe it whined: “The things I have to do…” as it finished its task, trundling over lawn clumps and carefully placing itself back into the base. I looked at Baxter, and he was grinning.

            “What’s in the pot, though?” I asked him.

            He leaned back and chuckled, “Hm?”

            Baxter is getting slower on the uptake, but I’m sure I’m getting that way, too.

            “What’s in the pot that those squirrels want?”

            “Oh!” Baxter said. “Nothing. There’s nothing in that dirt, and I’m sure they know that by now.” He went from chuckling to laughing harder. I was flabbergasted. But Baxter had an answer for me.

            “They’ve been tearing the place apart all summer. I figured they were bored.”