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The Sheriff of Iron Bark Ct

I heard the chattering, shucking, and tsking sounds.
I knew, once again, the guardian of my yard was on high alert.
By now, I regarded the squirrel as the sheriff.
There is a big, grey and white cat sitting under a leafless tree in my backyard.
Even though the leaves are gone, the cat must feel cloaked.
Undercover, the tabby just sits and waits.
The sheriff, as big and fluffy as the cat, chatters on in raucous sounds that build in incredible volume.
I believe the squirrel is alerting a family of chipmunks to be wary.
The chipmunk family, I have learned, live under my patio
“The cat is here!” the sheriff screams in distinctive tones.
I shoo the cat away, telling it to go home.
Silently cursing the owners of the cat, I return to what I was doing.
Later that afternoon I hear another sound.
The sound draws me once again to look.
I see leaves wildly swirling in my backyard.
Play is in full force.
The squirrel is chasing around a friend. They are playing tag.
Smaller than the sheriff, the chipmunks are bathing in the warming sun.
They have had babies.
They are so tiny. I watch them peek around their new realm.
All is well with the world.
The sheriff is on the job.

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