Chippie Cashed In His Chips

My brother and I were unalike as brothers could be. He steered clear of what I didn’t: trouble. Occasionally, though, his saintly behavior betrayed him, as it did when my boyhood best friend and mentor Jaybird captured a chipmunk. The old black man loved wild creatures, and if he trapped one that he thought could be domesticated, he brought it home. After transferring the creature from the trap to a large birdcage, he asked us to name him. I suggested Monk, but Jaybird preferred the good boy’s choice: Chippie.

“I am going to pick him up and feed him peanuts while holding him.”

When my brother tried feeding Chippie peanuts, it bared razor-sharp incisors, expanded its cheek pouches, laid its ears back, glared furiously with enraged ebony eyes, hissed threateningly, and took ferocious swipes with needle-like claws through the wires. The next day, Bro was certain the little creature was hungry, and offered peanuts again, which Chippie gobbled down. Then, an idea popped into his head … a really bad idea. “Junior, Chippie has accepted me as his buddy,” Bro exulted. “I am going to pick him up and feed him peanuts while holding him.” I questioned the idea, warning that Chippie might bite … but hoping he would. Donning one of Jaybird’s heavy work gloves, my saintly sibling said, “Not while I’m wearing this — no way he can bite through this thick leather.” Blessed by Satan with a malicious mindset, I encouraged him to proceed. After removing the cage’s top, he reached for Chippie, who seemed unperturbed, but as Bro’s fingers closed around his little buddy’s body, Satan’s sadism broke loose. Chippie opened his jaws so wide that his eyes squeezed shut, clamped down with all his might, and sunk stiletto incisors straight through the leather and into his big buddy’s thumb! When my screaming sibling tried shaking loose his angry attacker, Chippie chomped even harder. Jumping up and down and flinging his hand around, he tried desperately to free himself from the rankled rodent. Finally, satisfied that as much pain as possible had been exacted, Chippie let go while his victim continued flailing and howling. The glove, with the little buddy attached, sailed across the room, broke a beautiful lamp, and crashed into the wall, the impact of which left Chippie in a moribund state. Then I heard Jaybird’s boots clumping up the back steps, and looking at my bawling brother, thought … oh boy, your misery has just begun. Gaping at the empty cage and Chippie, the old black man was livid. “Who did this?” Quickly I pointed at the doomed one. As Jaybird unfastened the dreaded belt, Bro pleaded, “Please don’t whip me — look what Chippie did to my thumb!” The pleas went unheeded, as his buttocks received several stinging stripes. Then we heard Jaybird’s wife wailing as she gawked at the shattered lamp. Her willow switch picked up where the belt left off. The black sheep gloated, his brother received two thrashings and a mangled thumb, and, alas, his little buddy was no more: Chippie cashed in his chips.