On Wednesday nights, I lead a book study with a group of longtime friends (okay, since it’s so easy for us to get caught up in the busyness of our own schedules, the book study is our excuse to schedule time with each other). We’re doing Brian McLaren’s A New Kind of Christian. Since we were four couples getting together, we used to do marriage books (Sacred Marriage, The Mystery of Marriage, etc.) but those got kind of old. Plus now we could invite our single friends who we don’t get to see very often.

Of course, we may have to re-think our singles policy.

We rotate the houses that we meet in, and our single friend has a wonderful new home. However, we won’t be meeting back there until she has proof that her crazy ass squirrel has moved away. Our friend graciously walked my family to the door, but had she waited at her door one more minute, she would’ve seen one squirrel terrorizing a family of four like a scene out of Cujo. That stupid thing–and mind you, I love squirrels–charged Sally, who was carrying our youngest, Malcolm, and chased them into the car. Sally reminded me that she had a thing about little feet (as an aside, and as lovingly and without sarcasm as I can muster, one of the many joys of marriage is learning the little idiosyncrasies that make up another person. Which then remind us why God intended monogamy and not polygamy: because it’s hard enough putting up with one person’s weird quirks. Little feet creep my wife out.).

So I, in the loving way that I regularly go about mocking my wife, go up to the squirrel who I thought had taken refuge up the tree. No, that thing was hiding behind one of the tree roots and charged through a pile of leaves at me. I walked to my side of the car (because to say I ran would be to admit that that rabid little devil beast scared me) thinking that it would stop at the sidewalk. It ran to my side of the car, nipping at my heels, and I barely got the door closed without it jumping in the car.

Even now, I am reminded about the movie Cape Fear and have visions of it having hitched a ride home underneath my car.