SirGerald asked that I write a couple paragraphs about the cute little rodent that invaded my camp.

We, J&L Lee, and the DeViDe's were going to get together for some serious caching on the Skyline between I-6 and SR 31 using the Tucker area as a campsite. Being the 24th of July weekend, myself and the black Lab secured a good spot five miles up the canyon south of Tucker, two days before the holiday crowd arrived, going home during the day and returning at night.

Camping in a forest canyon is quite different from being out on the flat desert. It's darker, the trees creak in the breeze, and it's generally spooky for someone who likes to read Edger Allen Poe. Such was the second night.

I had a previous run-in with some late night drifters that smelled like they had already started their party. They were trying to find a campsite of their own and apparently they had previously scoped out our little camp area. They were less than happy to find me there holding it. After some talk, puffing of chests and the fact I had already setup camp, they left with a few gruff words -- words that I'm sure SirGerald will not allow me to write.

Toward eleven-ish I let the fire burn down, tied the Lab to her chain, called it a night and bedded down. I had no more than gotten to sleep when I heard a thump-thump-thumping on the trailer floor. At first I thought it might be the canvas flapping in the breeze, but I was fast to note there was no wind. My next thoughts were of the drifters that wanted this campsite. Maybe they had returned to give me a hard time. I dismissed that idea after realizing the dog hadn't barked and was still half a sleep when I started to search the area with a flash light and a big auto-pistol. I've dealt with these types of people most of my life, and what they'll do when liquored up is unbelievable. But fortunately this wasn't the case.

Crawling back into the sleeping bag, with the pistol close at hand, I fell back to sleep only to be awakened again by the same thumping. "Oh God," it's the forest version of the Tell Tale Heart! This time the thumps were distinct, and not that far from me. In fact they were right underneath me, I could feel it. I froze! I did, I couldn't move! There was no backup to call on, no one to hear the gunfight should one breakout. I had to talk myself into moving, "Come on now, you're a big (not tall, just big) brave deputy, and you have the most advanced weaponry that this part of the forest has ever seen. "Get up and check it out, or you're a dirt bag wuss!"

What was even more worrisome was the fact that the dog was not barking. I was thinking, "Is she dead with her throat cut, laying there in a pool of her own blood?" Or could it be fact she's half deaf and can't hear a horse run threw the yard even if she were awake. It's probably the latter.

I summoned up enough courage to go search the camp again but this time I focused on the tent-trailer because I had felt the thumpings. I searched it top to bottom to no avail, I couldn't find anyone. Then I heard that blasted thumping again, and got a good idea as to where it was coming from. In true cop fashion, pistol up top, the flashlight underneath, Weaver shooting stance (the sheriff would have been proud), I moved back toward the front of the trailer. There, underneath the pullout bed and on top of the storage box, was this cute but odd looking little creature. I would have felt a lot better if the little runt would have had fangs, claws and spit poison. At least then I could have shot it, called myself a hero and gone back to bed. But this wasn't the case. With lowered gun, ego deflated, sheepishly looking around to see if anyone was in the dark snickering at me, I went back in the trailer. Putting the pistol back under the pillow, I picked up something more suited for the situation, my camera.

By the time I got back to this little bandit he was thumping his hind leg again. I don't know what it was supposed to mean but he was intent on keeping it up. After a few snapshots I tried to get him to vacate the premises but he wasn't budging. I threw pine cones, twigs and pebbles at him but he was going to stand his ground!. After five minutes of this, I was get a little irritated and contemplated a 40-caliber solution to the problem but instead I backed off.

It's hard to shoot something that cute and that you've had eye to eye contact with, not to mention the blood splatter problem and the cleanup afterwards. I finally found the broom we keep with the trailer. It's the soft-bristle type and I gently tried to push him out. The broom couldn't reach all the way across the trailer so I was only able to push the little varmint to within inches of the edge. When I'd pull the broom back, he'd move back to the center. Getting low on patience, I turned the broom around to use the handle this time. I gently poked him with the handle end to let him know that this end was a little harder than the soft bristles. After a couple of jabs he got the message, turned around, crawled to the edge of the trailer and jumped, disappearing into the undergrowth. He wasn't a fast runner -- more of a woddler -- and I felt a slight kinship with him at that point.

All in all, this was a moment in time that I'll remember with a chuckle and a smile for many years to come. You and I are the only ones that know how a pint sized rodent scared the s__t out of a hard old deputy. And yes, we did get in some good serious caching, despite all of the holiday wheeler traffic. (How dare they invade my mountain?)