Think of it! Long, drawn out passages about poor Squirrel Nutkins starving to death, trying to eat tree bark, eventually even going that final step and eating another dead squirrel before giving it up and dying at the foot of the old oak tree.
The rats finding and defiling his body for kicks, while his kids watch.
Some moral crusading Badger trying to use the death of poor Nutkins to argue against the libertarian ways of the forest. That same badger being shot down in the street by the weasels for being a unionizing troublemaker. A poor mouse, being forced to sell her body for acorns, beholden to a frog pimp. If only Nutkins had made it through the winter, none of this need ever happened.
When I tell a story about a squirrel, we don't end with a party at Christopher Robin's. A shoot out, maybe.
Yeah, I go places sometimes. Dark places, places where the light never does seem to shine. I live in the naked forest, and I’ve heard all the tales.
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