A Truly Pointless Conversation

“I still don’t see the problem.”

“The problem, brother-dear,” Bree sighs, mildly exasperated.  “Is that squirrels have rabies.  They are rabid.  Raa-bi-DA.  You know, foaming at the mouth?”

She placed her fingers in her mouth to imitate fangs, which I was certain had little to do with rabies, squirrels or foam, but did paint a horrifying peek at her mind’s eye.  I noted never to watch Watership Down with Bree . . . ever.

“Understanding the meaning of the disease, I still don’t see how that factors into the argument.”

“You don’t . . ?  If an elf rides a squirrel like a horse, skittering and jumping willy-nilly from treetop to treetop. . . ” my sister explains, arching her hands as if trying to explain the flight-plan of the squirrel in the branches, “. . .  then there is a good to fair chance that the rodent will infect them with the disease.  Thus, your theory that fairies use the rodents as mounts is impossible.”

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