THE EFFECTS OF OTHER INDUCED COMPETITION IN NICHE SPECIFIC

SPECIES

Chapter 1. Little Bitches

Two little bitches from down the beach were the first witnesses of our raccoon relocation efforts. They’re communicatively aggressive and not afraid to walk right up and engage. We were forced to give up our plans to alter the cormorant dominated ecology of the island.

And now on a sunny summer day on my beach deck they have set to work memorializing our Operational Deployment Alpha team. They’re selecting large surface area to weight ratio rocks from the beach, carting them off to their lair where they paint them up with coon images, names and clever sayings: "Raccoon Relocation Project, Coons Strike a Balance, We Liberate the Oppressed etc. . ." I don’t know where they’re getting all this shit. Maybe they have an internet connection or some adult conspiring with them. I’ve taken to falling silent as they set up their little memorials in a circle around me on the deck.

“How many members in this A-team?” says one to the other.

“This ODA has six. Right Slag?” I don’t respond.

“I think it’s six. Let’s count.”

“Who was the first to be inserted?”

“Ringo!”

“Yes! And here she is,” the L.B. says as she points to a coon faced rock with the label “Ringo” below the image and the words: "this is only the beginning,” painted on the back.

I steel myself against giving up any more information. They know too much already. I will not talk to these Lima Bravos.

“And here’s Rocky.”

“And Rambo! Do you remember Rambo, Slag? Remember how she tried to get back in the boat on insertion? Tell us about it again Slag!”

“He’s not talking to us…he’s afraid we know too much. He’s afraid we might use what we know against him and the Ghost.”

“Here’s Junior!”

“And Bruno. Look what it says on the back of his rock.”

“I’ll read it.”

“No I want to read it!”

“Me, Me!”

I can’t believe it. The little bitches are fighting over who gets to read the “Peace Through Superior Firepower” slogan they’ve painted on the back of the rock. Too weird.

“This one’s Bitmek. Did we spell it right?”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s Turkish right Slag?”

“Come on Dr. Mengele. Talk to us!”

“He’s not Dr. Mengele, stupid. He’s Dr. Himmler.”

“Dr. Himmler, Dr. Himmler!” they both scream.

I can’t take it anymore. I break silence and scream: "Stop calling me that, God Damn it!”

I’m granted a reprieve as they giggle off down the beach. I lay back, scan the bay and from within the inner circle of coon stone memorials begin to ponder the team, the mission and how they are fairing on the island.

The Lima Bravos return. This time armed with toy plastic foam rubber ice cream cones. The foam ice cream ball covers a hard plastic inner projectile that clicks into a spring latch concealed in the plastic cone. A hidden trigger releases the foam ice cream ball which then flys in the air a few feet and is stopped by an attached retainer string. The girls quickly take to gnawing off the retainer string and ripping the foam rubber off the plastic inner projectile. They begin to test their now weaponized ice cream cones and find that the now unrestrained plastic projectile will fly twenty five to thirty feet through the air and still impart energy to a target.

Silently they step inside the coon circle, come to within arm’s reach of my position, raise their weapons and point them at my face. I immediately adopt a defensive posture with my hands over my eyes and forearms covering my vitals. They switch their positions for a clear shot at my back.

“God Damn you Little Bitches. Leave me alone!” I shriek.

“We don’t like it when you use words like that Slag!”

“It’s my fucking beach and I’ll talk as I please. So bite me you Little Bitches!”

They both spontaneously trigger a release and I can feel the sting of hard plastic projectiles as they make contact with my back. I rise to give chase but they are gone, laughing maniacally as they race off on escape trails known only to them through the cedar underbrush.

I recover the projectiles, grab Bitmek and render them inoperable with a smashing blow. As I escaped to my kayak I thought about how I’ve childproofed my home but they still get in….