Sneaky Pie for President

Back to the Land

The lightning bugs, pinpoint divas, had yet to make their seasonal debut. The cats, dogs, and human loved that first night when darting dots, ice yellow and pale green, filled the meadows. While the beguiling insects were eagerly awaited, a mid-May night offered many consolations. Twilight lingered, then night finally came, and with it that dampness peculiar to the night air, fragrances made more potent because of it.

Central Virginia’s springs exceeded the expectations of even those who had lived in this area all their lives. While the area’s fall could disappoint, with little color or a high wind taking away the red, gold, and orange leaves, spring lasted about two full months, with glorious colors, aromas, and giddiness. As the redbuds hit full blossom, an early-blooming dogwood might swell to a big, white bud, light green at the base of the unopened petals. And even with a tight bud, one could see a flaming azalea’s promise. Daffodils, jonquils, tulips, all of them overlapping—some early, some right on time, some late—covered the earth like a holiday carpet.

Sneaky Pie and Pewter sat to the right of their human as she fiddled with the computer on her desk in the study. The sweet smell of late-blooming lilacs and early-blooming roses swept into the room.

Being rural and off the grid, the human used an nTelos air card, which worked pretty good. The cats could use the computer and didn’t hesitate to do so when the C.O. turned it off or left the room. If she folded up her computer, they couldn’t open it. But usually she left it open, and the clever cats could use it with ease.

With Sneaky Pie looking at the screen from the side, the C.O. was reading information from Open Source Ecology, a fascinating group that sought to lower the barriers to entering farming, building, even manufacturing. While their farm’s human was born and raised among agriculture, Sneaky Pie realized most Americans were not. Indeed, the average age of a farmer in America was fifty-seven. In Virginia it was fifty-five. Successfully escaping urban life, a dream for many downtrodden city dwellers, might be even more possible if they had the right information before leaving the concrete canyons. It would be good to get young humans farming.

On the floor the two dogs resented the cats’ ability to sit next to the computer.

“What’s she reading?” Tally wagged her little tail in anticipation.

“She’s looking at the design for a walk-behind tractor,” Sneaky called down. “Before that, she read about this group setting up headquarters in rural Missouri.”

“Far away,” Tee Tucker commented.

“West of the Mississippi, but the soil’s good—you know how excited she gets about soil.” Pewter had no fondness for digging—which the dogs did, of course.

“Better than here?” Tally inquired.

“Since a lot of what we have is red clay, yes,” Sneaky replied. “Although we can make bricks with the best of them. A few days ago she was looking on this site at a design for an earth brick press. This OSE is amazing.”

“She’s not going to make bricks, is she?” The corgi got fatigued by her human’s endless ideas and projects.

“No. She’s just curious.” Pewter watched as the design came closer, a portion of it enlarged. “I like this stuff, but it’s hard on the eyes.”

“Harder on ours than hers. Our eyes are better, so we can see the little pulsations. They really can’t, but you know these computers emit radiation?” Sneaky had her doubts about much of technology.

“Good. You’ll glow in the dark.” Tee Tucker chuckled.

“Shut up,” Sneaky replied. “Back to clay. Right here on our farm, we have different soils. It’s red clay on the higher elevations and really good soil down by the river. Well, it’s a creek at this point, but miles away it becomes a river.”

“Better for scent,” Tally said solemnly. “I can lose rabbit scent quickly on the clay, but down by the river it holds. Chasing rabbits is very healthy, you know. If humans would do it, they’d have better wind and they wouldn’t get so fat.”

“Sitting on their ass for eight hours a day or more is going to make anyone fat. No way out,” Pewter declared.

Tally giggled. “You should know.”

“Asshole.”

“Such pretty talk.” Tally responded by baring her teeth.

“Imagine if our Can Opener knew what you were saying.”

“If she knew what I was saying, she’d agree with me. You’re trouble. You’ve always been trouble, and you always will be trouble. Your brain is no bigger than a gnat’s.”

The little dog barked. “Just wait. You just wait.”

“That’s enough.” The human sternly stared at the dog.

“I will get you,” the Jack Russell muttered.

“Yeah. Yeah.” The gray cat saucily tossed her head. “Back to gnats.” She reached over and pushed at Sneaky slightly. “They do no good. Didn’t you say you couldn’t even think about having insects be part of your campaign because they have six legs and that’s two too many?”

“Yes. That, and they haven’t much brain.” Sneaky wondered where this was going. Pewter was trying to agitate her.

“What about earthworms? You’ve been talking about soil. And we’d all be much poorer without earthworms churning it, making it richer.” Pewter was right, Sneaky had to admit.

“Well, true, but I can’t talk to earthworms, and we haven’t anything to offer them. What’s more, it’s kind of about poop, isn’t it?”

“Sneaky, the cattle poop in the fields, the fields are dragged, and that enriches the soil. So what’s the difference with worms? They’re not insects with six legs.”

“Pewter, no.”

“And there are billions of them! Imagine a gathering of all the world’s worms.”

“I’d rather not,” Sneaky said and sniffed.

“Just you wait,” barked Tally. “Pewts’ gonna get worms.” She laughed her dry dog laugh.

“Look who’s talking, wiggles,” replied the gray cat. “If you didn’t get your worm medicine, you’d be really gross. Actually, you’re really gross now, Tally.”

The human got up from the desk to go to the kitchen.

“Can it.” Sneaky reached over to poke the mouse. “Pet food,” she said under her breath.

“Yeah!” Pewter gazed at the screen rapturously. “Hey, what are you doing? I thought we were getting food.”

“Trying to find how much money people spend on pet food each year, including bird food.” Sneaky Pie was interested in economic policy.

“Now’s our chance to order the really good stuff, that expensive canned stuff she never springs for. She won’t know, and she’s left her credit card next to the computer.”

“Pewter, money motivates humans. It’s a serious defect. Profit is all too often their god. If I’m going to be an effective candidate, I need to prove how much economic value we have. Now, keep your paws off this mouse.”

The two dogs craned their necks but couldn’t see on top of the desk.

“Got it!” Sneaky Pie declared, after a Google search. She read the results aloud: “Fifteen billion dollars per year on cat food. About fifty-one billion dollars is spent per year on all kinds of pet stuff.”

Tee Tucker heard approaching footsteps. “Get away from the computer.”

The two cats jumped down before the C.O. returned, iced tea in hand, with a sprig of fresh mint twisted in it. Sitting down, she looked at the screen, which Sneaky had cleared.

“Dammit to hell! What did I do wrong now?”

Within a minute she was back on OSE’s page.

Tally gave Pewter the evil eye. “What’s she want with a walk-behind tractor?”

“Curious, I guess.” Tucker shrugged.

“She may be curious. We need to be smart.” The cat thought out loud. “How much money is spent each year buying new tractors, new implements, repairing old tractors, and the truly important figure: gas? If you have a walk-behind tractor, you might reduce the gas bill for the whole country.”

“Hey, simple enough: Hitch up a team again.” Tucker, smart as corgis are, thought how nice it would be not to hear the noise of those big-ass diesel engines, smell the nasty fumes. “Mules, horses, oxen. Worked for centuries. Will work now.”

“Some perfect twit would complain about more methane gas from the poop from the horses,” Pewter stated. “I mean, really, it would take thousands of animals to replace tractors, which would mean a monumental increase in poop.”

Sneaky considered this. “Well, maybe someone would complain about methane, but when you have numbers that show the reduction of carbon monoxide, no more dependence on foreign oil, and less outlay of cash to farm, that ought to overcome that argument. And as we said before, the poop dries, you drag over it, and it becomes fertilizer—fertilizer without petroleum in it.”

“H-m-m.” Tucker pondered this. “But most humans don’t know how to plow with animals anymore.”

“They can learn.” Sneaky was adamant. “They’ve done it for thousands of years, not just centuries. They can do it again.”

“But what about animal abuse? Farming with animals requires years of training. It’s better if humans are born to it. For example, a human really has to know horses. It’s not something they can get out of a book.” Tally joined in the discussion, forgetting to be angry with the gray cat.

“I expect a group like this OSE can teach people about old-time plowing, too, and in every farming community there has to be someone who remembers the old ways.”

“Sneaky, you’re talking about someone who is one hundred years old.” Pewter looked up at her human, raptly pushing around the mouse.

“There are people who learned from their grandparents, their fathers. There are still enough vital people who know how to do it.”

“What about the equipment? The collars, the traces? Only the Amish can make it now. Rigging a plow team costs about eight hundred dollars. The show harnesses cost a fortune, but we’re talking about work teams.” Tucker liked the sound of jingling when horses were hitched up. She’d heard it when carriage drivers competed.

“This would open up fantastic opportunities for other people to work with leather,” said Sneaky. “And those businesses also wouldn’t be dependent on oil or electricity. Maybe they’d need some electricity for a sewing machine, but returning to some of the old tried-and-true methods would save a lot of energy. And you’d get to hold what you make,” the tiger cat added.

“So?” Pewter didn’t quite get that.

“How can you hold a computer screen? And who wants to hold a bunch of papers? If you make something, that’s real.”

“Hey, Sneaky, it may be real, but think of all the money that’s traded every day, and no one holds one dollar bill.” Tally wasn’t as unsophisticated as she sometimes appeared.

“Problem Number One.” Sneaky’s pink tongue stuck out for a second. “If you can’t hold it, smell it, bite it, how do you know it’s real?”

“You forgot sex. Humans act like money is the same as sex, but can they have sex with it?” The Jack Russell’s eyes brightened.

“Don’t be vulgar.” Sneaky frowned. “Did you already forget about elevating the discourse?”

“I thought you were interested in economics,” Pewter countered. “Porn is probably the biggest industry in the world, but I don’t get it.”

“Why pay to see people carry on?” Pewter was mystified.

“It’s a human thing,” Tucker said. “We can only carry on when we’re in heat. They’re in heat all the time. No time-out to relax—yet another flaw in their species.”

“It must be exhausting,” Tally said. “But I’d be willing to try.”

“You need to be spayed,” Pewter said sharply. “You’re getting mental.”

“I said I will get you. Now I’ll get you twice.”

“I’ll live in constant fear, I’m sure.” The cat sniffed.

“There is no human heat cycle,” Tucker said before asking, “Is that why they bred past their food supply?” Sneaky appreciated the corgi’s acumen.

Tucker thought aloud. “They have no sense. They haven’t a clue when it will be a good harvest or bad. They can’t monitor their breeding, and they’ll breed beyond the water supply, too. They can’t help it.”

“What a horrible thought,” Sneaky whispered. “They will consume the earth. I’d never really thought about how they have no breeding time-out.”

“Takes a long time for a human to be self-sufficient. Six years, I reckon,” the corgi said. “But the way it is now, six years is useless. Few kids perform chores in the field. Young humans aren’t allowed to work when they are nearly adult. So they’re a drag on everyone, and on themselves, too. Even when they’re eighteen, they have trouble. Just fifty-four percent of humans between eighteen and twenty-four have jobs now. What are the other half doing? How can they learn a trade? Just like dogs, humans need to work. I need to herd cattle. You need to catch vermin, all three of you are vermin killers. We have serious jobs. We start early in our lives.”

“I have to think more about all this,” Sneaky softly said to Tucker.

“You know those books she reads,” the corgi said, nodding at their human. “There used to be wars and famines, big famines in China, millions starving to death. Terrible diseases. The human population was kept in check. Now, with medicines and technology and industrialized agriculture, millions upon millions survive.” Tucker continued, “As to war, they will always have them, but they’re little ones, strategic bombings rather than worldwide conflicts.”

“That sounds awful,” yipped Tally.

“Well, Tucker, I can hardly discuss any of that in my campaign,” said Sneaky. “It will send humans right over the edge.”

“Perhaps, but your idea about farming the old way makes sense. That would get more humans and animals working on the land. Maybe they could regain their natural balance. They’d be paid labor, but they’d be out in the fields plowing and harvesting. Instead of seeing twenty combines over a field, you’d see hundreds of people and horses. The big firms would alter their technology to save energy. It really wouldn’t be slower if they hired enough people. And people need to work. When they’re out of work, all sorts of terrible things happen.” Tucker kept going. “If they’re working outside, maybe they will respect nature more, including their own natures.”

“That’s a stretch,” Pewter opined.

“Is it any further than this OSE thing?” Sneaky considered. “I’ve got a lot to think about and a lot to find out. First I need numbers, and then we have to figure out how to get more support. And then how to get even our human to see this.”

“She’s not bone stupid,” Tucker replied.

“Sometimes she’s darn close.” Tally didn’t say this maliciously. “How come you called her Mother? You hardly ever do that,” the dog asked Pewter.

“She tries. She wants to be loved.” The cat held up one paw, unleashed one sharp claw. “And don’t think you can brownie me.”

“I said I would get you. That doesn’t mean I can’t be curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Sneaky interjected into the agreement, repeating the old saw. “Least you didn’t say that.”

“Dog eat dog.” Pewter half laughed. “I could amend that. Cat eat dog.”

“Lame,” said Tally. “If you can’t come up with anything better than that, shut up.” The dog growled, but not loudly.

Pewter took the bait. “Um-m-m, dog in a manger.”

“Cat got your tongue,” Tally snapped back. Trading animal clichés as insults.

“Dog days,” Pewter said.

“Pussyfooting.”

“Sick as a dog.”

“Pussy Galore,” Tally shouted.

“I like that one,” Pewter said with satisfaction. “That’s a character in an old James Bond movie.”

“Still used a cat word.” The dog defended her choice.

Tucker, sleepy now, mumbled, “Imagine the English language without all the contributions of animals. Humans would be so much poorer without us, wouldn’t they? Can any technological phrase, you know, like ‘boot up’—carry the meaning or weight of ‘bell the cat’?”

The four animals felt much the better for this discussion.