Sunset Farm
Prairie dogs on Sunset Farm are forced to take drastic and violent measures when their elderly leader and sage meets an untimely end at the hands of the tyrannical Farmer Todd.
Anger and extreme sorrow filled his little furry being. Just minutes ago, beloved Uncle Rupert was giving one of his droning but endearing speeches on his favourite dirt mound under the apple tree to a small group of young dogs. They loved him, Uncle Rupert. Old and kindly, he always had those sweet little tuber treats up his sleeves. Kaiser choked on his tears, his teeth gnashing with uncontrollable rage.
Dear old Uncle Rupert. He had exploded where he stood, telling a story about the flowers and the bees. He had burst, literally, into a fine mist of flesh and guts. The small entourage listening to him were showered with his blood, and they had stared in shock, until one of them noticed an eyeball on the ground. Panic had ensued, and they screamed and yelled and cried in fear whilst running for the safety of the holes. They had dashed past a frozen Kaiser looking upon the mound, now splattered red with blood. Another eyeball hung from the tree.
Rupert was his grandfather.
“Whuuuwee! Got that old varmint at last! After all these darn years I might add!” a raspy voice spoke from a distance. “’sploded em good. Now any of you dogs done pop your cute little heads above ground imma blow em up too!” Maniacal laughter filled the air.
Farmer Todd needed no introduction to the prairie dogs on Sunset Farm. He was a crazy demon, hell bent on eradicating every single one of them with his rusty rifle. They had done a good job in evading him so far, that is, up till now.
He had killed Rupert with one of those hollow point bullets, the same kind that took his father. Kaiser was filled with grief and rage. But as leader of the dogs here he knew he had to calm himself. He had to stop the killings. His little heart yearned for revenge.
He had a plan.
Farmer Todd sat on his front porch, whistling to his deranged self. This week was a good week, he thought. Why just a few days ago he had popped that old varmint that had eluded him since he bought this farm. He had popped a few more yesterday as well. He had noticed they were carrying pieces of wood and dry grass in the multitudes, but the weirdness of the scence was soon driven from his mind when he started shooting and whooping like a maniac. He would get them today too if they chose to appear again, all from the comfort of his front porch.
Smoke filled his nose as he cleaned his rifle. Fire! Farmer Todd rushed back into the farmhouse. The entire place was filled with an acrid black cloud. And prairie dogs! Everywhere! He started shooting and shouting as they scurried around the floor, on the table, even in the kitchen sink. It was a literal army of angry, furry prairie dogs, and they began to converge on Farmer Todd. He yelled in pain as they started biting at his ankles and toes. Flailing around in vain he tripped and fell into the furry mass. His rifle! They were slowly turning the barrel towards his face. As Todd struggled, a dog appeared from within the mass, and their eyes locked. Its face was filled with rage and contempt as it raised its little arm in signal to fire. Farmer Todd stared in fear, and he screamed as a resounding crack filled the air, and the entire farmhouse collasped, its structure weakened by the consuming fire.
Todd was not well loved by his neighbours, but the manner of his death and the destruction of his farmhouse was a matter of concern to the people living nearby. Todd’s blackened corpse was found amongst the charred beams of his home, apparently lacking a head of any sorts. Some say the farm was cursed, and that his headless ghost still wandered the fields.
The prairie dogs of Sunset Farm know better.
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