image from Hope at pinterest.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There once was a squirrel named Tyron, the Tire Swing Tyrant—his ire on full display if you dared to approach (he’d stand, glared), then pelt you with acorns like iron. His kingdom? A maple tree’s shade, where trespassers trembled, dismayed. Kids tiptoed in fear, but old Mrs. O’Sheer just laughed, tossed him peanuts—he stayed. A truce? No, a trade, it was clear: her yard safe, his ego sincere. Now Tyron rules proud, though occasionally cowed when the neighbor’s tomcat slinks near.
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