Captian Daggerfoot part two

Daddy Daggerfoot

Son of Daggerfoot

Eustis limped out of the discount store with his bag of socks in his hand. He got back to his car and collapsed sideways in the front seat. He threw his bag to the passenger floorboard and jerked off left loafer. He carefully examined the top toes of his shoe. He was glad to see there were no punctures. He stuck his fingers inside to see if the leather was damaged from the inside. Sure enough, it was. Next time, he might punch a hole in his loafer all together. Sometimes a little notice would help! He should be paying more attention. “That’s what I get for rushing around on my lunch hour,” he said to himself with disgust. After rubbing his sore foot for a minute, he got out a new sock, re-shod himself, and returned to the office and a bottle of pain killers.

At the wife’s insistence, he went and bought his own replacement socks at the store – despite the fact that his wife had been at the store the day before. How could he know she was planning a trip on a Tuesday, much less know where she kept her list?

On his lunch hour, he drove the short, but traffic filled, distance over to the store from his office. He stopped and got some lunch in an absurdly long fast food line. He did NOT drop hot sauce on his tie! Haha, what luck!

Meanwhile, a pretty lady in jeans and sneakers was sorting through the boys underwear section looking for the briefs with cartoon characters on them. She could find plenty of those, just not in the right size. No one was much around on a Wednesday in the middle of the day, so she had sat down on the floor to search. In her search, she had made a huge mess on the floor of the shop. She had scattered the wrong packages around her on the floor. The very last package of cartoon characters were the correct size, and with a sense of victory, she held them aloft!

Suddenly, a man came barreling around the corner and nearly tripped on some packages of underwear and knocked straight into her. As he was falling, he tried to catch himself on her while trying not to hurt her as well. He grabbed her wrist with the underwear on his way down. He landed pretty softly on the scattered (and formerly organized) piles of boys underwear. His shoe seemed to have fallen off in the process.

They both started apologizing as soon as they got over the shock. Amazingly, she still had the correct package in her hand and quickly put it in her basket before it got lost again. The man seemed to think he had made the mess and started trying to pick up the strewn packages. Then he noticed his left foot. His shoe was off, his foot hurt, and there were foot long toenails amongst the clutter on the floor. He stopped and looked at her.

He looked at her closely. She didn’t appear to be poor or abused, or needy in any way. She was still hurriedly stacking the packages. He was just going to have to ask.

“What do you need that you haven’t got?” he asked.

She was still busy cleaning up her mess. “What?” she asked with a laugh.

“I’m in a rush today and short on time, so I just have to ask: What do you really need that you haven’t got?”

She became very still. She’d heard about things like this. In Guidepost magazine types of stories, where God provided from unexpected places. What the heck, she thought, why not.

She stared into his unwavering gaze. He seemed serious. “An engine block and new brakes,” she said.

His brow creased in thought. No way one set of nails could do all that. Three sets might.

“OK, this is completely bazaar, but you have absolutely nothing to lose, OK?”

“Ok?” she said cautiously.

“I have way to provide those two things for you, and you’ll just have to believe me. Because you need things that are so large, I can’t give you demonstration here in the store.”

Puzzled, she said, “I also need a second package of these,” holding up the cartoon underwear skeptically.

“OK good. You see these long nails?” he said picking them up. “They can turn into things that you really need. Here, take one nail in your hand, and say ‘cartoon underwear size x’ for whatever size you need.”

It seemed a bit odd, but she did it. “Cartoon underwear size 4.” The nail suddenly melted in her hand, flashed, and became an identical package of underwear. Her mouth fell open. She looked at the other four nails in his hand and started thinking.

Eustis noticed that the labeling was identical on the packages, meaning that she would have to pay for the underwear at the register. “Can you afford those?”

“What? Oh yes, we can afford necessary clothes for the kids, but we can’t really afford a new engine block for one car, and new brakes for the other right now. That’s a lot of dough at once, you know? How did you do that? And why toe nails?”

“I don’t know why it works, I just know that it works. But there’s no way that four nails will pay for all that. Here, shake my ha…. wait a sec.” He looked at his sock, but the first batch of nails had already shredded his sock when it shot his shoe off his foot. “Oh never mind. Here, shake my hand.”

She gave him a wild look, and held out her hand. As soon as their hands touched, she watched the nails on his left foot suddenly grow a foot and then snap off by themselves. As soon as they snapped off, another set started to grow. Those grew to about 12 inches and snapped off. Then they grew another 8 inches and snapped off. They both kept staring at his socked foot, but it seemed to have stopped.

She let go of his hand. “OK, now what?” she asked, taking it all for granted.

He got out his hanky, thankfully clean if a bit stained, and wrapped all the nails up in his hanky. He handed them to her. “When you’re at the mechanic, and once you know exactly what you need, hold a bunch of these in your hand and request the parts you need. If nothing happens, put more nails in your hand and try again. Keep adding nails until you see the melting and flashing and then make sure you don’t drop the parts on your own foot! You might want to do it at the mechanic’s so you don’t have to try to transport an engine block.”

A slow grin and relief spread across her face. “OK, how can I ever thank you for this?”

“You can point me to the men’s sock section.” She turned and pointed asking for his size. “14,” he said.

“Really?! That’s one big foot. Umm…” she started flinging wrong sized packages on the floor with the rest of the mess. He watched with amusement as a shower of socks surrounded them..

“Is this always how you shop?” he asked with a chuckle.

“No, but it’s the most effective today, it seems….HERE! Here’s your size. One pack or two?”

“Two! You can tell I’m going to need them! Thanks!” he said with a smile. He turned to race back to the checkout while looking at his watch.

“WAIT!” she called. He turned to look at her. She shoved a package of handkerchiefs at him, saying “You’re going to need these, too. What do you call yourself? My husband will want to know.”

“Thanks! You’re right. Call myself? My wife calls me Captain Daggerfoot when I shred my socks like this.”

The lady looked at her son’s cartoon underwear, and the hanky full of nails and said, “Captain Daggerfoot it is then!”

He smiled. As he raced away, he heard her say, “Captain Daggerfoot” the same way he remembered hearing “Captain Cave Mwaaaaaaawaaan!” on cartoons growing up.

Captain Daggerfoot!

The following ridiculous tale is fiction. Any resemblance to real people or places is purely coincidental.

"Honey?" she says.

"Yeah?" he says from down the hall and around the corner.

"What happened to all your socks?"

Long pause.

"What?!" he says, as if he couldn't hear.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL YOUR SOCKS?" she shouts.

"What do you mean?" he says.

"What do you think I mean, Captain Daggerfoot?" she mutters and walks down the hall to confront him.

"Six months ago, I bought you 12 pair of new, identical black socks and now I can only find 7 socks like those. What happened to the other 17 socks?" she asks, holding up a sock.

"Um, I don't know. The dryer ate them?" he says while still playing his video game.

She reaches over and presses pause for him. "Look at me. Have you been using your toenails to help out downtrodden women again?"

He swivels his chair to face her and says, "Honey, they really seemed to be in need! The one yesterday had a baby the same age as Quint?! She couldn't buy milk! What was I supposed to do?!" he asks with hands raised in question.

"You were supposed to take off your sock first, that's what!" she says, shooting daggers of her own with her eyebrows.

"Right, like that's not going to draw attention in the middle of the dairy section of Kroger. A man in a suit taking off his loafer and sock in the grocery store is subtlety itself, much less the flash of light that follows."

"Hmph... well... you could have ducked into that doorway that's right there," she concedes.

“You know I have to be in contact with them for it to work,” he says, his voice gentling. “Would you rather have a husband who can see a woman in need and NOT provide for them, even if it costs us some extra socks?” He touches her arm, trying to make her understand.

She heaves a sigh, “Of course I want you to help them. I just get tired of buying new socks. At least the seven remaining socks can still form 3 pair. That’s why I buy so many pairs just alike when I buy you socks. That way, the orphans can still be used. It is really hard to find socks big enough for you, though.”

“I know,” he says, “but I’ve got a wonderful wife that could probably find somewhere online to buy large size black bulk socks.”

“Hmm… you might be right,” she says as she goes back to the laundry.

“Oh,” she pauses, an amused smile on her face, “how did she smuggle the milk out this time?”

He chuckles to himself, “the label was printed in Korean this time. No way they had it on the shelf at Kroger.”

“You’re kidding?!” she laughs.

“Yep! The only English on that thing were the words “Vitamin D milk”. I couldn’t believe it myself! That’s a first!”

The day before, Eustis was popping in to Kroger at his wife’s request to pick up yogurt, crystal light, whole milk and 2%. He had collected the chips, Dean’s dip, crystal light, diet Ginger ale, and yogurt when he saw her.

She was neatly dressed and obviously fresh from the office. She had a 3 year old boy by the hand, and a year old girl in the cart. The little girl had blond ringlets and was sucking her thumb. The boy had brown sandy hair and was a little wide eyed staring at all the cheeses. She let go of the boy’s hand to dig through her purse. She pulled out a calculator and her change purse. First, she added up a few figures, obviously prices displayed in front of her, and then added the tax. Saying the number out loud to the boy, she asked the boy to remember the number. Then she started silently counting out her cash and change into the boy’s cupped hands.

As she counted, Eustis examined them more closely. Her suit was clean and pressed, but was wearing thin at the cuffs and collar. The kids clothes were pretty clean for the end of the day, but with obvious hand stitched repairs in places. The boy’s pants had had patches on the knees for a while.

“Mama, can I have string cheese in my lunches?” the little boy asked.

She finished counting out the change and dug through the bottom of her purse looking for more change. “No, baby, not this week. But you can have the sharp cheddar you like instead of the mild. Would you like that?”

His shoulders fell a fraction, but he said, “OK, Mama.”

She noticed that Eustis was watching and listening. “I’m out of lunch makings at home and the kids have to take their lunches to daycare every day.” She explained while searching for more change. “We’ve got too much month left for the money. The food stamps have even run out.”

The little boy was distracted and dropped a coin or two. Eustis bent down to get it and touched the boy’s hand as he gave it back. During the connection, Eustis suddenly knew that the kid’s dad was around but away on a business trip right now. He saw a flash of a happy home with a sparse pantry.

Eustis nervously glanced around. There were quite a few people in the dairy section right then. Twenty feet away, someone digging through the frozen pizzas suddenly had all the pizzas slide off the shelf toward them, sending pizzas flying everywhere. Everyone stopped to stare and/or help with picking them up.

Now was Eustis’ chance! He slipped off his left loafer and touched the woman on the wrist. She looked up at his face quizzically, and then his foot. His toenails were in the process of growing right before their eyes. The sharp, dagger points broke through his sock. The nails grew and snaked out across the floor, a foot from the end of his toes. With a flash of light, they suddenly snapped and broke off. He picked one up off the floor, held it in his hand, and said quite clearly, “gallon of whole milk”. The huge, pointy toenail quickly melted into a blob, and then reformed itself into a gallon of milk.

He looked back at the little family. All three mouths were hanging open. He handed the mother the gallon of milk, which she dumbly took without thinking. Eustis quickly whipped out his handkerchief and picked up the remaining four toenails still lying on the floor. He wrapped up the nails and stuck them in her purse.

“Once you get home, hold them in your hand one at a time and say the name of what you need, including the size, and it will transform. Like "twenty ounce block of sharp cheddar". It will work just like you just saw. Wait until you get home so you won’t have to pay for the groceries,” said Eustis.

While they were still speechless in shock, Eustis grabbed a half gallon each of whole and 2% milk and darted away before the woman could recover or the pizza distraction was cleared. The boy recovered quicker. He said, “I wonder if the milk will taste like toejam?”

Eustis calls down the hall to his wife, "oh and Honey?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to need more hankies too."

"What? Why?"

Squirrel Story

A couple of years ago, we had a squirrel event. I just realized that I've never posted this story on my blog, so here we go!

Squirrel Rescue

6pm August 17, 2008
Last night, Hubby was sitting in the formal living room and I was puttering in the kitchen. Hubby heard this odd noise out front and went to look. He says, "Oh, Callie's killing something for us and it's squeaking". Ewww, well, let's let her finish it. She sees that we've paid attention and brings the little bugger to the front door rug. Big grin. It's for YOU! Hubby grabs her collar and pulls her back from it.

What on earth is that? Huge squeak from the little guy - obviously boy. Bigger than a mouse, leggy-er than a mole (she's brought home 2 of those). I finally figure out that it's a squirrel! Tiny baby, hairless, amazingly well defined, vicious, feet and claws, very long tail with gray fuzz, and a head that looks squirrel like. It's eyes are still closed! It fell out of its nest and Callie was playing with it. It had tiny little scratches on it, but no obvious damage. No fresh teeth marks.

Now what do we do?! It's like the bunny problem (what do you do with a live baby bunny?). Only louder. I swear this thing whistles. We bring the cat in and carefully place the baby squirrel near the base of a tree without touching it. Maybe the mama will come and haul it back to the nest. It's a stretch and we know it. Maybe nature will otherwise take care of it by morning. You know, owls.

Well, the poor little guy is still there at 10pm, having slid down the non-existent hill a bit. He's shut up and is holding still so as not to attract owl attention. We can't do away with it ourselves when it seems so viable, and vulnerable. If it had had a leg half chewed off or was otherwise damaged, maybe, but no.

Hubby and I go to bed at the same time. About 30 minutes after we've stopped talking and based on our flopping around, I know we're both awake. I say, “you thinking about that stinkin’ squirrel?”

“YES! What on earth would we do with a squirrel? You can't potty train them. They are really wild!” Hubby says.

“We're leaving in 10 days for vacation and who on earth could we convince to bottle feed an infant squirrel that may or may not have its eyes open yet. The kittens didn't start to walk until they were about a month old,” I say.

“And we have a cat who will think we let her keep a toy to torture!” Hubby says.

“If it lasts the night, we'll figure out what to do with it in the morning,” I say.
7:55 am. I'm supposed to leave at 8am. I leave Callie inside and go look in the yard. It's still there and rooting around on the ground for a titty to nurse.

Dang it!!

I go tell Hubby. This is too much for our apparently tender hearts. “Awwwwoh!”

I hold Callie on my lap while I put a posting on Craigslist saying “please adopt my infant squirrel” in the pets section. I put Hubby's phone number on it at about 8am. I put one of Callie's cat blankets in a xerox box and make a little nest. I’m sure the smell of that blanket was terrifying to the poor little bugger. I heat an ounce of milk and find the eye dropper. I go fetch the little guy and put the cat out.

I carefully try to feed the little guy which is trickier than you'd think. I wrap him loosely in a paper towel and try to get the eye dropper in his mouth. It's nostrils are so very close to its mouth that occasionally it has to stop and snort a bit. Out of three dropper-fulls, I bet one got in his tummy. I'm horribly late for work and leave at 8:25 with the box in the kitchen, squirrel wrapped in fleece.

9:00 am I get to work late with this weird squirrel story. I check my email. Four emails from people who either want the squirrel or know a place that will take it. FOUR! I forward them to Hubby, not knowing he can't find his blackberry. At 10am, he calls me begging me to take the posting down because his phone is ringing off the hook! I do so immediately. HOW WEIRD!!! Hubby has worked on feeding it too and so we're not worried about it being dehydrated, even if it isn't well fed.

Hubby comes to town to meet the new squirrel owner with the box in the car and takes me out to lunch. I check on the little guy before we go to eat. The squirrel had gotten stuck between the side of the box and the fleece and was so cold, it was balled up as tight as it could go. I moved him back to the nest, breathed hot air on him a time or two, and covered him completely over with the fleece blanket. We left all the windows cracked an inch and went to lunch. It’s maybe 85 degrees outside and the car won’t get roasting while we’re gone, but it will get warmer in there. After lunch, he's warm enough to sit in my hand with all his legs spread out. He starts whistling for mama again and we’re guessing it’s lunch time for Mr. Squirrel.

Hubby meets the guy at 12:30. This guy has driven about 30 miles to come get this infant squirrel! Who knew there was a "market" for these things! He shows up in a beat up truck, missing a tooth, and slightly malodorous. The guy wraps it up in a rag he brought and puts it in his shirt, saying it still seemed a little cold to him. He said he knew we probably thought he was really pretty weird. Well, we were weird enough to post it on Craigslist. He asked Hubby what he had fed the squirrel.

“Just what we had, 2% milk that was warmed a little.”

He said, “Awww, cow’s milk isn't that good for squirrels. Dog's milk is better.”

Long pause. Hubby says, “Well, we didn't have a lactating dog to milk.”

Dude says, “Well, I do.” Another long pause. Hubby didn't ask if they actually milk the dog or just attach the squirrel to the dog. The guy says he has 9 kids and even more animals and this will be a nice addition to the family farm. Guy leaves with the squirrel in his shirt and leaves Hubby shaking his head.

So the squirrel is alive and very likely being loved by a small pack of children. So that was our 12 hours living in bizarro world!

The cleft of the rock.

For quite some time, I've wanted to write some fiction based on my photos from our Ireland trip. Several times lately, the concept of "a picture is worth a thousand words" has floated past me. I've realized that I can write little bits of fiction for fun. My first endeavor into fiction does not have to be a full length novel! So here is my first bit of fiction - roughly 1000 words. (And yes, this sounds like Stephen Lawhead writing to me too.)


I was starting to think that my Druid guide was lost. The Druid Elfodd did seem to be exceptionally young to be a Druid who had already completed his training. He was no more than sixteen summers, as best as I could tell. But I had made bold to ask the Learned Brotherhood for help deciphering the cryptic message my dying father had left for me. As soon as the oldest shriveled Druid had heard the message, the light of understanding immediately dawned in his eyes. Suddenly, I was treated with a great deal more respect. Suddenly, my chilly reception was revised to include a warm bed, a meal, and a stable for my horse.

The next morning at breakfast, Elfodd was brought to me and I was told that he would guide me to my destination. In their enigmatic way, they would not tell me either the meaning of the message or our destination. Provisions and horses were readied and soon we were on our way in the persistent spring mist.

Three days later, mist still in place, Elfodd was remained almost silent. He would occasionally make conversation, but it was like pulling teeth and only about the most benign of subjects. Now the pace had slowed and we spent more and more time examining landmarks and gauging our position against the shore opposite the cove below us.

Finally, just past noon – perhaps it was noon, we had not seen the sun for days – the young Druid dismounted and handed me his reigns. He walked to the near precipice and looked over. Soon he was back and said we could finish the journey afoot. I looked all around. We were precisely nowhere as far as I could see. But, by now I had learned that asking him questions was pointless, so I merely shrugged and dismounted. We hobbled the horses and left them grazing and dripping in the mist.

Twenty paces past where he had glanced over the edge, a tiny foot path seemed to materialize from amongst the rocks. The slope was steep, but with only a little difficulty we descended towards the crashing sea crag below. After a few minutes, Elfodd seemed to vanish from the pathway below me. I hesitated a moment, but continued on to the spot I had last seen him.

A small cave was visible around a large boulder. There was a square, raised fire place tucked back in the far reaches of the cave, away from the spraying mist of the ocean below. Old smoke had stained the roof of the cave. There was a pile full of extinguished torches tucked into a shelf in the rock. The floor of the cave was perfectly flat, partially damp with ocean spray, but swept completely clean. As we approached the fireplace, I could smell fresh smoke, not the sour ashes I had expected. The coals were still red, though there was no evidence of another living soul for miles. Who had been keeping this fire?

Elfodd took down a torch from the shelf. He pushed the tip of the torch into the coals and it came alive with fire. He handed me the torch and continued to poke the fire back to life. So armed, I turned to look at the empty cave. There was an opening, man height, further back in the depths.

Elfodd brought my attention back to his face. “I will wait here for you for 3 days. I’ll mind our horses. After three days, if you have not returned from the doorway, I’ve been instructed to return with your horse to the Druid settlement. We will care for your belongings until what time you might return,” said Elfodd.

“How will I get back there without a horse?” I asked.

“When you emerge, that will be made plain to you, have no fear,” he said confusingly. He handed me a small gold object, the like of which I’d never seen before. “This is a time compass. The hand advances one number for each day. I will depart when the moving hand reaches the three.” The hand currently pointed to twelve.

“I don’t understand what I'm supposed to do,” I said.

“I don’t really either, but these were my instructions,” he said.

I walked through the doorway and snaked our way through a narrow, winding hallway. The hallway seemed to double back on itself several times, so that soon, I could not hear the ocean from the cave.

Around another corner, I came to a thick velvet curtain. It draped from floor to ceiling, and was the width of the hallway. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought them to be bed curtains. I pulled it aside and looked through. I was looking at a large, four poster bed from the point of view of the headboard. The room was lit by sunlight coming through the windows. I hung my torch on a sconce in the hallway, since I no longer needed it to see.

Curious, I stepped through, and promptly fell as I stumbled on the exceptionally deep mattress. I rolled, my muddy boot bumping a table which sent a large brass candle stick crashing to the stone floor. The din was horrific. I recovered myself, muttering curses, and inspected the room.

A small writing desk and stool overlooking a view of a pastoral setting. A hearth swept completely clean of ash, but laid with wood for lighting. A comfortable looking chair. The brass candelabra had had new, unlit candles in it. From the look of the room, I guessed it to be personal bedroom and study. The room looked comfortable, useful, and yet unused. There was a soft knock at the door.

Startled, I said “Yes?” A middle aged woman came in, not at all surprised to see me.

“Are you unhurt, sir?” she asked.

I looked blankly at her. “Yes.”

“I heard the candlestick fall and knew someone had come. That candlestick was always a bit tippy and might fall over with a gust of wind. Well, now, would you be the master’s son, John, that we’ve heard so much about?” she asked, all smiles.

“Yes, my name is John. But what do you mean?”

“Sir Reginald McNair said, last time I saw him, that he had to go back to get his son. He said we might not see him again, but that his son would take over running the place. I'm glad he found you so quickly. Will he be soon behind you?”

I stood gape mouthed trying to take this in. That was my father’s name, but he certainly hadn’t been here recently. For the twenty years before his death, I had seen my father every day at our home in Celyddon. That was more than a week’s travel from here.

Questions swirled through my mind, but I asked, “When did you see my father last?”

“Oh let’s seen here. He left about a fortnight ago." She righted the candlestick and replaced the candles. "Look here, you're damp head to foot and you've managed to track mud in here. I'll go fetch you some water to wash and some dry clothes. You look about your father's size. I'll bring you a bite of tea as well. You look a bit peaked." While she rattled on, she cleaned up the candle fragments as if there had never been a mess. "The brewmaster will want your advice on the new storage system." She leaned over and with a flick of her hand, managed to light the carefully laid fire. "The blacksmith wants to know how many weapons we'll be needing. And the cook wants the mason to enclose the entire kitchen garden with a wall higher than he thinks necessary and their screeching arguments are nearly daily now. Just sit tight and I'll be back in a jiffy."

She continued this daunting list of responsibilities as she headed out the door and down the stairs somewhere. He sat by the growing fire, rubbing his hands over his face and hair. The woman was frighteningly efficient. But he had no clue who on earth she was. But with promise of the first dry clothes and hot food in days, he simply settled in to wait.

The Bible on the table beside the comfortable chair said, "Property of Sir Reginald McNair" on the inside. We'll that didn't explain much.

His overwhelming thought as he slowly steamed by the fire was simply, "Oh boy."