Episode 14 A Mouse Tail
Welcome to Dragons & Redshirts, the podcast where I get to hone my writing craft on your ears and give you something pleasant to listen to. Yep, you're my practice buddies! I got the idea for this story after catching almost ten tiny little field mice in live traps in my apartment. After photographing each one, I then started to think about where they came from and what their little lives were like. As a child, Aesop and Watership Down were some of my favorite inspirations for my imagination, so it was no surprise to me when this story popped up into my brain. I hope my little invaders are happy in the field where I released them.
—
There is nothing worse than a mousetrap. Dad taught us all about the bad ones. The snap bars, the jaw traps, the sticky boards. He described them all in such detail that even mum scolded him for scaring us so young. But dad never told us about anything like this. It was a big, bright orange tunnel. It smelled really good on one end. Tuna fish. I love tuna fish sandwich. But I couldn't get to it, no matter how I scrabbled at the holes. So I decided I better try going at it the other way.
Everything was fine, at first. It smelled really good inside where the aroma was concentrated. I placed one paw into the tunnel first, to make sure it was safe. Nothing happened. So I went in a little more. Still nothing. My mouth was watering at the intense aroma of sandwich now, so I moved forward toward the food and then… SNAP.
—
Martha was frantic. Fred flinched as he approached the opening to their den. It smelled like onion and desperation.
"Fred! FRED! He's gone He's GONE!"
After spending a nice few hours with his buddies, Fred was in no mood for Martha's all too often hysterics over their well grown children. He grumbled and stretched.
"Who's gone Martha?"
Abruptly Fred found Martha's little snub whiskered nose very close to his own.
"They HAVE George. In a yellow bubble. They have him and they plan to take him away. I heard the woman talking Fred. You have to free him!"
Fred's ears pricked high as he realized Martha was not hysterical over her son's nighttime activities. He'd been trapped. He turned for the tunnel that led up the wall into the human den. His tiny body slid noiselessly past pink waterfalls of insulation, dusty 2x4's, chalky plaster. He pushed his nose at a skinny beam of light and wriggled out underneath the slim heating unit just above the carpet.
The sunset was just beginning, shining in the window above him. In between him and the rest of the living room a maze of giant objects both hid him and hindered his actions. Glass oven pans, jugs with logos, a stainless steel rack. He crept forward, nose twitching violently. Across the vast ocean of carpet he glimpsed a gleam of orange. A giant foot thumped down in between him and the gleam of orange and startled, he dodged back under the heating unit. Loud, incomprehensible voices yammered above him. The humans talking to each other.
Looking out, he saw one of them lift a long orange tunnel into their hands. From the tunnel came a terrified squeak. George! Fred looked on helplessly as the human put the trap and George into a bag. Where were they taking him? He glanced behind him. He didn't have enough time to tell Martha. As heavy footsteps thumped past him through the kitchen, he made a mad dash for another hole across the room. One that would take him outside.
Outside was a chaotic mass of sounds, smells, and movement. Outside was why Fred and Martha had decided to live inside. Inside was cool, quiet, and when humans were in residence, prolific with food. Fred crept through vines of ivy as he saw the humans exit the front door. His father's early lessons rattled inside his head.
"You want to know what's dangerous? Look around you. Everything is dangerous. Crows, Blue Jays, chickens, snakes, bullfrogs, and rats. These are just the beginning of what will eat you. Being eaten is painful."
The grizzled old mouse with one ear and no hair on his head knew exactly what being eaten felt like. Fred paid attention to him. It was a good thing he did. Now he not only had to keep himself safe, but he also had to try to keep up with two humans who held his son hostage. He hid in the shadows of hawthorne shrubs and patches of grass. He took advantage of stinking bobweed. His tiny paws bolted forward, but even at his speediest 8 mph, he was forced to hide from everything, and with every step the humans got further and further away.
As he crouched within a thorny rose bush, a fat housecat circled him, growling. He shivered even as the cat flinched from the sharp barrier. After a long time a human voice rose anxiously and the cat looked back toward it. A slow blink heralded Fred's release.
"Lucky...mousssse."
The cat trotted off with a meow for the voice. Fred bolted from his hiding spot and with dismay noticed full dark was upon him with no sign of the humans at all. Pausing, he closed his eyes, lifted his nose and sniffed. On the breeze, mixed with aromas of fuel, grass, and human was the faintest scent. Just a hint of George. Back and forth Fred roamed, following the trail here, there. Sometimes he lost it. Occasionally he searched for hours before he caught the aroma again.
The first red gleam of day had begun to march across the sky when he came to the edge of a field of weedy grass with heavy seed heads waving up above him. He stopped for a brief drink at a leaky garden hose and sat, exhausted beyond anything he had ever experienced before. With his last shred of energy he found a secure hidey hole in the corner of a garden shed and fell asleep.
The afternoon was waning when he finally woke and stretched, every muscle complaining at such uncustomary activity as he had engaged in the previous evening. An oblivious black backed beetle became an easy target for breakfast. He paused to wipe his face and scrub his ears. Yesterday, fake bacon had been his meal of choice. Today he would just take anything he could get.
Only a moment more and now he left his safe spot. Into the warm field with rich summer smells of soil and earthworms. Other smells of oil and metal drifted in but were not actually in the field. Another smell caught Fred's attention. It was sharp, rank. Rat. Fred's eyes narrowed. Then a moment later another smell. Mixed with the rank smells. George! Fred leaped forward before he lost it. Nose in the air, he tried to keep a solid eye out around him, which was hard when he was so low to the ground with weeds and grass all around him. Suddenly a trail of George's scent slammed into Fred's nose. He turned almost on a paw to follow it, nose to the ground. He wasn't paying a lick of attention when something sent him flying. His back hit the ground. He rolled, trying to get away, but a heavy weight landed on him preventing it.
"Well, what do you suppose we have here? Whaddya doin chump? Slummin? You too fat to belong in this field."
Fred's eyes locked on the long black nose above him. He froze and shuddered, recognizing his doom at those giant rat teeth. Then his nose twitched again.
"G...george? George!!"
He called out, wriggling desperately, but the rat merely leaned more heavily on him.
"Dad?"
"George!"
Wriggling in earnest now, Fred twisted this way and that, found a paw and bit down hard. The weight on him lifted abruptly.
"OW! The little bugger bit me!"
Frantically Fred dodged paws and jaws, then collided with a tiny furry body. George's scent assaulted him and he realized he'd crashed right into his son. With a shiver of relief he tried to wrap himself around George and realized his son was just a bit too big to do that with. No longer the naked pink wriggler he remembered, George was Fred's own size. How had that happened?
"George! Son! How...are you ok? How did you get here? Who are these...these.."
Fred shuddered, trying to get between George and the rats, but they were all around. Ringing them. Desperately he crouched, showing his own teeth to the large black-furred rats.
"Dad. Dad these are my friends."
"Your what?"
George wriggled out from behind his father and Fred was amazed to see the rats were calm. Intimidatingly big, but calm. One rat stood out from all of them. A hefty rat with scars down his shoulders and flanks.
"Dad, this is Morris, he's the leader in this field. Then there's Fingers and Smiley. They're twins. Just don't ask about their mother. Behind you is Metalhead and next to him is Bubbles. These are my friends."
Fred stared at his son disbelievingly. Rats ate mice. And his son had made friends with rats...that ate...mice...
Morris grinned. It might have been a comforting gesture, but Fred didn't feel comforted.
"George is a valuable part of our establishment. You're welcome to join. If you can keep up. We were just about to head out."
Fred felt a bit frantic.
"George..how did this happen? The last thing I saw was the humans picking you up and taking you away!"
"Yeah. It was really scary. I just wanted that nibble of sandwich in the trap. I wanted it real bad. Well, I didn't know it was a trap. You never told us about that kind of trap!"
The accusing look made Fred flinch.
"Humans hardly ever use living traps. They just want us dead. I didn't think…"
A few short coughs drew their attention.
"You wants maybe we should leave you here? We gotta go. Time is of the essence if you get my meaning."
George leaped forward.
"No! No. Dad, I'm going."
Morris turned questioning eyes on Fred. All around the little mouse, he felt the eyes of the rats zero in on him. He wanted to start running and not stop until he got home. Then he thought of Martha when he got home without his son. She would shred his ears and leave him for sure. But more important than that, what were these rats doing with George? What kind of danger were they putting him in? He'd never know unless he went with them. He swallowed.
"I'll go," he said quietly.
His son, George, had always been the bubbly one, the curious one, the surprising one. He was no different now from the moment he'd wriggled, pink and helpless, out of the tissue nest onto the cold floor where he'd opened his tiny mouth to squeak for help. The second Fred had reached out to put him back into the nest, he'd fallen in love with the tiny squalling creature. Now George leaped in and around the rats with his usual reckless enthusiasm. The younger rats actually played back, mock wrestling briefly before running on ahead. They seemed to enjoy his presence.
"Where are we going?" he asked no one in particular.
The nearest rat answered. It was the one called Metalhead. The rat's face turned toward him, half of the skin of his face was missing, teeth showing in a repulsive grin. He spoke with an odd lisp, making him hard to understand. Fred flinched, not wanting to know what had done that to Metalhead.
"We're noving."
"nov...oh, moving. Where?"
"Arehouse. Ig ilding."
That appeared to be all that Metalhead was willing to say. It left Fred confused, to say the least. He knew wild creatures moved pretty constantly, but he scented no females in this group. Why would they want to leave rich pickings like this field before the rain came? George appeared after just a little while.
"We're going to that big building that's bigger than all the rest. It'll be fun!"
Fred tripped over his own paws, almost crashing into a hillock.
"That's across the whole world! Fun? Are you crazy? George, we can't go that far!"
George looked surprised.
"Why?"
Fred shook his head clear and scrambled back to his feet.
"Why? Because! That's why! It's dangerous! We have to go home where it's safe and comfortable! George, I searched for three weeks to find the house we live in. That is almost forever. It's perfect, it's home."
"But what about them?"
"What about them?"
"They want a home too. Remember when you were a pup?"
The hole under the brick wall had been rank, dark, tight. It faced a field on one side and backed onto a trailer park on the other. Fred knew his father had done his best with the hole. He had scrabbled to dig out both sides, but only the side facing the field opened to the outside. To get food, his father would traverse all the way around the big wall to the trailers. It was an exhausting life. All the pups were born stuck in the back of the hole. All ten of them at a time. Fred swore he would never allow his mate to live that.
"Yes, son. I remember."
They approached the super slab. It was an unending strip of terror that hung at the very edge of Fred's known world. The mechanical monsters that ran on the slab did so at chaotic periods of time, roaring inscrutable warnings as they went past. All the rodents crouched in the weeds. Morris and Metalhead flanked the two mice while the rest crowded up close behind. Morris' head pivoted as he tracked the blurry shapes, then with a wriggle, he crouched down.
"Yous guys should relax now," Morris muttered.
Fred blinked, "Relax? Why? Are we—"
Fred's question was abruptly curtailed as he felt Morris' powerful teeth seize him around his neck. His initial surprise made him want to kick and struggle, but oddly his body just went limp and unresisting. Morris did all the work, leaping out onto the slab while keeping Fred's feet up above the pavement. When Morris would freeze for a moment, Fred's vision was obscured by dark blurs accompanied by the nauseating smell of rubber, sun-warmed plastic, and steel. Human smells. Thunderous blaring convinced Fred he was not going to survive this. He made an effort to lift his back feet to scratch at Morris' jaw.
"OP!" came a muffled command as the movement began again. Fred tried to scream, all that came out was an agonized squeal. Just a few moments later Fred felt himself dragged over a curb backward as the wind of yet another blaring rubbery monster washed against their heels. After being dropped, Fred managed to look up again and saw they were on the opposite side of the slab. The frantic thought of "how do we get back?" flew through his head, but he had no time to dwell on it. He had just enough time to turn around and see George pick himself up from where Metalhead had released him rather more gently. George shook himself.
"I'm good dad!"
With great reluctance, Fred followed the rats as they slipped through a fence abutting a metal-clad building so big Fred couldn't even smell the top of it. "Ig ilding" indeed!
"Okay, Morris. What are we doing here?"
George answered while running back and forth, his nose moving like mad.
"We need to find a way in!"
"In? There?"
Morris grunted.
"Yes. We are not familiar with the human places. You live in one."
"You're rats. You can get into anything."
Fred sighed, "What's inside?"
"Dunno."
Reluctance turned to startled surprise when George began to claw his way upward.
"Got it!"
"Wait for me!"
Fred leaped for the side of the building. How was George even doing this? Fred slipped several times before he caught up to his son who was frantically tugging at the wall.
"I know :grunt: there is a space between the metal :grunt: and the wall. I just can't :grunt: find how to get into it!"
Fred's nose twitched.
"George. Look for bulges."
"Like...this?"
Fred was relieved to see George slot himself effortlessly into a minuscule warping in the panel. With a firm grip on the hole, he called down to the blobs at the bottom of the wall.
"Up here! Come up here to the hole!"
Rats do not have a problem with climbing, or with holes, so tucking themselves into the penny-sized patch was pretty elemental. The black space between the metal cladding and the brick wall was uncomfortably hot. The only sounds were soft squeaks and the scratching of sharp claws.
They emerged into glaring light. George only had a glimpse before Fred snagged him and yanked him back.
"Ulp! Dad!"
A sweet, heady aroma drifted down to all of them one by one causing much chattering of teeth. It was the smell of rich food.
"That's why George. This is a human place where they keep all kinds of things. If they see you, they will tear the whole place apart to get to us. I originally took your mother to the school to live, but I wasn't careful enough back then. They removed the carpet and wood flooring to get to us. We barely got out alive."
The rats went quiet and Fred turned his whole body toward them.
"It's true. If you want to stay here, we're going to have to find a space where you can live and won't get caught."
Morris had to realize just how valuable his unwilling companion was. Certainly, his heavy-handed glance was more respectful. There was a small dark space close to the roof and Fred made them all stay there until it was dark inside the human place. They were all much more comfortable climbing down the wall into what Fred called the "store."
"Now. What we have to find first is a place, I mean, places, for you to sleep. They have to be somewhere that a human hand can't reach."
Bubbles snuck under a drawer, "Like this?"
Metalhead turned unerringly for a large coolbox and nosed the grill underneath it.
"'Ere?"
Fingers and Smiley, ever together, ran for a circular stretchy panel on tall legs. After exploring it, however, thoughts of hiding were forgotten. The bouncy nature of it intrigued them.
"Here! Here! This is fun!"
"It reminds me of mom!"
Fred shook his head, "How on earth would that remind you of— OW!"
"I told you, don't ask!" George hissed. Fred appeared astonishingly offended as his son had taken a nip out of his tail. With a snap for his errant son, he turned toward the rats.
"None of those spots will do. Drawers can be moved and if you interrupt the workings of that machine Metalhead, the humans will open it all up, they will find you and destroy your nest. No, it has to be somewhere they cannot reach! Something permanently closed. Nailed or screwed shut. You only need a tiny hole to get in, you can make it bigger after you move into it. You can make any place better, but it has to be the right place first."
Morris made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat.
"Yes, I think I understand now. Like, under that."
Morris pointed at a gigantic wood counter with his nose. Fred trotted over to take a look. It appeared solid, but underneath two attached metal racks, an inviting opening spoke of safety. Indeed when Fred checked, the underside of the counter was completely enclosed, with no way to easily pick up the whole roof of the hidey. Fred made each of them look at it carefully before going out to look again for their own hideys. Predictably Fingers and Smiley chose to stay together in one. Fred said nothing. They would learn. Metalhead insisted on staying near the food, so the rest of them hunted in the area until they found and widened an opening to a low footing that another counter sat on. Bubbles was secretive about where he decided to lair.
"Now, you'll need to learn some things," said Fred.
"Never, ever, come out in the day. Even if you think you're too hard to catch, they can catch you and kill you. Always look for food and everything else at night. Next, if you take something, make sure you take it all. If you decide you must use a piece of clothing as nest material, either take the whole thing or shred it with everyone else so nothing is left. Take things from the back of a bunch of similar things. Bite marks will get you captured. Stick with dropped crumbs unless you have no other choice. Take a whole slice of bread, don't leave a loaf with bite marks. If one of you is captured, the others must stay in their nest until the humans stop hunting. Humans hunt until all traces of rodents are gone. That means any trace of you. Last, other mice can be dangerous."
Morris leveled an ironic look at Fred.
"Ok, maybe not other mice, but other rats can be dangerous. They can claim territory just like the wild animals in the field do. Be ready to defend your nest at all costs."
Morris shrugged, "We haven't had so much as a sniff of another rat or mouse, since we got here."
Fred grunted, "That is not a good thing."
"But you just said it can be dangerous."
"Morris. You have no females. Dangerous or not, no females, no nest. No nest, no babies. No babies, no future. You may as well go back across the superspan to the field holes you came out of."
Metalhead shuddered, "Never! Even without a female. Never."
Morris reached out with a surprisingly gentle nudge for his friend.
"No one will ever make you face the plow again Metalhead."
Metalhead crept away. Morris turned to Fred.
"They plowed the field late. Metalhead's whole family was killed including his first mate. I found him half buried."
"That's why my father chose holes under a wall."
A shrug, "This is much better."
Fred laid down, head on paws.
"You can't live without females Morris. You'll be at each other's throats within a week."
Bubbles broke in.
"We could look outside for some."
Fred grunted, "We came from outside. There's nothing there."
"You do know that the span is not the end of everything right? There is another world on the other side of this big building."
Fred blinked, "There is?"
George burst out laughing. Fred growled, "What are you laughing at?"
"I've never seen you dumbfounded before! You really didn't know!"
"Well, how are we supposed to get out? The doors are closed."
Bubbles shrugged, "there is another door."
"Isn't it closed too?"
"I'll show you."
The door lay a long way across the store. Fred was almost mighty tired when they got there. He watched Bubbles flatten himself to wriggle underneath a dark green door but stopped George from following.
"George. It's time to go back."
George's expression turned innocently mystified. Fred spoke insistently.
"We got them here, they have safe nest areas. The rest is up to them."
"But it's not home unless they have mates! You said you were lost until you saw mom. They need that dad."
George took off for the door. Morris' voice was soft with sympathy.
"Are all kids that hard?"
Fred shook his head, "George is frustratingly special."
"Ah. Like Bubbles."
"Bubbles?"
Morris chuckled heavily as he moved toward the door, "He ate discarded soap."
Fred sighed, "Special."
The smells outside the door were much different than on the superslab. There were familiar smells of green grass mixed with dry aromas of grass seed. The rich smells of fresh flowers were odd in the heat of summer. Dusky tree bark, tar, clay, horse. Horse? George and Fred looked at each other. like twin suns their grins lit up the darkness. Morris looked at them both.
"What?"
"Horse smells. Horses mean hay. Hay is kept inside."
"Food and shelter?"
"A perfect place for rodents. A good place to start at any rate."
The travel was hard but made easier with the antics of the younger rats. As they neared the farm smells, Fred stopped them.
"There will probably be traps here. Not nice traps like what George found. Ugly traps. Snap traps with wire on boards. They will kill you instantly. Sticky traps maybe not so much outside, but if you step on sticky paper or sticky boards you won't be able to walk. They won't bother to look for you. You'll die of starvation."
"Predators?" asked Morris.
"Cats."
Smiley hissed, "Oh. We know cats. Them, we're not afraid of."
"Crows."
Morris grinned, "Dinner."
Fred almost believed him.
"Owls."
The smiles vanished.
"Big. Fluffy. Silent. Fly at night, so watch yourselves."
The day broke as they made it to the barn. Fred knew it would be hard to find any rodent holed up during the day so they spread out along the sides and back of the barn and skivvied into the bales of fragrant dry grass. Unfamiliar sounds began to intrude on their awareness. Human sounds. Laughter. A machine. As one, they froze.
Jeremy looked at his daughter in the seat of the forklift. Tracy was fourteen, but a good fourteen. She'd worked so very hard to earn her own workroom. Straight A's and two thousand dollars saved had left just one task left for her to perform.
"Alright, sweetie. The sooner we get all these bales out, the sooner we can transform this old place into your own room. Start her up."
The roar of the tractor rebounded in the small space. It was no big job to remove the first few bales and set them outside in the morning light. Then the fork stabbed into the bale next to the back wall and lifted away. From the bottom of the bale, the tumbling figure of a black rat caused the young woman to mutter a curse.
"Rats! Dad, rats! Big ones!"
The barn was an attached room to the house. They could not be allowed to get there! Jeremy didn't hesitate. The Crosman pellet gun he snatched up spat a steady pop pop pop at the rodents that fell from the bale.
"HA! Got one at least!"
Bubbles had never felt such pain in all his life. An almighty thump had pounded him right in the ribs, driving all the air from his lungs. He hung limply as the man held him up by his tail. With a last ounce of effort, he shook his head, showing signs of life.
"By gaw, this one's a hearty doer, isn't he? OW!"
Fred had run straight for the next bale when the pellet had nailed Bubbles in the side. When he managed to make his way to the top, he watched in horror as George streaked over the grass-covered dirt, climbed the human's pants, then bit him on the leg! Unwilling to shoot himself, the man danced around, tossing Bubbles away and reaching for this new annoyance. George too went flying. As he lay stunned on the ground, the tractor forks came down with a resounding thump. An agonized squeal followed. The tractor ceased its roaring and the two humans made their way back into the house.
Fred approached the tractor with care, not knowing if the monster was going to rise up again. George was lying quite still. Fred nudged him gently.
"Son?"
Despair filled Fred. George, his bright, delightful little boy. How could he have let this happen?
"Dad?"
"George!"
In an abundance of enthusiasm, he licked George's face frantically.
"Dad. Stop. Stop! Help me get up. My backside hurts so bad. It's like I'm on fire!"
Within a few seconds, it was apparent why George hurt so badly. His tail, caught under the fork was half torn off.
"George. Son, it's going to get much worse. We have to get out of here, but you're caught under the machine. Set your back legs and pull forward when I tell you to. Right, now!"
As George pulled forward, Fred's teeth came down on what was left of George's tail. The little mouse was freed but at a terrible price. A bloody stump was all that was left of his tail, but he was alive. Fred was aware of the rest of the party gathered around Bubbles. Fred's nose twitched. He didn't smell death, but Bubbles didn't smell good.
"Is Bubbles ok?"
"He will be if we can get out of here," replied Morris.
"But it's daylight! Where are we going to go?"
A heavily accented voice answered him.
"If you want to live, come with us."
Morris' head came up with an abrupt snap. A rat looked at them from just a foot away. None of them had smelled or heard the rodent approach. A tense moment occurred.
"Those humans won't stay inside long."
Morris realized, there was little choice. It was either follow this rat, or attempt to make it all the way back to the store by themselves. In daylight. They all encouraged Bubbles to rise and exhausted, they followed the rat into the bright daylight. He led them just a short way away, under a large piece of sheet metal. It was hot and stuffy, but safe. For now. A bunch of other rats and a few mice all crowded around to sniff noses. There wasn't any growling which helped. Fred thought they were all too scared.
"Where are you going?" Morris said softly.
"We were going to try for the next farm."
"Where there are other rats?"
This new, smaller rat grunted, "Not much of a choice. We kin fight."
George looked up from where he had been crouching.
"You should come with us!"
Fred snapped, "George! We don't know these rats!"
Morris shook his head, "No, there is a point here Fred. These aren't pets. We have more than enough space and if we're careful, we can all live safely."
Propped between Fingers and Smiley, even Bubbles seemed agreeable. With a sigh, Fred realized it wasn't his risk to take. Morris looked around and took charge as easily as breathing.
"Right. We'll wait until dusk. Then we'll go. It will take most of the night to get back to the store."
"Store? What is a store?"
Morris shook himself happily, "It's a place you'll never have to worry about predators again."
The sun was a glowing coal in the edge of the sky when they roused themselves. Most of them had slept heavily. Fred looked over fearfully at George, afraid he would have died in the day, but he was surprised to find he was awake and eating a nibble of what looked like waterlogged dog food another mouse had brought him. A female mouse. She cood sympathetically over his tail. When they left, it was the female mouse that he leaned on, not Fred.
The trip back was not without its dangers, but with so many eyes, they managed to avoid the night hunters. They had successfully gained ten new rats, six of them females and three mice. They all settled into various spots around the store as daylight saw them watch the activity in this place that all but two of them called home. It was instantly obvious why Fred had warned them against being "seen" by the humans. They were everywhere!
A day-long rest and easily available food gave Fred a boost. Yet, he felt disturbed. He'd been away from his own home for entirely too long.
"George. It's time to go. Your mother is waiting."
George's response was not entirely surprising to Fred.
"Dad. I'm staying."
The female's twitching whiskers and tiny black eyes from the shadows made Fred smile wryly. He gave George a swipe across the cheek.
"Keep clean. Don't go outside. And keep track of your children. I don't know what I'm going to tell your mother."
"Tell her I said that the house is just not big enough."
No, George was no longer surprising him. Not surprising at all.