Matmunks.

  We are staying in the guest quarters over a big shop on the property.  I say "property" like it's a huge estate when it's five acres on the end of a long Maine Bay.  Nice though.  Jewel-like.  Regular people except for the rampant political hate you see displayed.  (I think that's understandable: Who DOESN'T hate Bush at this point?)  

  Working generous smart folks.  The neighbor came over this morning to borrow Mark's car......to go to Boston for a few days with a sick kid.  Five hours to Boston?  A few days?  No problem.  Key in it.  

  I'm surprised Maine cars even HAVE keys.  Ought to be an on-off switch.

  The quarters has a biggish staircase wrapped around the back.  I was coming down making the final turn with my foot in the air when a chipmunk- a sure-enough Chip-and-Dale-striped job runs under my foot, under the mat at the stair bottom.  My foot is going to CRUSH this animal under the rubber-interwoven mat!  I'm at the point of face-fall, having committed to my step but frantically trying to redirect my foot when he disappears into an unseen hole under the mat.  When I'm down, and looking, its a tunnel and hole under the mat.  Unnoticeable normally.

  Chipmunks.  Maine.  Mark says he's funneled gravel and jammed rocks down chipmunk holes all over the property.  They just bulldoze them back out.