The day had barely begun, and Chancy was already bored. He lay on his rotund belly, arms dangling out of his tree hole, sighing in deep doldrums.
"A kingdom for an adventure," he said, and then chattered nervously. "Tis not my kingdom, but I'm sure I can find one. I'm good at that." He hiccoughed and tumbled into his nest.
To an untrained observer, it would seem that Chancy was drunk. But creatures of his sort tend to get more squirrelly on alcohol, and then fall asleep. No, Chancy was merely an over-achieving squirrel with a knack for talking. And talk he did.
"A kingdom for a damsel in distress," said Chancy, whispering between his perfect teeth. Chancy's front teeth were half the size of those belonging to normal squirrels, he had no overbite. "Preferably a talking lady squirrel?" he said to himself. He was ogling a painting he once made of a well-endowed lady squirrel, with huge come-hither eyes, and her nature bits covered only by her furry, enormous, tail.
"Hark," said Chancy, ea