This is for you, LH. :-p

Are You Nuts, Father Ted?

Father Ted and Father Dougal walked home from Mass under a gloomy Craggy Island sky. Ted's hands were stuffed into his pockets, there was a brooding look on his face. In contrast, Dougal looked beatific, almost saintly, putting one foot in front of the other without a care in the world.

"Another successful Mass, eh, Ted." It was more of a statement than a question.

Ted's brow furrowed even further. "Yes, Dougal. Apart from the bit where you told Mrs. Kilkenny that the Holy Spirit's name was Barry."

"Ah, Ted. I was just havin' a laugh. She looked like she needed cheerin' up."

"Dougal, her husband died only a few days ago. Could you not have been more sensitive?"

"I suppose I could. But I always abide by the Ten Commandments. Thou shalt have a laugh during a boring Mass."

Ted was taken aback. "Excuse me? 'A boring Mass'? You just said it was successful!"

Dougal pondered for a millisecond. "Did I?" He pulled out a tape recorder and switched it on. His own voice floated out of the device, tinny but clear. "Another successful Mass, eh, Ted." The young priest shoved the recorder back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly. "You got me again, Ted. I said successful, but I meant boring."

Ted fixed Dougal with a beady eye. "Do you think you could do better, Father 'I Think I Could Do Better'?"

"Well, I wouldn't spend the whole time going on about God and a bunch of dead people. I'd tell them a story, like Star Wars or Jurassic Park. Catholics love dinosaurs."

Ted rolled his eyes. "No, they do not. They like stories about God, sinning and repentance."

Dougal shrugged. "I bet they'd like Jurassic Park better. Bringin' dinosaurs back to life instead of Jesus. It'd blow their minds. Imagine if they put a Tyrannosaurus Rex up on the cross, there. They'd need a lot of nails, eh, Ted? And the cross would have to be five hundred feet high. And made of steel."

Ted tuned out, as he always did when Dougal went off one one of his tangents. But as they approached the Parochial House, the sight of Mrs. Doyle flailing about on the driveway while Father Jack cursed up a storm in his wheelchair brought him back to what little senses he had left. He hurried up the drive, as much to get away from Dougal's nonsense as to find out what was the matter.

"Mrs. Doyle! What's wrong?"

The flustered housekeeper waved her arms in the air. "Oh, Father! I'm so glad you're back! There's a mad squirrel in the house!"

"A squirrel." Ted stopped in his tracks, looked towards the house. There was nothing amiss from the outside.

"FECKIN SQI-RRELL!" Jack shouted, banging his hands on the wheelchair's padded armrests. "HAIRY GERMAN BASTARD!"

Dougal caught up with Ted and looked blankly at each of the other three. "What's up, Ted?"

"Mrs. Doyle says there's a squirrel in the house. Em, how did it get in the house, Mrs. Doyle?"

"It was being chased by a crow!" Mrs. Doyle wailed. "Which was being chased by a fox!"

"I see..."

"Which was being chased by a dog, which was being chased by a man, who was being chased by a horse!"

"And is that supposed to be more believable than Jurassic Park?" Dougal scoffed.

"All right, Mrs. Doyle." Ted took the clearly distressed housekeeper by the arm. "Let's go and see this squirrel of yours. Dougal, bring Father Jack inside before he gets cold."

Safely inside the Parochial House, the three priests and the housekeeper stood (and sat) at the threshold of the large sitting room. Ted's mouth fell open in aghast. The place looked like a bomb had gone off, and the entire room resembled the one messy corner that belonged to Father Jack.

"There he is," Mrs. Doyle muttered with narrowed eyes. "There's that little devil mouse himself."

Amid the carnage of toppled furniture and smashed vases, a squirrel sat in the middle of the table, gnawing on the arm of Father Jack's spectacles. When it saw them, it threw down the broken glasses and leaped on top of the bookcase, spilling several books onto the floor with a crash. There it sat, chattering and glaring furiously at them.

"He's like a little tiny velociraptor with fur." Dougal ducked behind Mrs. Doyle, clearly thrilled but frightened at the same time.

"No he isn't, Dougal. He's a squirrel. Velociraptors don't exist. Do you want me to make you write it on the chart?"

Dougal huffed with indignation. "Ah, Ted. You're no fun."

Just then, a pleasant-faced, youngish man came out of the kitchen holding a cup of tea. He was dressed casually in muddy jeans, wellington boots, and a chunky Arran sweater. Ted recognised him as one of the local farmers, Ronan McCarthy. A man who was always losing his animals.

"If you don't mind, Mrs. Doyle, I took the liberty of pourin' meself another cup of your delicious tea. I'd rather make sure the coast is clear before I set foot outside again. Oh, hello Fathers!"

"Ronan! So this is why you weren't at Mass!" exclaimed Ted.

"Aye, Father. I'm sorry about that. Our Judy escaped again. You know horses, always wantin' to get out and run around the fields."

"Ah, you didn't miss much," Dougal interjected. "Just a load of stuff about sharing in the spiritual worship that has nourished the family of God since the day of the Resurrection."

"Whereas YOU wanted to talk about the crucifixion of a Tyrannosaurus Rex," said Ted, folding his arms in spectacular judgment. "Well, Ronan, we didn't see any horses outside when we arrived. I'm sure Judy's just trotted away home and she's waiting for you to give her a nice pile of hay and a juicy carrot."

The farmer looked both delighted and relieved. He put down his cup and saucer. "In that case, I'll be going. Thank you for your hospitality Mrs. Doyle. I'm sorry about the squirrel, but at least we got all the others out before they caused too much damage."

"Right so, Ronan," said Mrs. Doyle. "Will you have a cup of tea to take with you? Or a biscuit? Or a slice of cake? Or a sandwich? Or two sandwiches? I'll get you a bag."

"No thanks, Mrs. Doyle, seven cups of tea was quite enough. And don't worry, Father. I won't miss Mass again." He chuckled to himself before adding, "You could say, 'wild horses couldn't keep me away'."

Ted laughed politely while Dougal stood in confused silence. When Ronan was finally gone, Ted turned to the housekeeper, who was already bustling towards the kitchen with Ronan's empty cup.

"Mrs. Doyle, What did he mean by 'the others'?"

Mrs. Doyle rolled her eyes. "Well. The fox and the crow and the horse, and the badger... oh, I didn't tell you about the badger, did I? It was all fun and games until the badger jumped up and started ridin' the horse around the kitchen."

"ARSE RIDER'!" declared Jack.

"No, Father. HORSE RIDING!"

"HAIRY ARSE RIDER!"

Ted started following Mrs. Doyle, but was stopped at the door.

"You don't want to go in there, Father. It's still a bit untidy."

Mrs. Doyle sidled through the doorway, but Ted saw enough of the carnage to make his face go as white as his hair. He swiveled around and stared at Father Dougal. At the same time, the squirrel leaped down from the bookcase and landed on Father Jack's head. The old priest went berserk and began shouting at the top of his lungs.

"FECKIN' GERMANS!"

The sodden old reprobate reached down the side of his grimy chair cushion and found an empty whiskey bottle. In a wild panic he bashed himself on his own head in an attempt to dislodge the squirrel. He knocked himself out and slumped sideways, an idiotic grin twisting his already twisted features even further. The squirrel stayed put, clinging to Jack's bloody scalp with razor sharp claws until Dougal prodded it with a poker from the fireplace, and then it shot off Jack's head and dashed up the chimney.

Ted got down on his knees by the fireplace and peered up into the darkness. "Great, Dougal. Now what?"

"We'll light a fire and smoke him out," said Dougal, happily.

Ted reached for the poker that Dougal was still clutching. "Before we burn the place down, we'll try this first."

He thrust the poker up the chimney and rummaged around. The squirrel fell down in a cloud of soot that covered Ted from head to chest. He withdrew from the fireplace coughing his lungs out, his eyes blinking like a cartoon character's in a face as black and featureless as the darkest night.

Dougal regarded him with suspicion. "I hope you're not going to do another one of your racist impressions, Ted. You know what happened the last time."

"Dougal," said Ted, patiently. "I am NOT a racist."

"Oh, right," said Dougal. "It's just that, you know. You look like a golliwog."

"Dougal! You can't say golliwog any more."

"Why not?"

"Because it's racist!"

Dougal blinked. "Wow. I never realised how easy it was to be racist."

"Yes, well. That's the modern world, Dougal."

By this time, the agitated squirrel was desperate to escape. It jumped back up onto the unconscious Father Jack's head and then onto a picture frame, knocking the picture off the wall. Behind the picture was a bright, clean, colourful square of wallpaper that showed how dirty the rest of the wall was. A few moments later Ted heard the unmistakable sound of a man being chased by a horse outside.

"Quick, Dougal! Open the window!" the older priest cried.

Dougal ran to the window and wrenched it open. The squirrel flew past his shoulder just as Ronan and the horse ran past. The squirrel leapt up onto the horse's back and the two of them were away.

"We averted a crisis, Ted," the young priest declared happily, as the squirrel and horse chased poor Ronan over a wall and into a crop of nettles and then into a wasp's nest.

"And now, tea for everyone!" called Mrs. Doyle, magically emerging from the kitchen with a full tray.

"Dougal," said Ted as he munched away on a slice of cake. "I have a great idea for next week's Mass. 'The Triumph of Perseverance over Adversity'. The squirrel threatened to defeat us, but our courage and tenacity pulled us out of the darkness and out the other side."

Dougal nodded in simple agreement. "Much better than waiting for God to save us and all that nonsense."

Ted looked out of the window to see Ronan and the horse and squirrel running away into the distance.

"You know, Dougal, that does look like your scene out of Jurassic Park," he mused.

The End (and not before time)