It is open season on squirrels in MY neck of the woods tonight! No, we don't live that far out in the sticks that we actually hunt the little critters, but if given a chance, there's at least one of the little buggers that I'd let have it with both barrels!
It seems we have a squirrel who has taken up residence for the winter in our thankfully not- attached to-the-house garage. Why live up in a tree with leaves for a nest on those cold winter nights when the folks at this house are subletting their warm, cozy, fully insulated (except where the bastard ate it!) garage for this winter season?
I've seen the new occupant now living amongst my snow shovels, hammers, and John Deere lawnmower. He is HUGE! No kidding, he (? I haven't gotten that close that I can tell it's gender, and even if i had, I still wouldn't know how to tell) he is the size of a small dog. Wait, I take that back. I have three small dogs, and he is bigger than two of them! With the full winter coat this carnivore is sporting, he is definitely intimidating.
I would think he would have to be, seeing as his path to our fully furnished garage/rental bisects the middle of our dog pen. Yep, that's right. In order to trample what little sanctuary one can possess of a garage, this king of all squirrels must cut right through our dog pen to invade our detached portion of our home (hey, in some cultures, there could be a family of twenty immigrants living in there!)
Did I mention we have three dogs who spend a great deal of time every day in the pen attached to aforementioned squirrel homeland? And yet, as much as they love chasing squirrels and dutifully barking there ever-loving heads off at those squirrels safely bounding from tree limb to tree limb, even THEY recognize the severity of this monster's sheer size.
After yet another night of having had my garbage pillaged (Can one actually pillage, if it IS only garbage? Or does the fact that the squirrel finds my garbage worthy of ransacking automatically make it pillagable?) Again, I digress, sorry. Anyway, after having to pick up the remnants of my garbage that are apparently even unworthy of a hungry squirrel in the dead of winter - I mean, we are talking the garbage of all garbage here- after once again, cleaning and re bagging the same garbage---I had had enough.
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Doing what any good wife of any ferocious hunter of animals -large, small, roadkill, - I sent my mountain man hunter of a hubby to task. You know of whom I speak: the great wise hunter whose deer heads, boar heads and assorted antlers adorn said garage -how creepy is THAT you Hannibel Lecter of the squirrel world, living amongst your once lively (and alive) fellow foresters?
To the rescue, my dear heart immediately and expertly set up a have-a-hart trap in which to snare said forager of trash. Of course, the have-a -hart trap was a last resort after explaining to hubby that blasting away at a squirrel with a double barrel shot gun in suburbia in BROAD DAY LIGHT just might be a bit wee problematic. Anyway, the trap was laid, the neighborhood children spared of buckshot spray, and like the king of all beasts that we are, we awaited the capture of the elusive squirrel, which just like any fish that got away, grew tremendously with each passing conversation.
The following day, I returned to the homestead to learn that our own slayer of wild beast had indeed been successful in his quest. He had snared a squirrel. Not THE squirrel, whom I suspect was quietly chuckling from the rafters of his safe haven, our garage. Hubby had succeeded in trapping a smaller, less furrier relative of our nightmare tree climbing/but garage living rodent. Still, encouraged by his success, our mountain man went about the task of disposing of the pesky critter. (Don't ask, and I won't tell....Kind of like the Army and gays.)
As hubby prepared to take care of his capture, the little bugger scampered out of the cage and right past him and up the nearest tree. None the worse for wear , and now with a full belly courtesy of the garage owners, this squirrel and his burly friend who STILL eludes capture as I write, are advertising our humble dwelling as a bed and breakfast, with the comedy show of watching the mountain man try to scamper after the little f**kers while the lady of the house (yours truly) screams and squeals like a ten year old girl at a Hannah Montana concert.
And just in case, while we sleep soundly and securely in our bedroom, if a certain squirrel happens to be logging on MY laptop and reading this, know this you little bastard: We have not yet begun to fight, and those acorn shells littering my garage floor; well those just may not be the only nuts left rolling when this is over.
Oh, and faithful reader? If you should notice any changes to my MY SPACE page such as "MYSUESTORIES likes big nuts" or maybe "MYSUESTORIES has fallen out of a tree and landed on her head just one time too many"....please report to the authorities, that I may have met with an untimely "accident".
One more thing, oh constant reader, could you please ask them to look for the mountain man, too? Thanks. Forever in your debt --mysuestories
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