Defining Moments in the War Against the Squirrels

I despise squirrels.

There. I’ve said it. For those of you who don’t know me well or think I am joking, well, step back. If you’re a card carrying member of PETA, look out.

I must admit, I do like most animals. I like my cat, Maxx Attaxx. He’s mental, spastic, and bites hard, but is endearing in many other ways. For example, he keeps my feet warm when I’m sleeping. He also catches bugs, and kills them with gusto.

I like dogs too. I especially like well-behaved dogs, ones that will actually do what you say. I love dogs who don’t poop in my yard. (I might like dogs, but this house is dog-less at the moment. If there’s dog poop in my yard, that means it doesn’t belong here, and some human was negligent about removing said feces.) I also like horses, birds and animals in zoos. I like cows, but I have no qualms about eating a hamburger or wearing leather shoes. Sure, they have huge, sad eyes, but that doesn’t bother me. I know they are dumber than a box of rocks, and someone has to eat them. *Raises hand*

However, squirrels are different. Squirrels are a scourge upon this land. Squirrels should be eliminated by all means possible. They are glorified rodents, dressed up in a “pretty” poofy squirrel tail. Get them wet, and they’re just a big rat.

There are easily several thousand squirrels within the one block area that contains my home. I kid you not. There are black ones, brown ones, and albino ones. I blame the overpopulation of these rodents on the complacency of some of the squirrel sympathizers in my community. Some people actually think that squirrels are cute. They feed them peanuts. There’s a retired doctor down the street who feeds them Krispy Kremes and giant bagels. I know this, because the squirrels bring their haul down to our yard and try to hide it. We’ve found pastries in my husband’s garden shoes (which he keeps outside), in the garage, and tucked under the trampoline cover. Squirrels are so stupid, they forget where they hide their stash of food. Thus, when I am weeding, I end up uncovering peanuts. (A hint: in my area of the Tundra, peanuts are not found naturally of among our flora.)

I would shoot the squirrels that come into my yard, but I can’t. I live in a rather crowded suburb of a rather large metropolitan area. If I were to start shooting at squirrels, I’d be arrested. I’d love to lay out a dish of radiator fluid, but I think that would get me jail time as well. I am, however, lobbying for squirrel birth control.

In my lifetime, I managed to fell two squirrels without even trying. One time, I netted up my strawberry patch and an unwitting (code word: stupid) squirrel got himself entangled in the net. He might have had a strawberry grin on his face, but he was dead. His limp body was a warning to the other squirrels hoping to feast on berries. “Stay away!” They did.

The other time, I was pulling into the office at work. I was driving maybe 20 miles per hour, slowing down to turn into the driveway. My daughter, Ms. MiniDemonic, was in the passenger seat. I believe she was about nine or ten at the time. The squirrel was teasing me in the middle of the road. I didn’t aim for it, but figured the rodent would scamper out of the way. I was surprised to learn that he didn’t. I flattened that thing like a pancake. He obviously thought I was going to swerve to avoid him. Where would he get that idea? From the thousands of other squirrel sympathizers? Dumb ass. Now when I drive in my neighborhood, I try to swerve into them, but they’ve all wised up. They move if they see me coming.

I just noticed that I’m going to have a bumper crop of pears this year, and am already fretting about what to do with my rodent problem. I’d kind of like to actually eat one of my pears this year.

I wonder if I can ring up General Powell on the phone for his advice. After all, he’s retired and might need something to do.