To the Squirrel
Hey there, little fella. You there, with the nut, zipping along my fence line, climbing onto the gutter and scuttling across my roof to get into my attic God knows how. I’ve got news for you.
You’re going to die.
Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but here’s the thing – I’m warning you. So when you find yourself inside that metal cage we’re going to put on the fence, the one that you’re too stupid to avoid on account of your brain is so very tiny – don’t say I didn’t tell you so. And don’t be mad at me either. You don’t pay any portion of my mortgage, you don’t use any portion of my house.
If you persist, you must die.
Or you could just make like a squirrel…. and live in a tree.
Your choice.
by Lela Davidson on October 9, 2009
in Suburban Bliss
I’m sad for the little guy :-(
Yeah, ours was a woodpecker, who pecked on metal stovepipes. Anyone who has doubts about natural selection has never lived in a house with a woodpecker going at their stovepipe at five ay-em with what sounds like a miniature jackhammer. The life expectancy – and therefore reproduction opportunities – of such a creature is dramatically reduced when the homeowner is in law enforcement and brings and arsenal which includes – I am not kidding – a hand grenade to deal with the little home wrecker.