Rusty brakes and unruly rodents
|By Will Jones - The Outsider | September 21, 2017|
How do you feel about squirrels? Red squirrels? And their extermination with extreme prejudice?
I ask because my lovely wife and I have not agreed to differ in our opinions of the blight of the red tree rat (you’ll quickly be getting a feel for my side in the argument, I’m sure).
More to the point, we have decidedly different ideas about how the annoying little critters should be treated. I, as you may already have guessed, am all for taking measures into my own hands and doing away with every one that I see on my property.
My reasons? Well, to begin with, I don’t like their beady little eyes and incessant chattering; especially when a small pack of them sit on my shed door and chuckle at me while I’m struggling to put new brakes on my old truck.
I can feel their stares and almost understand their rapid, high pitched chirps.
“What’s that idiot trying to do to our house? Hey, idiot! Stop messing with our home. Looks like you should have taken it to the garage, you fool ...” I hear them call.
I throw a rock at the mocking rodents and they scatter, only to gather again momentarily, just as my lovely wife chastises me for trying to hurt the ‘cute little fellows.’ She goes on to point out that back in Blighty the red squirrel is an endangered species, and that seeing one there is on par with catching sight of a polar bear in Haliburton.
I retort, stating that it’s not her vehicle in which the mangy pests have decided to take up residence. And that I’d throw stones at a polar bear, too, if he’d decided to make a cozy nest of pink insulation in my truck’s airbox. More likely, the polar bear would live in my shed. Probably sharing comfortably with the second family of squirrels that bug me. The thing is, though, he’d most likely make less mess than the squirrel family, which seems intent on knocking every box of nails, tin of paint, garden tool, glass jar and can of WD40 to the floor, in his quest to gnaw through the lid of our old chest freezer and dine from my stash of chicken feed.
Every morning is the same. Something smashed, lots of stuff strewn about and a little bit more freezer eaten away. I curse and go back to trying to pry a brake pad out of its rusty caliper. My lovely wife wags a finger and tells me not to harass the wildlife, as she goes back in the house.
And, like magic, they’re back. Three squirrels sitting on the shed door. They chatter, all the while staring with those black, beady eyes. I pull harder on the screwdriver and it breaks, smashing my knuckles against metal. I swear. They chatter (laugh). Something falls from the shelf in the shed. I snap, pick up a wrench and hurl it at the squirrels. And, I hit one.
“Oh bugger,” I murmur under my breath. It’s dead as a dodo. Quick, hide the evidence! I throw the little corpse into the bush and go back to my brake pads, just praying that my lovely wife can’t understand ‘squirrel’ because the other two are back on top of the door and they’re chattering for all they’re worth!
WILL JONES - is The Outsider