Things I Hate
Ok, I'll admit to being slightly opinionated. Some have also suggested I'm given to hyperbole. So really, the title of this post lends itself to any number of possible entries. It could be about cilantro. Really, that would be the most obvious guess. It could also be about NASCAR. It could defintely be about that horrific new "viva viagra" commercial on tv with the appalling men's garage jug band. (If you haven't seen or heard this commercial, count your blessings. Seriously, start counting right now.) But no, today's entry is dedicated to this:
Tree rats. More commonly known as squirrels. And this is what they do! They spy on you! And they use the counterintelligence they collect to make your life miserable.
It's difficult for me to put my hatred of squirrels into words. For sure I need a lot of bad words. First, let's just start with the word squirrel. Say it out loud. Squirrel. A few more times. Squirrel, squirrel, squirrel. What a stupid, phonetically unpleasant word.
But that's not all. Living in the upper midwest, every spring I'm practically beside myself waiting for the temperatures to warm up enough to get out in my flower garden. And oh all the glorious pots and planters I have to fill! Probably close to 30 of them! I spend hundreds of dollars and dozens of hours carefully, lovingly selecting plants that are best suited for their container's location. I transplant them. I water them. I fertilize them. (I've not yet talked to them...) I wait patiently for them to repay my love by blooming profusely and filling my summer with their beauty. They bring me joy.
But tree rats.
They spy on me. They wait until each pot is filled. They wait until I'm not looking. And then they dig. Oh, how they dig. And not to eat my plants either. That might be understandable. No, they just dig for the hell of it. To fill me with rage. To make me insane. They dig to fling my baby plants all over the place, leaving their tender roots exposed, to bake in the sun on the concrete patio until I get home to see the carnage.
I try to rescue the plants. I replant them, sometimes replace them. I water them again. Typically, the next day, I come home to the same scene. We repeat this dance, the squirrels and I, until eventually they lose interest. And they usually do lose interest. I've attempted to hasten their interest-losing by sprinking hot pepper around my plants. (Take that!) Squirrels don't care. The Mr., fearing total mental collapse in his wife, one day came home with this:
But it ridded no critters. Yes, I even bought a whole bunch of bamboo skewers and stuck them in my pots, pointy side up, as a bit of a medievil punishment for the tree rats. (True story.) No dice. Dig, dig, dig.
A week or two goes by, and I'd like to think I win (I do enjoy winning), but eventually they just stop. Whichever plants have weathered the storm grow in peace, and that's the end of it. Flowers flourish. Blooms spead beauty and joy. Or at least, that's always been the end of it.
What did I find yesterday? A whole row of gerbera daisys, stems pointing skyward... and totally empty on top. ARGH! Nothing but a nibble mark where the bloom used to be. And nearby, a patch of yellow petals. And a short distance away, a patch of orange petals. And underneath the maple tree, a giant pile of red petals.
Please, if you drive by my house and you see a squirrel, hanging in noose in the front yard as a warning to all other comers, don't think me crazy. Just know I've had it. I swear, if they touch my tomatoes...
Tree rats. More commonly known as squirrels. And this is what they do! They spy on you! And they use the counterintelligence they collect to make your life miserable.
It's difficult for me to put my hatred of squirrels into words. For sure I need a lot of bad words. First, let's just start with the word squirrel. Say it out loud. Squirrel. A few more times. Squirrel, squirrel, squirrel. What a stupid, phonetically unpleasant word.
But that's not all. Living in the upper midwest, every spring I'm practically beside myself waiting for the temperatures to warm up enough to get out in my flower garden. And oh all the glorious pots and planters I have to fill! Probably close to 30 of them! I spend hundreds of dollars and dozens of hours carefully, lovingly selecting plants that are best suited for their container's location. I transplant them. I water them. I fertilize them. (I've not yet talked to them...) I wait patiently for them to repay my love by blooming profusely and filling my summer with their beauty. They bring me joy.
But tree rats.
They spy on me. They wait until each pot is filled. They wait until I'm not looking. And then they dig. Oh, how they dig. And not to eat my plants either. That might be understandable. No, they just dig for the hell of it. To fill me with rage. To make me insane. They dig to fling my baby plants all over the place, leaving their tender roots exposed, to bake in the sun on the concrete patio until I get home to see the carnage.
I try to rescue the plants. I replant them, sometimes replace them. I water them again. Typically, the next day, I come home to the same scene. We repeat this dance, the squirrels and I, until eventually they lose interest. And they usually do lose interest. I've attempted to hasten their interest-losing by sprinking hot pepper around my plants. (Take that!) Squirrels don't care. The Mr., fearing total mental collapse in his wife, one day came home with this:
But it ridded no critters. Yes, I even bought a whole bunch of bamboo skewers and stuck them in my pots, pointy side up, as a bit of a medievil punishment for the tree rats. (True story.) No dice. Dig, dig, dig.
A week or two goes by, and I'd like to think I win (I do enjoy winning), but eventually they just stop. Whichever plants have weathered the storm grow in peace, and that's the end of it. Flowers flourish. Blooms spead beauty and joy. Or at least, that's always been the end of it.
What did I find yesterday? A whole row of gerbera daisys, stems pointing skyward... and totally empty on top. ARGH! Nothing but a nibble mark where the bloom used to be. And nearby, a patch of yellow petals. And a short distance away, a patch of orange petals. And underneath the maple tree, a giant pile of red petals.
Please, if you drive by my house and you see a squirrel, hanging in noose in the front yard as a warning to all other comers, don't think me crazy. Just know I've had it. I swear, if they touch my tomatoes...
posted by Anginator at
9:43 AM
10 Comments:
Dude, tree rats is right. They ruined my herb pots on the deck and so I've taken to throwing things at them ... usually dog bones or toys that are lying around. Turns out I've got pretty good aim when I'm enraged.
By
sakamaho, At
9:23 AM
btw, that picture with the camera is quite funny.
By
Anonymous, At
9:30 AM
erg. we have a great way of keeping tree rats out of our yard. we have pets. our dog lives to chase squirrels up trees, and over fences. just think of the damage the cats could do.
By
Dr Em, At
11:22 AM
also, tree rats reminds me of yard bears (aka racoons).
By
Dr Em, At
11:22 AM
they DO enrage you. it really sort of startles me how mad i get when i see dirt everywhere and know what i'll find when i look closer. it does almost make me want to utilize Em's solution. if only i liked pets. do shih tzu's chase tree rats? that's probably the most dog i could handle...
By
Anginator, At
11:46 AM
also, how do i get MY picture on my posts?
By
Anginator, At
11:46 AM
Way to go Pancho. I don't know if Buster would eradicate your squirrel population, Ang. We have a tree that practically grows out of our deck, so the rats come down from the tree, dig, dig, dig, then when Dale or I make our move they jump back into the tree, climb just out of reach, then turn around, look us STRAIGHT in the eye, and start taunting us with their maddening chatter. That's when I start cursing and throwing things - whatever I can get my hands on.
By
sakamaho, At
12:42 PM
ang, to get your picture in your comments, you have to add your photo to your profile. click on your name in the comments section to see your profile and then edit it.
By
Dr Em, At
5:15 PM
Pancho isn't allowed to chase the squirrels anymore. he tore up the backyard.
More than squirrels, I hate pictures of animals doing human things. Like those weineriemers dressed in American Gothic, or a squirrel holding a camera. :)
By
Rocco, At
11:17 PM
or a bear taking a shit in the woods with charmin toilet paper.
By
Dr Em, At
4:17 PM
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