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Squirrel phobia isn't just nutty overreaction
(by Lauri Gross - December 23, 2008)
VITAL TRIFLE, BY LAURI GROSS
Squirrel phobia isn't just nutty overreaction
Last summer, after a visit to the West Side Market, our family and a visiting friend returned to our car loaded with fresh bread, succulent fruit and other goodies from the market's many vendors. We set up some folding chairs -- which I keep in my car all summer -- and had a picnic in the tree lawn next to our car.
Everything was great until -- well, when I tell you what it was that ruined our picnic, you'll think I'm crazy. But I'll tell you anyway. It was a squirrel. Maybe you're thinking that a cute, fluffy squirrel scampering by a picnic would make the scene that much more idyllic.
This might be true, if I didn't hate squirrels. Yes, I hate them, and I know you think they are adorable. I don't think I would have minded if a mouse, a bear, a snake or a T-Rex showed up at our picnic as much as I really hated to see that squirrel. I sought refuge inside the back hatch of my car, curled up and, yes, freaked out, much to the delight of my family.
So now you're thinking, "How can she hate squirrels? They're so fluffy. Look at Snow White and Bambi." Well, I do hate them, and perhaps you will too after you hear my harrowing tales.
First of all, I do not think they are cute. Hideous is more like it. Faces all pinched. Ears too small. Freakishly human-like "hands." Wildly twitching tail and darting, beady eyes. Erratic behavior and unpredictable, herky-jerky movements.
Geauga County squirrels tend to keep to themselves, and that is OK by me. Luckily, our wide-open yard is big enough and is backed by enough woods that the squirrels pretty much remain among the trees ad stay out of my sight.
Things were different where we used to live, however. Our small yard was completely surrounded and shaded by a canopy of tall trees. Relentless armies of maniacal squirrels populated those treetops and filled them with countless nests. Constantly, the squirrels twittered nervously and pounced and swung from the tiniest of flimsy branches, seemingly preparing to drop out of the sky and onto my head at any moment.
Apparently, those countless trees didn't provide enough chewing satisfaction, because those squirrels chewed up plenty of what was not intended for that purpose. Some of it was our fault, but that doesn't make me hate the squirrels any less.
Stupidly, we kept a bucket of birdseed inside our screened-in porch. The smell of that birdseed proved to be too much for the squirrels to ignore. They clawed through our screens and chewed up our porch frame of 4-by-4, pressured-treated lumber and through the lid on that bucket to get that food. No matter how we tried to secure that lid, the squirrels came.
Finally, we got smart and moved the bird food to our backyard shed. Still they got in. The space along the underside of the roof overhangs of our shed was left open, presumably for air circulation. For the squirrels, it indicated an open-door policy. Once inside, they not only had their way with the birdseed, but they also ate a wooden croquet set and anything else they could literally sink their teeth into.
Even after we removed the birdseed, whenever we entered the shed, we were greeted by at least one of two things. Either the contents of the shelves had been scattered and dropped by squirrel vandals or the contents of the shelves had been scattered and dropped by squirrel vandals AND the squirrels were still there, caught in the act. I'd freak out. They'd freak out. I'd hurl some fine four-letter words. They were no doubt doing the same in their evil squirrel language. These squirrels would literally ricochet from wall to wall while tomato cages, garden tools, bags of grass seed and everything else would fly into the air and crash to the floor. Eventually, the squirrels would leave the way they got in, and I'd return the shed to its normal state of affairs.
So we nailed chicken wire -- with a tight mesh -- around those shed-roof overhangs to keep the squirrels out. It reduced our chance meetings, but the squirrels found other ways to torment me.
When my kids were toddlers, I made them some beanbags to play with. Again, stupidly, I stuffed them with birdseed. While tossing the bean bags around with the kids in the yard one day, I noticed a squirrel hovering too close and paying a little too much attention to us. We moved over. He followed. We moved more. He came closer. Finally, it became a chase. I picked up my babies and ran for cover in the house, convinced the squirrel was after us, even though now, years later, from the safety of my squirrel-free Geauga County home, I know he was after that birdseed. But I still hate them.
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