Squirrel Aggression

Squirrels have a special place in my life. Specifically, I like them field dressed and cooking over a spit.  Brush on a little garlic and butter, serve on rice. I haven't met a squirrel yet that I wouldn't prefer to have either actively cooking, or zip-locked in the freezer waiting to be cooked. When I see a squirrel, my eyes glaze over in bushy-tailed wrath. The urge to bulldoze entire forests overcomes me. I envision sitting on my porch and taking them out, one by one, sniper style, from cover with a .22 loaded with sub-sonics. If it wasn't a waste of meat, I'd use frangibles and blow their little squirrel asses away. Nothing but a pink mist and a bushy tail bouncing down from the limbs. Beady-eyed little bastards.

This is a relatively recent opinion of mine, though. I used to like squirrels (other than when they are over a fire, of course). What has caused this sea-change of private opinion? Well, it comes down to squirrel communications. Squirrels have three modes of communication; dead silent, chattering, and repetitive shrieking. The squirrels around my place must be a rather special breed, because all they do is shriek. They hang outside of my window, and inform me of all the injustices that plague their rodent minds. It's like the Secret of NIHM, except with squirrels that are only intelligent enough to sit in one spot for hours and say "Poop" over and over again before they lick the windows of the short bus on their way home.

5 AM and a cat is nearby? Let me sing you the song of my people. One of the nut bearing trees has dried out? Let's cuss about it for four hours. Songbirds hanging around? Let's join in and get a jazz session going. These squirrels are busier than a coms center in WWII, and I can't help but think of the amount of nuts they'd have stored away if they spent less time bitching and more time being the gatherers that they are supposed to be. Most likely they're just pissed at all the stray cats, but in their endeavors to tell the cat exactly where they are, they are also pissing off me.

And man is the most dangerous predator of them all.

I've gone full gangsta twice in the past few weeks and capped two squirrels for trying to send word on the grapevine for hours on end. Both ended up on a plate. Revenge, it turns out, is a meal best served hot and with a salad.