Squirrel Karma October 2009

I've had my issues with squirrels over the years. Sure, they're cute in a rodent sort of way, I guess. But, not really. They're annoying, to say the least. Destructive, to be sure...

Several years ago, I decided to try my hand at growing oak trees from acorns. Does anyone know how hard it is to grow an oak tree from an acorn? Take a walk through hard timber sometime. Doesn't appear to be too difficult for Mother Nature. However, it's proven to be quite an ordeal for a mere mortal like myself.

I called the local nursery and inquired how to go about growing a mighty oak from a little nut. The first thing they asked me was, "Are your acorns viable?"

Huh? Viable, what the hell do you mean, "viable"? It would've taken me too long to look that up in the dictionary (not the DickTionary), and the guy on the other end would've known I was looking it up in the dictionary, so I just said, "What's viable?"

"Well, will they grow?"

I never thought to ask them...

"I don't know, will they?"

"You have to test them, have you tested them?"

I just wanted to know how long to freeze them. Someone told me they have to be frozen. Now, I'm grilling acorns with questions and tests...

"Uh, how do you test them?"

I can hear him smiling from the other end of the line...yeah, this is cute, isn't it? Fun for you doesn't always equal fun for me, thanks...

"Put them in a small bowl of water. If they float, they're viable. If they sink, they aren't. Pitch the sinkers."

That's simple. "How long do I freeze them for?"

"A month."

Barely cover them, blah blah blah. I kinda had the rest figured out.

So, I swam my acorns and pitched the fellers that couldn't swim, tossed them in a zippie with some damp black dirt and threw them in the freezer. Thirty days later I pulled them out and me and my boys made an enormous production of planting them in a pot in my front yard.

Two days later, a squirrel--who had access to the sixty foot PIN OAK across the street--proceeded to dig all three of my formerly frozen, once viable acorns out of my flower pot. I was livid. I'd have shot him on the spot, but unfortunately I still lived in town. Why my acorns? What was wrong with the ones the pin oak was providing? Afraid to cross the road??? Mine were acorns from the Burr Oaks at the School House & I wanted them to plant in my new yard at my new house...Hello?

I was no longer sitting on the fence when it came to squirrels. I didn't like them at all....

Not one bit.

Huh-uh.

Kill them all.

Coincidentally, about that time, my husband decided he hadn't been squirrel hunting since he was a kid & he was positive my children would absolutely love to go squirrel hunting.

Really? It's all that, huh?

Leave it to my husband to make sure squirrel hunting is an art-form alot like bow hunting or turkey hunting. Up before day break, line the boys up and cover them completely in camo. Drag them out the door and into the timber before gray light. I mean, really? Why all the fuss? The squirrels I've witnessed are busy ALLLLLLLLLLL day long and they don't seem the type of animal you can sneak up on...or sit in a tree and hide from...but, whatever.

That first morning I arrived at my parents house about the time my three boys had left the timber. Rob's truck was backed up to Dad's morton building and Dustin was standing on the tailgate, dimples deep, positively beaming, holding a half-dozen dead squirrels by the tail in each of his fat, little hands.

Gross. I may hunt, but I'm still a girl. Dead squirrels is gross. Yuk, go wash your hands, boy.

The boys were smaller at the time, so they were totally thrilled to share their experience with me. Now that I'm a lower life form than plankton they don't much care to discuss anything with me, but back then, wow! And boy had Birdy wow'ed them. They couldn't wait to go again. I think Rob might have been laid-off at the time, for maybe a week, so he was in charge of babysitting anyway...and what better way to entertain my masses then by all of them killing something. May as well be squirrels.

Later, I asked my husband, "Did they really enjoy it?" I just couldn't see my kids enjoying such a small animal being pulverized. Boy, was I wrong.

"They loved it."

"Really?" Disbelief written all over my face.

"You should've heard them. The first one I shot was eighty feet up a walnut tree...I put my scope on him and dropped him like a stone," Rob's grinning, "He hit the dirt, Dillon & Dustin just started laughing."

"That's sick." Rob frowned at me. I'm a mom, I'm a girl, isn't this what serial killers start out doing? Killing things for the sheer joy of killing? It kinda scared me.

It didn't scare me enough to tell any of the three they couldn't go squirrel hunting the very next morning. I hadn't forgotten about the little peckerhead that had taken my VIABLE acorns...

The next day, we took PICTURES with dead squirrels. Yeah, pretty sick.

I'm well-aware that we're a book full of sick tickets...

The kids went with Junior that weekend, so I said to my husband, "Take me squirrel hunting." I was probably planning to water my acorns that day or something and since I had nothing better to do, I figured I'd see what all the fuss was about...

Up in the middle of the night, dressed in full-camo (yes, a shower & make-up for Mother), we trucked into the timber while it was still dark outside. Rob & I found a tree trunk and made ourselves comfortable. About gray light, a doe and her fawns walked up on us and stood for nearly 15 minutes, eating (you guessed it, acorns) and trying to determine exactly what Rob & I were...that was neat. That was really neat. We didn't really have the time to mess with deer, though, we had squirrels to harvest...

The sun rose a little higher and gradually squirrel activity began..."Okay," Rob whispers (you've got to be kidding me...his rifle has a scope on it, I really don't think the squirrels will hear us), "the sun's just starting to rise, so the tops of the trees will have sunlight in them. That's where we're going to find our squirrels. They're in the tops of the walnut trees collecting walnuts..." We Elmer-Fudded our way towards an enormous walnut tree, Rob raised his rifle and looked through the scope. "There's one in the top of that walnut tree," he says softly. I look up high and yes--yes, I can see the little rodent moving branches around. "Okay, now, watch this."

Bang.

POP! Tink! Tink-tink--pop, thump, whoosh, THUD.

That squirrel smacked the ground doing Mach 3...

I GIGGLED WITH GLEE

...all I could think about was my viable acorns. I ain't killed nobody yet, so I think its safe to say the boys probably won't turn out to be serial axe-murderers or anything...

but who knows?

...I said to my husband, "Do it again!!!"

Rob did. We bagged squirrels until nearly 10 in the morning. Of course, since we didn't have Dustin with us, I was forced to "retrieve"...yuk. I'm not a labrador, I'm a girl.

Several days later, Rob & Dad decided it was time to clear gutted squirrels stored in the refrigerator and bag them for the freezer. I was upstairs on the computer at Mom's and was wandering down the steps when I heard my father and my husband bickering...

"I don't know. Do you?" I recognize my father's giggle.

"Well I know that's not how you spell it."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," Rob peeks around the corner, looks back at Dad and says, "Let's ask Dawn."

Walking into the kitchen I queried, "Let's ask Dawn what?"

The over-sized boys looked at one another and then at me, Dad beaming just like Lil and Rob who's smiling sheepishly asks, "How do you spell squirrel?"

Huh uh.

HUH UH.

You canNOT be serious.

I blinked hard.

"How do YOU spell squirrel?" I asked them both...

Dad responds proudly with: "S Q U A R E L."

I blinked hard a few more times but held my tongue...sometimes it just hurts, you know?

I looked to my husband who truly looks as though he is sure he will win the Spelling Bee, "S Q U I R R E L," he pauses a moment and then adds, "L".

They had a 50% chance of getting it right. And neither of them did. I pursed my lips (just like Lil) to keep from laughing out loud, pointed at Rob and said, "You're closest." I promptly walked out the door...

Of course, this sends them into a tither. Like labelling a bag "squarel" won't be good enough for the person who chooses the bag to thaw. I mean, my Mom MIGHT be the one sent to the freezer and since she's got the most seniority with my Dad, I'm pretty sure she could figure out that "Squarel" really means Squirrel. It's got a Q in it.

Not like she's going to mistake it for PORK or something....

The boys continued on bagging their squarels and marking them with the date & contents. When they completed this task, Dad proudly showed me a labelled bag. In black, Sharpie Fine Point Marker, Dad had written "Tree Rats".

That settles that.

So, today (yes, I told you those stories just to get to this story), I was sitting in my truck, driver's side door open, glancing thru a magazine while taking a short break from cleaning JimVs house.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark blur. Their dog, Smokey is black, I assumed it was Smokey...but it was kinda small...I looked up...catching the blur as it rounds the corner of JimVs fence...oh, a squirrel...he's not moving so fast that I cannot determine he is not only black, but also dark brown. All the squirrels I've watched bicker and bark over acorns from my tree stand, I've never seen one that's dark brown. I'm assuming it's quite possible, and here he comes whipping thru an opening in the gate, and he is headed--NO LIE--directly at my truck...my door is standing wide open and he's not even flinching...I"m sitting with my feet on the side boards, slightly spread apart and seriously, this little peckerhead could jump into my lap, scratching and clawing his way OVER my face and into my truck...and even though he's moving like a house on fire, I still have enough time to wonder, "What kind of damage is the little bastard going to do to the inside of my car before he figures out how the hell to get out???"

And

then

I

thought

of

alllllll

the

squirrels

we

had

killed
.
.
.
Woops.


This could be my Squirrel Karma...and my heart starts to beat a littttle faster....and here he comes, he's cookin', he barrels underneath the driver's side door, I can see his beady little eyes, his pointed, perky little ears....

Whoosh!

Under the truck he went.

I promptly threw the magazing on the passenger seat, slammed the door and went back into JimVs to finish what I'd started.

Have a good day!