The Care and Feeding of A Squirrel. . .NOT!!!

I want to destroy a squirrel. You heard me. Destruction to the bushy tailed varmint!

Why such open hatred? A gang of them are ruining my life, pushing me off the deep end, sending me to the looney bin! Let me ask you, have you ever seen a gang of squirrels? Yes, I said gang, like in a street gang, seeking to destroy civilization and graffiti the world with their evil intent. . .  I have.

One day, I was stepping out of my car, and heard this odd noise. A gang of squirrels were swaggering by, arranged in a V formation. Not scurrying, but swaggering, their claws clacking against the ground. The leader, who looked like he should have been wearing a leather jacket and playing a part in West Side Story, gave me a What-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at? kind of glare.

Fearing I’d find the squirrel equivalent of a horses head in my bed, I kept my distance. 

But now, they’ve gone too far. They’re holding my bird feeders hostage. Don’t tell me how to squirrel-proof them. I’ve tried! It won’t work. They’re smart. They’re devious.

The breaking point. . . My humming bird feeder. It doesn’t even have bird seed in in. It’s sugar water. We hang it way up high so the gang can’t get to it. The other morning, the leader was perched on the rail of my deck. He was up on his back legs. One tiny paw was tipping the feeder so the water was shooting out of the opening, like a water bubbler (Water fountain for those of you who don’t understand New Englandese). The fool rat had his mouth open and was filling himself with my sugar water. That’s all I needed, a squirrel hyped up on sugar. PETA will probably be after me for contributing to squirrel diabetes or something.

The crowning touch. He brought his cousin, the chipmunk, who was hanging upside down on my bird feeder gorging himself on sunflower seeds. The squirrel turned his head and gave me the look- What-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at?

That’s it! I burst out onto the deck. The varmints scurried off into my yard, leaving two empty feeders, a pile of seeds on the ground below. From about fifty feet away they look back and, I swear, . . . they laugh at me.

I point a shaking finger. “You’re dead. More than that, I want to torture you. Destroy you!!!!!!”

. . .My neighbors think I’m crazy.

So please, my friends. If anyone knows an inhumane way to treat a squirrel, I’d love to hear it. They’re making me lose my mind! I lay awake at night, hatching evil plans!  Help me!