LEAVE MY LAWN ALONE!

I have squirrels. Lots and lots of squirrels…

I’m sure you have squirrels too.

I mean, they don’t actually have their own room or anything, but they do seem to have the run of the place. 

One of them lives in the tree in my front yard, in a small, yet convenient knot hole that faces my office.  A much sought after squirrel condominium, I would imagine. It’s close to the park, and I think basic cable is included.

Sometimes, he or she (how can you tell?) sits outside my office window and looks in at me while I’m sitting here at the computer.  Maybe they’re annoyed that I have internet and also get HBO.

Or perhaps he or she thinks I’m sitting here looking at him (or her) and they’re telling their squirrel friends about me.

I’m not really sure what a squirrel thinks or how they interact with each other. After all, as Z reminds me, they only have a brain the size of a walnut.

But I‘ve dealt with  people, through the years, who have even less, and, they don’t dig holes in my lawn….usually.

Which brings us to the matter at hand. 

It seems these particular squirrels are somewhat pushy and aggressive.  My neighbor said he thought they were originally from Jersey. But don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Jersey, or their squirrels…even South Jersey.  In fact, I’m all in favor of sharing my humble little plot of land with these fuzzy little fellows (or gals)…as long as they don’t dig holes in

my lawn!

That’s all I ask.  Dig behind the garage or in the garden, or better yet, in my neighbor's garden, but only around the flowers. Just...

 LEAVE MY LAWN ALONE!

You can sit on my lawn, play bocce on my lawn, cool off in my bird bath, eat my bird seed (which really should be re-named squirrel seed), even borrow my power washer. Just...

LEAVE MY LAWN ALONE!

Z says, again, “what do you expect from a walnut brained squirrel…they’re only looking for food”.

I say I expect them to just…

LEAVE MY LAWN ALONE!

My friend, who I’ll call Frank (because that’s his name, and it would be ridiculous to call him Fred), tells me he can "help me out" if I’d like. That he knows how to “reason” with them and can "guarantee" that they won’t be a problem anymore.  His wife, who I’ll call Rosie (which is sort of her name, although I’m the only one who's allowed to call her that, apparently because I have great legs) rolls her eyes and smiles in her devilish way that usually gives me pause.

 “Yeah, Frank’s a regular “Squirrel Whisperer” (though I’ve never heard Frank whisper in any manner, whatsoever) he really has a way with them.”

The fact that she says this in her best vestigial Bronx, left over from her days of hustling pool on Williamsbridge Rd when she was 10 years old, sends a shiver to areas of my body best left unmentioned.

I look around at all the little holes decorating my front yard, and I must admit that I considered the offer for a second.  But then I thought of the knothole, the basic cable and the little visits to my office.  So I declined. 

I thought maybe I could persuade the squirrels with premium cable, as long as they just….

LEAVE MY LAWN ALONE!

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