Dear Kid,
Dad is at it again.
Or perhaps I should say the squirrels are at it again.
Either way, someone is at it, and “it” involves birdseed and removing tree limbs.
Dad was convinced that the squirrels couldn’t reach the birdfeeder, or that the one clever squirrel had reached the end of his time here on planet earth and was stalking birdfeeders in squirrel heaven.
And so he (Dad) happily went about his business.
Until I refilled the birdfeeders and Dad happened to look outside.
(Insert stabbing music from Psycho.)
What followed next was something out of a scene from Caddy Shack. A scene that hit the cutting room floor, but a scene nonetheless.
Dad raced out of the house, shouting at the squirrel to mind his (the squirrel’s) own species, and inviting plagues of curses upon the house of said rodent. The threat of his lineage being cursed didn’t seem to upset the squirrel in the least. The threat of a crazy man descending upon him waving a cell phone made him reconsider hanging out on the birdfeeder.
Once the birdfeeder was squirrel-free (temporarily), Dad went about assessing the situation to make it squirrel-free (permanently).
Saws, loppers, dynamite, drones, schematics, ladders, a laser pointer, and eye of newt were all involved.
In short, one of the nearby trees had its bangs trimmed. And the squirrels seem unable (or unwilling) to leap from the branches to the birdfeeders.
But the hand shears are still on the porch so that Dad can race out and prune away if the need should arise.
Perhaps this should be an Olympic sport.
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