Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Squirrels

Cheeky little buggers. Grey ones, that is. I hate them with a passion usually reserved for politicians - something they resemble in many ways.

Red squirrels are fine - they belong here. Grey squirrels are just bullies and thugs.

thieving grey squirrel bastard

This little bastard has been scampering from the woods behind the house over our garden and the neighbours, into the next door cottage, where Gareth, the farm foreman, has kindly put out nuts for the birds.

For the birds, note. Not for the thieving grey squirrels.

So there I was this morning, happily typing away, when an unusual movement dragged my attention out of the window. OK, so that's a fairly common occurrence, my gazing out the window, but this time there was something
to look at other than sheep, or my neighbour running his garage mechanic service.

This nasty little vermin hoppity-hopped across the grass, then leapt up onto the rotten gatepost at the end of the garden. Bold as brass, not a care in the world. He sat there for long enough for me to get the camera out, just preening his whiskers and wondering what to pilfer next. Furry sod.

I had half a mind to get the rifle out and send him off to squirrel hell, but I would probably have damaged the car my neighbour's working on right now, or a sheep. And by the time I'd tracked down the right keys for the gun cabinet, he'd up and gone.

And where was Mistress Buddug, Vermin Control to the Stars, at this point? Was she lurking in the hedge, ready to pounce - several kilos of fluffy, spiky death? Hell no. She was asleep on the spare bed.

maine coon cat on a bed

Women, eh!

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