There were six this morning, bounding through the trees and playing a game of chase through our garden. As three of them caught up with each other and began wrestling in our arugula patch, I felt the tension in the room grow. Almost as quickly as the tension rose, so did my husband. Muttering obscenities under his breath, Chris stomped outside, grabbed the garden hose and started spraying the wrestlers. Now he's retired, the garden is his kingdom and squirrels are the enemy.
Last year the squirrels won.
This year, he's determined. Armed with a garden hose, squirrel repellent spray, and a fierce fighting spirit, reminding me of the Scots which is mixed in with his German heritage, he bravely drove the offenders out of his territory and into the outer reaches of the high apple branches. Had he been wearing his kilt at the time, it wouldn't have surprised me to hear something like "Ye mingin' squirrels, gang back tae whaur yae cam frae."
|ye mingin' squirrel|
I've suggested to Chris that he wear his kilt while he gardens. It'd be cooler than jeans, in every way. He looks good in a kilt!
Emma and I watched from the window, trying not to giggle.
Despite the squirrels, the garden is looking good. For dinner tonight, as we had an abundance of eggs from our hens, we had omelets. We also had a large salad with lettuce, spinach, kale, arugula, and cilantro from Chris' harvest. I love having home grown meals.
A little while ago, I went out and had a word with one of the squirrels. I told him he and his friends could have the apples on the tree, especially the ones up high, if they would just leave the garden alone. My friend swears by this method. She says she has kept the ants out of her kitchen and the wasps away from her back door by simply making a deal with them. It's a zen thing.
It might be working. I haven't seen any squirrels in the garden since then. If it doesn't... well... Chris has already waged war.