Acorn Hostilities: A Yard Situation
At 9:14 this morning, a squirrel appeared on the fence holding an acorn.
He was not eating it, but holding it while looking straight at me.
Now I know I'm not supposed to bark at squirrels because "they are our friends" as Mom always tells me. Sometimes I can hold back. But not today. He was asking for it.
Nutty Squirrel took a nibble and kept staring. Smugly too. I immediately understood this was no casual wildlife encounter. This was psychological warfare.
Giggle Sprout was nearby watering nothing in particular.
“Do not engage,” he whispered through his teeth.
Unfortunately, the squirrel then did a tiny dance. Just enough to be disrespectful.
The squirrel grabbed the acorn and ran three feet away. Then stopped. Turned. Held it up again.
Giggle Sprout sighed.
“He wants you to chase him.”
“I know that,” I barked and took off. Giggle Sprout shouted something about dignity, but by then events had advanced beyond dignity.
The squirrel bolted along the fence like he had rehearsed it. I followed immediately. He zigzagged through the garden beds, pausing just long enough to confirm I was still participating.
Then from somewhere behind me:
Tap tap.
I turned.
Now how did THAT happen? He was back on the fence, holding not one but TWO acorns. I could have sworn he smiled as he stuffed one in each cheek.
Giggle Sprout slowly removed his hat and looked up at the sky. “This,” he said, “is what I was afraid of. You’ve been dethroned by a squirrel.”
The squirrel gave a small victory nod.
And I stood there wondering when exactly I lost control of my own yard.
