My story is a scary one. It began on a calm Sunday morning where I had hoped to sleep in and rest from a long week of laboring and paying taxes. My slumber was deep and restful, until…until it began. There was a grating, gnawing sound echoing through my chamber. At first I was confused, why was I awake? What was that noise? Would it stop if I just closed my eyes?
Quickly it dawned on me that the noise was being made by none other than Sciurus Carolinensis (the eastern gray squirrel). It was upon my roof, directly over my bed, gnawing on my home. A sharp anger quickly rose within me, I pounded upon the walls arrogantly believing that my tantrum alone would frighten the beast away. But no…no it did not take fright…it did not leave. After a moment of inquisitive silence (just long enough for me to get back in bed) it began anew.
Rage. Rage filled me at this point. I ran up the attic stairs and pounded directly on the plywood of my roof. Surely my tempestuous outbreak would mortify Sciurus Carolinensis. Finally, there in the attic, I heard silence...blessed silence.
Satisfied, I returned to my chamber and lie down in my warm, comfortable bed. And then...it began...again. I was apoplectic at this point. I bolted from bed, flew down the stairs, grabbed a pellet gun and blasted out the front door. I looked up in time to see him. There, perched high upon my roof, just at the corner where the gutter turns, sat my nemesis. He had an acorn in his hands and he gazed down at me with a look of scorn...an impetuous, whisker faced scorn. As I returned his steely eyed gaze my hands were busy pumping a clackety old pellet gun…one…two…there he goes…three…over the pitch…four….five…he was gone long before I could get to ten pumps.
Too angry to return to bed, I went to the garage. I got a bow-saw and I began cutting down every crepe myrtle on that side of the house. If I couldn't kill him I would deny him access. I must have looked out of my mind. On a calm and beautiful Sunday morning, just after sunrise, I was at the side of my house madly sawing away dang near in my skivvies. My small and ineffective gesture felt good at the time but it fixed nothing. The next week I was awoken again.
My family felt bad watching me under gunned. Time and time again a squirrel would be gone before I could "pump to ten". For my birthday they bought me a Crosman TR77 break barrel pellet gun. Now it would be a different game, now the odds were in my favor. My adversary had long gotten used to my response times. Sciurus Carolinensis knew how long it took for me to get to the window, he KNEW he had time. He could count the pumps and be on his way long before my weapon was ready. That day though, that day would mark the start of a very different game for Sciurus Carolinensis.
No longer could he dwell and lolly gag. As technology boosted my abilities, my body count began to grow. Week by week I took a steady toll on the squirrels. Mine was a wrath that would not soon burn out. As the furs piled up, my Sunday mornings grew quieter. No longer did they wake me in the mornings. Perhaps it was a peace offering…but it was just too late. They drew first blood, not me.
My war continued unabated. I shot them on the weekends, on weekday mornings, when I got home from work…anytime was fair game. I would show them no mercy. If they dared gnaw on my home or wake me then this is the fate they justly deserved…they called down the thunder, and hell was coming with me.
After 5 months of steadily knocking the squirrels back on their heels (body count stood at 57 last I checked) my primary weapon went down. Suddenly I found myself defenseless. My home was once again susceptible to the juvenile and vandalous impulses of Sciurus Carolinensis.
In the mornings as I left for work they'd be there…once again fearless. Today I could take it no more. I have a family and castle to protect. I ordered a Benjamin Marauder (.177) and should have it by the weeks end.
Now the squirrels will have a new and infinitely more fearsome weapon to deal with. Increased range and accuracy will lead to increased lethality. As the Marine Corps says...”Distance favors the trained marksman.”
There is a rule at my house (a joke but it's fun to say its a rule) and it goes like this "if you wake me up, you die". It is generally delivered to my 14 year old son and his friends when I turn in the for evening and they are still up playing video games….it helps to keep them quiet. But for the squirrels…they found out the hard way about the rule. They woke me up, and for that they will pay a terrible price…for as long as I live.