“Stupid squirrels!” I say to myself, as I notice once again, they are ruining my Palm trees.
Okay, maybe I used a few stronger and manly words. But the point here is they ARE ruining my prized trees. These breeding machines love the burlap type material found on Palm trees. The mangy fur balls use it to make their nests. They breed twice a year. One female can attract ten males from over 500 yards away, just like humans. So, my backyard is a den of iniquity at least twice a year. I’m pretty sure my squirrels do the love thing three or four times annually, surpassing the average. You can make your own judgement about the integrity of my female rodents with a tail. You don’t want me to state my opinion!
I have to figure a way to stop this abuse of my proud trees or there may not be any left. I am sure God put this material on the Palm tree for a reason, probably to protect it from insects and cold weather.
I know what you are thinking. I thought about that. Raised in the country as a youngster, I killed my fair share of squirrels.
“Put that gun up,” my uptown wife screams to me, not understanding why I’d even consider such a quick, easy and maybe even a little fun way of solving my problem.
I guess her mother never told her why…I’m gonna try.
“I wonder if Andrew (my next-door neighbor) would do the dirty deed for me, incognito?” I think to myself, as I put up my gun, acting like half a man in front of my wife and her white bread world.
I know it is illegal to shoot a gun in our city limits. But, for those who truly know me, I have never been one to let a silly rule like this get in my way, especially for a noble cause such as this one.
“Would that make me an accessory to a crime?” I ponder.
“And don’t talk Andrew into doing it for you,” uptown girl proclaims.
And just like that, my first two options disappeared into my citified air.
“Get otta here,” I shout, waving my hands in the air, as two gray squirrels tear burlap from my tree right in front of my eyes.
Not scared of me, they don’t even budge! Did that squirrel… did he just…He did! Am I seeing things? Surely I am.
He just stuck out his middle finger at me! And he did it with a smile.
The other squirrel barked (yes, remember I’m a former country boy and I know squirrels do bark), “Get a life, old man!”
“!@#$$% ^&* (*&#, “ I yelled at them. I cannot believe I just said that!
The squirrel is right. I need to get a life!
Okay. Game on! Come on Ron. Think like a squirrel. Be the squirrel. What would make them leave my trees alone? Think! Think like the man I’m fastly becoming; Bill Murray in Caddyshack.
A plastic snake? Nah, they would just laugh at that.
What could I use?
After coming up with nothing, I did what I should have done in the beginning. I Googled, what makes squirrels disappear? That’s what the internet is for, right?
Fox urine. Guaranteed to do the trick, Google replied. So off to the Feed and Seed store I go.
“I’d like some fox urine,” I proudly ask, with my best country accent.
“Did I just say that, really? Did I actually ask this man for some fox urine?”
“What color?” the nice young man asks.
Are you kidding me? It comes in more colors than one?
Tearing up my country rearing card completely, I ask, “How many colors are there?”
“We’ll we have Red Fox, Gray Fox, Artic Fox, Fennec Fox and Kit Fox.”
Embarrassed that I actually thought the urine just came from a fox and it produced different colors, with authority and with some good ole country luck, I said “Give me the Red” as if I was buying a fine wine.
On the drive home, I admit, the little boy urges to smell this strange brew was overwhelming. So, you know where this is about to go. I just had to open that bottle and take a sniff. It was like a train wreck. I couldn’t not do it!
I braced myself for smell memories of the barnyard playing days of my youth. Thoughts of visiting an outhouse or two also conjured through my mind. Mix those with that pungent smell of a paper mill during a rainstorm. So, you see, I was ready to take that smell like a man.
Surprisingly, it was not an atrocious smell. I can’t believe I just said that. I really do need to get a life!
Either my wife is correct when she says I can’t smell anything or I have Covid, because I’m informed it smelled ghastly.
Once home, uptown wife asked what I had in the bag.
“Oh, its Red Fox urine,” I said rather matter of factly, proud of myself for now knowing the many options of the fox urine category.
“WHAT?” uptown shouts.
“Oh, its Red Fox urine. You see, the Red Fox is the largest of the Fox family and is known for its hunting prowess. I’ll just pour a little of this in a bottle with a cotton ball in it, nail it to the trees and no more squirrels!”
“TMI. Get that otta my house before you spill it!”
“Oh, it doesn’t smell bad. Wanna smell?”
“I do smell it and if you get any of it on your hands, you can sleep outside tonight, buddy!”
Once outside, I held the bottle with the urine. “How did they get that fox to pee in such a small bottle?” I thought. My mind wandered to my recent doctor’s office visit when they gave me a bottle much larger than this one and…
“Snap otta it, Ron!”
Looking again at the bottle, I can’t believe I just paid $14.95 for fox urine! My late and great Dad is shaking his head in amazing disbelief!”
‘I wonder if I paid too much. Should I have shopped around? I mean, wonder what is the going rate for fox pee?”
I can’t believe I just said that!
Getting back to the task at hand, I tacked the small urine bottles to the bottom of the trees. I sit back and waited. Soon my sex crazed furry friends frolicked close to the tree. They froze in their orgy minded tracks. Immediately, they turned and ran as if their lives depended on it.
“Take that, you tree tearing @#!$%%!”
I can’t believe I just said that!
I can’t believe I’m yelling at a squirrel!
I really DO need a vacation!
What’s that horrendous smell?