(And for those of you from war-torn parts of the world, please understand I mean no disrespect when I use the term “carnage” in the context of these very first-world problems…but carnage it is.)
So today I learned that squirrels are nest predators. They eat (and by eat, I mean kill, disembowel, distribute widely, and eat very little of) baby robins. Who might be, say, nesting on my pergola under the grapevines. Right near my deck. Where I’m finding their dismembered bodies. The greatest mercy here (to me) is that my sons neither found any of the carnage nor know of it; the greatest mercy I hope for (for the robins) is that they were all killed at once. I will stop that train of thought right there. I want you to sleep tonight.
These are the same squirrels, I might add, who in previous years would dig up tulip bulbs in order to take single bite and then leave the damaged, useless remainder right on the bench where I like to sit. Len was once actually mooned by a squirrel (I confess, he had just been throwing walnuts at it), but that was in Iowa. These East Coast squirrels just give you the finger and eat everything you care about. And they all seem to have gone beserk at once: we coexist peacefully for most of the year, and then all of a sudden they kill all the baby birds AND remove a full third of the peaches, still green on the tree. The pits are now littered across the swing set.
In other news, we have another groundhog.
Son of a #%*(^@#?!. For real. Those $&%#&*@$?!!s.
You want to know the really neat thing, though? I recently turned down two adjunct teaching jobs because it’s increasingly clear that I need room to build my work. And that’s amazing and freeing and terrifying and beautiful. More on that later…but I’ll add here that I’ll be starting a support group for the people who are crazy enough to step off the beaten path and believe they can make their own way. There may be drinking; there will certainly be chocolate. Join us (online or in person) if you can.