The other night, I was outside in my yard, minding my own business, and picking up toys.
Suddenly, I heard the pop of a BB gun.
Our property backs up to a trailer park, with an irrigation canal in between. The sound was coming from one of the trailers directly behind us.
I heard it again.
I climbed up on our ladder (for some reason- Brian? Can you help us out?- we have a ladder set up on our back patio) and peeked over the fence to see that a man was standing in the back yard of his trailer, firing his BB gun.
At what? I wondered.
Oh, at the innocent, defenseless squirrel who was running around in his tree.
Let’s pause for just a minute.
First of all, this was a MAN who was doing this, not a teenage boy.
Second of all, I understand (barely) that sometimes squirrels need to be killed because they are, say, eating all of your filbert crop.
*cough* My in-laws! *cough*
This man was shooting at a squirrel that was just sitting in a tree that happened to be in the backyard.
No crop eating or anything.
Just killing things.
I wanted to yell, “What are you doing? Stop that!!”
but I had to physically restrain myself,
because, if there is one thing I have learned in life, it is to not yell at big, burly men holding guns.
Especially if you value the life of your pet cat.
So, I hurried down off the ladder, grabbed my things, and started to run inside, but not before I saw him kill the squirrel.
I’m sorry, dear readers, it’s true.
Don’t you think a gal should be able to be in her backyard without having to witness the deaths of defenseless creatures?
Don’t you think that I should somehow make that man my new best friend so that he doesn’t come and attack us one night when he is bored with squirrels?
I burst into tears, and rushed inside to tell Brian.
Who, “sympathetically,” pointed out that:
a) He used to kill squirrels all the time. (If I had known this I may not have married him.) Granted, he was a teenager, and they were eating his parent’s crop of Filberts.
b) My dad is a hunter. (For food, people, for FOOD!)
Very unsatisfactory in the comfort-department.
So, I did what any hormonal, teary, animal-loving girl would do.
I called my Mommy.
Who was equally horrified and upset.
I guess that answers the question about whether or not I should get a squirrel feeder…
I don’t want to lure them to their deaths!
I’m sorry, dear squirrel, that you picked the tree of such a sick, white-trash, Idahoan to sit in.
(original image found here)