Death be to you Mr. Squirrel

When I was young, my Mom would read a book to me called Miss Suzy...

Miss Suzy lives in a comfortable Oak tree. She has her home perfectly arranged, just the way she likes, until a band of nasty red squirrels invades her precious home. These guys are terrible -- like the Taliban of the squirrel world. Miss Suzy is forced from her tree to a beautiful doll house where she meets some nice, strong soldiers. I do still love a man in uniform; and yes, a white pharmacy coat counts. Well, that's just a big bunch of fantasy, right?

Here I sit in my house, wonderfully arranged so as to provide the most comfort for me, Dan and Toby. And who comes along with their early morning, partying ways? The SAME rebellious, nasty red squirrels. It's not uncommon to hear them drag-racing the full length of the house, their pointy-nailed claws scrapping the rooftop as they lean into the corners, attempting to overtake the other red-racing squirrel. This would be cute if they wore small helmets and drove matching red and yellow mini race cars, but they don't. They chirp, click and swat their tales at each other, leaping from my Birch tree to the roof, back to the Birch tree, back to the roof, ZOOM one lap around the roof, back to the Birch tree, stop to shit, continue racing until someone falls onto the lawn, repeat.

As if this wasn't enough, they've sought the warmth of the house during the winter months. No, not actually inside -- between the current siding and the original exterior walls of the house. This space wasn't designed for squirrels, and as such, the siding bows WIDE as their fat, furry asses crawl sideways like some scene from the Squirrel Matrix.

I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the local hardware store and stepped into the rodent torture aisle. Wow, I had no idea there were this many ways to kill rodents. Did you know you have to fit the device to the body weight of the offender? Don't you think if I could get close enough to weigh him, I'd snuff the last little squirrel breath from his fat little body? I am not fitting him for a tux – I AM BUYING A TRAP. I found one, on sale for $1.99, made in America no less. I felt so Republican leaving there, I just about called into a conservative talk radio show to tell them of my planned offensive attack.

I got home, unwrapped my instrument of death and attempted to set it up.

Step one -- determine that, were we hunting hairless human fingers the size of asparagus, this trap would be adequate. Step one -- accomplished. The first two "kills" of the night were my index finger and my toe. (Yes, once my finger was caught, I placed the trap on the floor and used my foot/shoe -- much less painful than the naked finger.)

Step two -- consider your bait. I opted for Adam's 100% All Natural, Creamy Peanut Butter. Hey -- I am trying to kill them, not poison them. It was refrigerated, so it was easy to work with, at first. I topped the teaspoon of peanut butter with a whole pecan. Again, it's his last meal, I want it to be nice.

Step three -- arm the trap. I am not joking here; it took me an hour of research on the web to figure out how to arm my trap. The now sticky and running peanut butter does not help this process. I considered cleaning the trap before continuing, but figured the smell of Formula 409 would let them know a crazy man was nearby.

Step four -- select a site. This was easy. I decided to crawl out the window on the second story and onto the cover of the front porch. Much like a Navy Seal, I waited for night fall so as not to be detected. Note for future reference: killing missions at night are tougher because you cannot see what you are doing.

Step five -- disarm your trap. Attempting to carry your baited trap upstairs while "set" will only propel a whole pecan into your TV room covered in creamy peanut butter. I still haven't found it. Toby the no-nut wonder mutt hasn't found it either, but this hasn't kept him from running in tight circles near the top of the stairs. You see, when Dad is carrying a device which catapults peanut butter covered treats into oblivion, it is time for CELEBRATION.

Step six -- once you have some confidence in the poorly constructed "safety switch", practice setting down your trap without setting it off. If you wince like a small female child, worry not -- it's dark and the neighbors aren't likely to notice you. Unless, that is, you are dumb enough to give a friendly "hello" as a matter of habit. There was no taking this "hello" back, as the nice elderly couple were already protecting their eyes from the motion light, and scanning the front porch attempting to locate me. I raised my voice, waived my hands and shouted "I'm up here, on the roof...hi, how are you guys tonight?" The elderly woman answered as if I was standing on the sidewalk next to her, "Good. Beautiful night, isn't it?" I gave a polite "Yes, yes it is. Have a good walk you two!" The elderly man nodded and took four steps before stopping at my walkway, turning to the house and saying, "What are you doing?" I said, "Setting a rat trap to catch the squirrels that are racing on my roof." The elderly woman turned to the man and said, "What did he say dear?" The elderly man attempted to whisper, but I heard him quite plainly. "I don't know what he said. He's on the roof in shorts in February and he has his finger in his mouth." This was the first I was aware that in my nervous state, I'd started sucking the peanut butter off the fingers on my right hand.

Imminent danger awaits you nasty red squirrels. I, like Miss Suzy, will reclaim my comfortable house and protect it against all invaders.

To the families of the soon-to-be-maimed squirrels -- I am very sorry for your partial loss. I will toss some whole pecans into the neighbor lady's yard. Please just enjoy your treats there; my roof is off-limits.