Believe it or not — and you probably won't — it happened to me again. Less than a year after the frightening encounter that I discussed last week, I lived through yet another run-in with terroristic yard vermin. Here is my side of the story:
One July morning in 2008, as is my routine, I wandered out to our back deck, seeking a peaceful moment of alone time. The scorching sun was burning through its blanket of fog…but having no luck in clearing the fog from my brain. While I was sitting there, half asleep still, my eye caught a glimpse of movement to my left. It was…
…a squirrel.
He was sneaking down out of the tree, and onto the deck railing. At first, he approached slowly. But as soon as he saw me watching, he bounded wildly over from the side rail to the front rail — completely bypassing the more traditional route over the wooden gate leading to the back steps. This provocative gesture was clearly meant to intimidate.
Next thing I know, he’s no more than five feet away from me. At this distance, I was an easy target. Suddenly realizing the absurdity of the situation (and that it was happening again), I started to laugh nervously. My sudden lack of fear apparently threw the squirrel off his game, and he scampered back to the safety of the tree. But it wasn't over…oh, not even close!
Next thing I know, he's climbing across the wall of the house. He approached from my extreme left, clinging to the bricks like Spider-Man®. I think he was going for the wooden trellis I was sitting under, in hopes of an overhead, “banzai-style” attack. But I spied him, and quickly foiled his scheme.
Back to the tree, my furry foe scurried.
Moments later, it was déjà vu all over again. This guy was completely obsessed! He charged along the rail again, bounding wildly over the lamps, which were affixed to each deck post. He was trying to intimidate me with his jumping prowess. He landed, once again, right in front of me.
Thus began, a stare down.
I stare at him...he stares at me. It was like the YouTube video, “Dramatic Chipmunk.” Although in this case, I was playing more the role of the chipmunk than he was.
Suddenly, he made some very suggestive bounding motions, as if to indicate that he was fully prepared to employ his finishing move. At that point, I honestly thought he was going to jump right on my head. And you know, I'm thinking that wouldn't have been a particularly titillating encounter for either party. He likely would have found himself catapulted a considerable distance, before landing on the unforgiving concrete far below; and I would be on my way to the hospital...with squirrel rabies.
Can you imagine how hard it would be for me to get a date in that situation? I mean, if you've got bad breath — poor grooming — even a grating personality — you still got a chance with the ladies. But just once, mention that, “oh by the way,” you happen to have squirrel rabies. Well, that’s going to be a deal-breaker with most women.
Our grand standoff ended when the squirrel turned-tail and ran in a blind panic toward safety. Okay…okay. Actually, that was the human. But the commotion of my clumsy retreat scared the little booger enough to send him scurrying back to his lair.
Another frightening squirrel encounter had come and gone without casualties. But these near misses could only go on so long before something terrible happened. This constant ramping up of tensions would soon lead to collateral damage, casualties, and a coordinated ambush that would defy all previous biological theory on rodent aggression.
Stay tuned.
Squirrel rabies! Lol!
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