I’ll take you back just once more – this time to July 2009. The Squirrel Nation was ratcheting up its tactics to a disturbing new level of aggression. It's one thing to have a squirrel threaten to jump on your face, but now they were lobbing sticks at me from well-hidden sniper nests. They even attacked an innocent banana tree, which was living peacefully in our yard. The assailants dug up the plant, threw it on the ground, and left him for dead. Happily, after a difficult four months, the little plant made a stunning recovery from its injuries. In what some in horticultural circles called a "miracle grow," the tree came back to full health, and since then, has even surpassed some of its neighbors.
When asked how he was coping with the attack by the (still unnamed) assailants, the banana tree responded, "Even though the search for the dirtball who attacked me has been fruitless; I have strong roots in this community, and would be nuts to leave."
All this was bad – very bad – but the worst was yet to come. I was about to experience a coordinated attack by a combination of ground-based, tree-based, AND paratrooper forces. It’s been over a year since this happened to me, but I was too shaken to discuss it…until now. Here's how it all went down:
I was sitting on our front porch, minding my own business. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I had no reason to suspect any kind of nefarious rodent activity. At some random moment, I happened to glance to my left – just in time to catch my enemy making a sniper-like approach from the far end of the porch.
He froze...I froze.
He knew he'd been discovered; so, of course, he tried to play it casual. He swaggered right up to me, and passed by as if I wasn't even there. He took a left turn and ducked under the front bush. Next thing I know, he’s wandering out into the yard as if he were just an innocent civilian. But I wasn't buying into his lame little foraging ruse. Still, I wasn't prepared to make an aggressive move at this point. I allowed the would-be assassin to make his escape.
This incident, while disturbing, was not the first of its kind. I'd been stalked in that spot before. Each time, a clumsy claw on concrete, an involuntary tail twitch, or inadvertent nibble foiled the plot. But this time, it bothered me enough that I decided to relocate to the safety of the backyard. It was just what they were hoping I'd do. I rolled right into their furry trap.
I strolled down the driveway to the parking pad that covers most of our backyard. At the far edge of the parking pad is a small grassy knoll. There, a small stretch of grass leads quickly into the wooded area separating us from the next street. In this grassy area, we have a garden box situated on the left side. At that time, the garden box was enclosed with a Fort Knox of chicken wire to keep out deer, raccoons and, of course, squirrels. From the box, grew a long and winding tangle of pumpkin vines about a mile long – containing one tiny pre-pumpkin. To the left rear of the garden box, a tool shed sits precariously propped up against a tree, hoping not to slide any further down the hill into the next yard.
Well, as I said, I strolled down and situated myself near the garden box and its wandering little pumpkin patch. The tree line was no more than four feet away, across the grass and vines. The trees formed a canopy that loomed over my head, more than 30 feet above.
As I sat there, I suddenly became aware of a gentle rain of some sort of fine debris: it was such a curious site. What could this sawdust-like material be falling from? Before I had the chance to ponder the question another second, a cacophony of tree rustling, twig snapping, and some sort of high-pitched yelling of unperceivable commands exploded from above. I had no clue what was happening. Then – with no warning – it happened...
BLAM!!
Right in front of my feet, a bomb of some sort crashed into the middle of the pumpkin vines with a tremendous thud! It was a sound, which I can only describe as a catcher receiving a 90 M.P.H. fastball. It had fallen more than 30 feet from the walnut tree over my head, and landed inches away from killing me!
A flash of gray shot out from the impact crater. In the blink of an eye, the squirrel scurried to the safety of the woods. Realizing the incredible event I'd just witnessed, I decided to examine the area more closely. As I peered carefully into the vines, I saw another small, gray body lying motionless on the ground. He blinked; I flinched. He moved one paw…and then another. Slowly, the stunned para-rodent gathered his wits and staggered off into the woods. He sat there for a moment, falsely believing he was out of my sight. After some recuperation time, he gingerly climbed a tree and collapsed like a throw rug.
At that moment, just for a second, I actually felt bad for the little booger. He obviously had been on the bottom of a failed tandem jump, and had taken the worst of it. I almost felt like The Grinch, with my tiny heart starting to grow and warm by the second...until...
I suddenly became aware that I was, at that moment, surrounded by enemy rodents. This was obviously their landing force. There were two in the trees above – one in a nearby tree – the original two, still on/near the ground – and one stationed atop the tool shed. I wasn't about to let them take me. So, taking advantage of their apparent concern for a wounded comrade, I beat a hasty retreat to the safety of a nearby potted banana plant.
The attack was over; however, it will go down in history as one of the best conceived, albeit poorly executed, operations in all of yard rat history. It was a very narrow escape for yours truly. Had those paratrooper squirrels not failed to account properly for windage, they would’ve easily taken me out. Let’s just say they were aiming for something a lot more soft and squishy than a pumpkin patch – my head.
If this story had come from anyone else, you'd probably think I made it up. But, outside of some “creative interpretation,” I swear it's all true. You know if you get on Google right now and research the chance of being hit by both a meteorite and lightning simultaneously, I bet you'll find that the odds are about twice that of being aerially bombarded by Siamese squirrels.
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