A Quick Game of Hurl-a-Squirrel
Published by J. M. Adkison under on 7:12 AM
Today is June 1st of 2009 and the time is 10:17 a.m.-do want to know how my first day of this warm, summer month started. With a sudden outburst of maniacal screaming from my mother downstairs. The sort of screaming you would expect to find in common places such as a horror movie, or Fear Factor, or a dark alleyway in Gotham City.
Well the screaming was coming from our sunroom (sorta like a second living room with skylights) and without my glasses, I ran down the hallway and down the stairs to find my mother screaming at something beneath the couch. She was jumping on the couch and screaming and hollering with her phone in hand with the other person still on the other line. Then I saw something, a brown, fuzzy flash dash from beneath the couch to beneath our little woodstove connected to our chimney.
Well needless to say, I began an outburst of screaming, hollering and jumping.
To better see what I was screaming at-I ran to go grab my glasses and ran back-to see my mother swatting a little squirrel with a broom. I grabbed the broom while she went to get the longed-stick duster. What followed was a frenzy of wacking and hitting and more screaming. There was a moment where the squirrel was trying to climb the chimney to get upstairs (which was a big no-no) and I hit with the broom so hard it began flying at us. Then using a combination of shear, awesome skill and too many hours watching Matrix movies, I spun the broom through the air and brought the sweeping end down upon the nasty little rodent, bringing it crashing down onto the floor and sent it cowering beneath the woodstove once more.
Now, let me take a moment to address the PETA activistists and general lovers of cute, cuddly woodland creatures. 1st-PETA-I don't care what you think you radical bunch of nudists. 2nd-I understand why some of you would sympathize with this little monstrosity covered in fur. However, there is a boundary between the indoors and the outdoors which very few animals should be allowed to cross-squirrels are one of them. Now, if you knew a squirrel was living in your house, would you just let it be and always have on your consious that you might just wake up one morning to find a little rodent sitting on your face or stalking you in the dead of night?
And if you heard the sounds it was making at my mother and I, you wouldn't think it was so sweet after all.
Well, after about twenty minutes of swatting the thing out of the fake tree (why we have a fake tree inside I will never know) and hitting it off the brick chimney. My mother tapped into her latten hunting abilities that comes from being born to a long line of woodland creature hunters. She ran to the garage and grabbed my old lacrosse stick then with a yell to even make William Wallace and his brave heart wet his kilt, she began to jab at the squirrel beneath the woodstove (I had moved the fake tree outside so it couldn't use it as a hiding spot). The squirrel, after much angry chattering and cussing us out in squirrel-language, dashed from beneath the woodstove only to find it-self cornered.
In a stunning climax, my mother trapped the squirrel beneath the lacrosse-stick's net, dragged it across the floor and hurled it outside. I ran, closed the door and locked it.
The terrifying ordeal was finished.
However, another terrifying thought had occured. The door to the backyard was not open, it had in fact blown open last Friday or Saturday. The squirrel had been spending the weekend in the Adkison abode. But had it been alone?
Well the screaming was coming from our sunroom (sorta like a second living room with skylights) and without my glasses, I ran down the hallway and down the stairs to find my mother screaming at something beneath the couch. She was jumping on the couch and screaming and hollering with her phone in hand with the other person still on the other line. Then I saw something, a brown, fuzzy flash dash from beneath the couch to beneath our little woodstove connected to our chimney.
Well needless to say, I began an outburst of screaming, hollering and jumping.
To better see what I was screaming at-I ran to go grab my glasses and ran back-to see my mother swatting a little squirrel with a broom. I grabbed the broom while she went to get the longed-stick duster. What followed was a frenzy of wacking and hitting and more screaming. There was a moment where the squirrel was trying to climb the chimney to get upstairs (which was a big no-no) and I hit with the broom so hard it began flying at us. Then using a combination of shear, awesome skill and too many hours watching Matrix movies, I spun the broom through the air and brought the sweeping end down upon the nasty little rodent, bringing it crashing down onto the floor and sent it cowering beneath the woodstove once more.
Now, let me take a moment to address the PETA activistists and general lovers of cute, cuddly woodland creatures. 1st-PETA-I don't care what you think you radical bunch of nudists. 2nd-I understand why some of you would sympathize with this little monstrosity covered in fur. However, there is a boundary between the indoors and the outdoors which very few animals should be allowed to cross-squirrels are one of them. Now, if you knew a squirrel was living in your house, would you just let it be and always have on your consious that you might just wake up one morning to find a little rodent sitting on your face or stalking you in the dead of night?
And if you heard the sounds it was making at my mother and I, you wouldn't think it was so sweet after all.
Well, after about twenty minutes of swatting the thing out of the fake tree (why we have a fake tree inside I will never know) and hitting it off the brick chimney. My mother tapped into her latten hunting abilities that comes from being born to a long line of woodland creature hunters. She ran to the garage and grabbed my old lacrosse stick then with a yell to even make William Wallace and his brave heart wet his kilt, she began to jab at the squirrel beneath the woodstove (I had moved the fake tree outside so it couldn't use it as a hiding spot). The squirrel, after much angry chattering and cussing us out in squirrel-language, dashed from beneath the woodstove only to find it-self cornered.
In a stunning climax, my mother trapped the squirrel beneath the lacrosse-stick's net, dragged it across the floor and hurled it outside. I ran, closed the door and locked it.
The terrifying ordeal was finished.
However, another terrifying thought had occured. The door to the backyard was not open, it had in fact blown open last Friday or Saturday. The squirrel had been spending the weekend in the Adkison abode. But had it been alone?