Attacked

They have a vendetta against my family. They’re constantly watching us. They unfailingly surround our home. They hide when you get brave enough to confront them, pretending they weren’t there at all. Except, they always leave evidence behind.


Sometimes I hear them in the woods near our house. They’re sneaky though. You don’t always see them even when you stare long and hard. I know they’re there though, waiting.

I see where they’ve been. They leave their marks. I wonder if they’ll be back, I’m sure they will be.

This terror that exists in my neighborhood has infiltrated many suburbs, they’re a growing trend. They are one of the worst kinds of suburban terrorism there is…squirrels.
 My husband seems to be particularly prone to run-ins with these furry creatures. One time, despite throwing out his back, he climbed up on a ladder to fix the heater of our hot tub that was on the second story deck. It was January at the New Jersey shore and he had on your appropriate winter gear—shorts, tee shirt, no shoes. He banged the wire mesh around the hot tub and told the squirrels to get out if they were there—apparently they listen as well as children. Convinced there were no inhabitants, my husband began to fix the heater. When what to his wondering eyes should appear—a squirrel that leaped at him in fear. Right over his shoulder he flew startling my husband off the ladder and into the fresh fallen snow making him wish that he had worn a shoe or two.

The battle went on one day as he wanted to innocently put out the garbage. Now, our garbage pails (the township issued, industrial strength version) had many, many squirrel bite marks on the lid. So naturally he suspected that one of these little critters might jump out at him. Following this line of thinking, he started banging on the side of the garbage pail, saying loudly, “Okay, squirrels, here I come--so get out if you know what’s good for you.” With that, he flipped the lid back from the garbage pail. Out shot a squirrel into the air. With a leap, it headed back to the safety of the hot tub.

These critters began bothering me when I would be hurrying down the path toward my college classes at night. Population would be sparse because classes had already begun, light would be fading, my nerves would be alert and I would hear a rustling to the side of me in the beautifully landscaped campus. Fortunately (I suppose), the noise was caused by squirrels and not some mad man after my $125 text book.

Sometimes they would stand guard in the path on the way to class, quickly chipping away at a nut while they calmly stared at you, daring you to cross in front of them. I usually bypassed them by walking through the border brush and avoiding eye contact.

Other times I was feeling particularly motivated and would go for a nice early morning bike ride. The mistake was when I would choose to do this on Tuesday mornings. Tuesday is garbage day. While I’d be pedaling along, peacefully listening to my music, I would capture a movement out of the corner of my eye. I knew someone was watching me. Sure enough, a squirrel looking to start out his day with a nutritious breakfast would pop out of a garbage pail to gawk at me while he munched on a banana muffin.

Though omnivores, squirrels have exhibited predatory behavior. There have even been observations of squirrels preying on chickens. I’m sure the fact that they prey on my husband is just a coincidence.

Squirrels are often the source of power outages. The animals will crawls onto transformers looking for food. Sometimes they become electrocuted and cause a short circuit that shuts down equipment. They’ve even brought down the NASDAQ twice.

How to combat this enemy?

You can find ideas on how to deter these critters from eating your house, lawn furniture and garbage pails. They range from spreading on a sticky material that doesn’t allow squirrels to poke holes in openings--to spreading hot pepper which they avoid--to devices that shock them.

We’ve opted to engage fighting the fight at home by enlisting our son. Beginning at age five, he would spot a squirrel on the deck eating the chair cushions and stand by the slider, hands shaped as claws and let out a hiss that he learned from a monster in a Godzilla movie. This usually worked. As the years have gone on and his taste for shows and movies has become more intense, so has his hiss.

For now, it looks like we need to accept that these terrorists exist and give them warning to get away from our property and go hang out in the woods. I asked my husband how he sees this story ending. “Well,” he responded, “they’re going to kill me one day.” Looks like my son is going to have to get better at his hissing.


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