Today I came home to a neat little, squirrel sized hole where I had just planted an array of tulip bulbs. The first bulbs I’ve ever planted. Onion skin husks sat six inches beneath the surface. Mocking me.

The squirrels in my neighborhood have been trying to drive me out since the first wisp of spring. They crawl into my potted flowers and aerate my lawn without my consent. With canine-audible tittering they tease the dog from the front window. Hell, they won’t even leave my green tomatoes alone. This is as big as my little ones have gotten:


Damn you, little fuckers. Next year I’ll be prepared.