Look Who's Come to Visit

Look at the fat little thing I just saw sitting on our stump. It's raining and cold and nasty, but he didn't seem to mind.

I love watching the squirrels play in the yard. Husband loves shooting the squirrels playing in the yard. Maybe that's the main difference between a city-gal and a farm-boy. I want to run out and tell them, "Look, you're cute. I love having you here but, there's a brute in the house who's going to storm out the door any minute with a .22 perched on his shoulder. Trust me, he's a good shot. I doubt you'll out run him. So if you value you're fuzzy little backsides you might want to scatter now while you still have a chance." They wouldn't listen. We have too many hickory trees and they just can't resist. It's like crack for squirrels.


When we moved south my mom said the squirrels there looked like rats with fluffy tails. The further south you move, the smaller the wild game seems. I guess they don't need the layer of fat our Mid-West critters do. Grandma says the deer in Florida look like big dogs.

This is where I could put in a funny albeit vulgar story about my uncle, my cousin, and squirrel hunting. I'll refrain... Unless of course you insist.