Finding a dead squirrel in one’s tomato patch seems rather innocuous, particularly when one owns a ferocious crackhead beagle. In this case, the dog had nothing to do with the squirrel’s untimely end—she’s too bent on eating the air conditioning man. This particular rodent and his friends died because they didn’t take the hint and get the hell out of our tomato patch.
Mr. Jenn takes great pride his garden and in the neighboring wildlife. He always yelled at the dog for digging around his veggie plants and chasing critters. When deer began to nosh on our turnip greens earlier, Crackhead napped on the porch.
“Damn useless dog,” Mr. Jenn, Lord of Mixed Messages, muttered.
He then enlisted Lil’ K.’s help in constructing a scarecrow. The deer moved on.
When the squirrels discovered the ripening tomatoes on the thirty-three vines Mr. Jenn planted, he tried peeing on the scarecrow in hopes that the scent would scare them away.
Later, we found a green tomato with a squirrel-sized bite in it. I looked up into a nearby tree and discovered several more tomatoes sitting on a squirrel feeder Mr. Jenn constructed last winter. My dear husband, who apparently fancied himself Walt-Freaking-Disney or something, had to take action quickly or he was going to lose the several pints of salsa and quarts of tomato juice that I preserve each summer.
He tried putting a fake owl beside the scarecrow. The following day, we found chewed-up tomatoes under the owl.
Shots startled me at the buttcrack of dawn the next morning. My husband had disappeared, so I crept to the garden, making sure the Mayans hadn’t confused their dates. I found Mr. Jenn in his underwear, aiming his .22.
“The little bastards should have left when I asked nicely,” he whispered.
POW! A squirrel and a tomato fell out of the tree. Apparently, Walt-Freakin’-Disney no longer wanted squirrels in this” small world!”