Tag Archive for: wildlife

Good News, Bad News

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First, the good news.
The great flea infestation is over.

And the bad news.
Wildlife can still be heard in the walls.
There is now an encyclopedic understanding of wildlife traps including the pros and cons of glue traps versus slow-acting poison.
Two bikes have been stolen from the backyard.

On the other hand, my daughter hasn’t ridden a bike in 10 years.

Sigh.

She returned from her Glasgow adventure at the end of December. Spent the next three weeks in a frenzy of hometown reunions, shopping, and job hunting for both the semester and the summer. Finally, she headed back to campus, to ‘The Burrow,’ the nickname, borrowed from Harry Potter, of a decrepit townhouse that is now home to nine college students and an assortment of unwanted wildlife.

I think I’m getting old, old, old.

Is living in a hovel a rite of passage? Have I gotten soft in my old age?

She sees a well-lived in house. I see the Black Hole of Calcutta.

She sees an opportunity for 24/7 friends. I see a never-ending party with blaring music and no privacy.

She sees adventure. I see worry (mine, not hers).

But would I want it any other way?

Maybe a little less worry for me. But I would never want to dampen her enthusiasm, lessen her optimism, diminish her willingness to try something new or undertake a new challenge.

So I happily baked some cookies for ‘The Burrow’ residents (hopefully the two-legged ones only). Limited my lectures on safety. Reminded her to get enough sleep, eat healthy, and as always, have fun.

The house is a little too quiet now. But at least she’s only two hours away and in the same time zone. And in the meantime, the good news is that she’s healthy, happy, and growing. The bad news is that I miss her.

Evelyn David

Where’s Bullwinkle When You Need Him?

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Anyone remember the cartoon Rocky and His Friends? I’m certainly not talking about that turkey of a movie that came out in 2000 with Rene Russo and Jason Alexander. Seriously Hollywood, there are some stories that don’t need retelling.

Anyway, I’ve gotten up close and personal with Rocky J. Squirrel – or at least his direct descendents. My attic has been invaded by flying squirrels.

It began three weeks ago. I awoke in the middle of the night to something. You know the sensation — although at the time, I assumed that it was Clio, our dog, trying to tell me that she needed to go out. Wonderful woman that I am, I ignored my first inclination – to wake my husband and tell him to take care of the damn dog. I sleepily accompanied Clio down the steps when I saw this little black animal half-flying, half-scurrying up the wall.

Forget wonder woman, I immediately headed back to the bedroom and screeched, “Get up.” I might point out that at this point, our faithful watchdog slid under the bed and was never heard from again that night.

My husband stumbled to his feet and headed for the door, when I, ever the Girl Scout leader, declared, “Put on your glasses.” No point in going into battle when you can’t see five feet in front of your face.

I resisted the urge to slide under the bed with Clio. After a few minutes, my husband returned and announced he had vanquished the intruder – or in this case, trapped what we thought was a baby squirrel in a paper bag and deposited him in the backyard.

Oh, would the story have ended happily right there.

Alas, over the next few days, we heard scurrying in the walls, although no more wildlife actually appeared where I could see them. A call to an exterminator informed me that squirrels were a protected species and couldn’t just be killed like rats. I wasn’t making such a fine distinction since my skin crawled at every sound. I needed a wildlife trapper. I had no idea that such a profession still existed. I thought trappers went the way of Daniel Boone and the beaver coat.

So now we have six traps installed in our attic, and the wildlife removal expert has promised to visit at least twice a week until the invasion has been definitively squelched. Then I need to hire a roofer to inspect our 18-month old roof to see where these squirrels are gaining entrance.

Cost? You don’t want to know, but let’s just say that Chanukah presents have been reduced to nuts for all.

I think I’ll move to Moosylvania.

Evelyn David