When my neighbor asked me to water her tomato plants while they were away on vacation, she mentioned that the damnsquirrels do not bother her tomatoes. Surely it was not a matter of taste, although I had planted heirlooms, while hers were ordinary cherry tomatoes. No way was I going to give the little bastards credit for being pink Brandywine gourmands.
More likely, it was that her dog chases the squirrels while Miss Piggy watches them through the deck railing and waves cheerily.
Also, Neighbor planted hers in a waist-high brick planter very near her air conditioning unit. Maybe a nice 50″ fan or two in my bed might deter them from our plants next year. I’ll have to calculate the CPT–cost per tomato. A BB gun is probably more cost-effective, even if more labor intensive. How much are BB gun shooting lessons?
Early one morning I climbed over the back fence in my pajamas so that I could water her unscathed tomatoes without having to go via the front (don’t ask) and that put me behind her garage where they have a large apple tree. All around the tree was a plethora of half-eaten apples. Hmmmm.
Later that morning I glanced over at her garage roof and saw a strange weather vane.
A few minutes later, he took a flying leap into the apple tree. The tree isn’t as close to the garage as it looks in the picture. Wouldn’t any creature that isn’t a lunatic take the easy way up and climb the tree instead of the garage?
Back when I planted our tomatoes, I stuck out one basil plant to enjoy with my tomato crop, but the purist damnsquirrels preferred to steal them without herbal embellishment, so the basil is now chest high.
I wonder if I could hide tomato plants behind a basil wall next year. In the meantime, we’ve eaten so much basil we’re considering it a green vegetable.
The recently installed baffle is still keeping the little bastards from the main feeder, but The Damnsquirrel Gang hangs around the thistle pole now, because even a failed jump shakes some seeds onto the ground. Eventually, one of the little bastards makes a successful leap.
This morning, when Beelzebub finally latched onto the feeder for a thistle seed high, Dearly Beloved ran out hollering indignantly. He seemed strangely energized when he came back into the house. The broom he’d tossed missed only by inches, he said.
I volunteered a disposable pizza pan as a baffle, but he thinks he has perfected his throwing calculations to make contact next time.
Since they haven’t returned yet, he’s wondering whether he spooked them or they’re off having a powwow to discuss their next move.
Spook those sumbitches? Not even if he rides that flying broom.