Patti Soldavini

Posts Tagged ‘squirrels’

Squirrel Breakfast Sampler

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/08/2012 at 7:03 am

“Hey Rodent, here I come!”

Olive had squirrel for breakfast this morning. Well, almost. She came within a fur’s breadth of enjoying a nice gamey meal. As I opened the sliding glass door to let her out of the house, she shot over the threshold and across her pen with the speed of a rocket-propelled torpedo. The lazy, arrogant, stupid, or just careless rodent almost didn’t make it out of Olive’s pen. It frantically zig zagged across the lawn and scurried up the chain link fence. Olive was racing behind the squirrel, kicking up mud while she tracked it to the end of the fence and then opened her mouth and snapped at its quite furry grey tail just as it crested the top rail. Olive was so close, that I was simultaneously stunned and grateful that she did not turn around with it dangling from her mouth by its tail like a bowling trophy. I wasn’t in the mood to beat it to death with a miniature steel shovel because it bit Olive. As Olive trots back empty mouthed, I do feel badly for her. I wonder if this makes her feel unfulfilled. In my ignorant home sapien manner, I try to ease her disappointment by praising her: “GOOD GIRL OLIVE. YOU CHASED THE STUPID RODENT AWAY. I THINK THAT ONE WAS PAST ITS EXPIRATION DATE. GOOD THING YOU LET IT GO.”


Weimaraner Licks Squirrel to Death

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 03/02/2012 at 12:12 pm

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't."

Always listen to the tiny voice inside your head. The one that intuits that something is not quite right. Such as “WHY IS OLIVE SPENDING AN UNUSUAL AMOUNT OF TIME IN THE FAR CORNER OF HER PEN? She usually runs to this corner because it gets muddy when it rains and it makes it easier for her to dig a hole until she reaches the earth’s core. I don’t know what she thinks she’s going to find there. Perhaps the answer to one of life’s greatest mysteries—how planet Earth formed—will be unearthed. Or, maybe she’ll find that the earth’s core is really just all of a previous planet’s garbage compressed into a seismic landfill. And like a ball of clay, God keeps molding new planets from old when we wear them out. Or maybe she’ll discover a petrified piece of Juicy Fruit gum. Olive’s obsessive preoccupation with the corner of her pen is revealed the next day when finally, I walk outside to see what she’s up to. There it is. On the outer perimeter of her pen’s black chain link fence, trapped between the fence and the railroad tie retaining wall is a dead squirrel. “GREAT,” I announce to no one in particular, “ANOTHER DEAD ANIMAL I HAVE TO PICK UP.” Its back is laying right up against the fence, so while Olive couldn’t really nibble on it, she could certainly sniff and lick it. As I make my way to the garage to fetch the garden cultivator which does secondary duty as a rodent removal system, I wonder what the state of rigor mortis will be. Will the squirrel be as stiff as a board and as light as a kernal of popped popcorn? Or will it be as limber as a spaghetti noodle and heavy? Gross. As I carefully perch atop the four-foot retaining wall, I tentatively work the long-handled garden cultivator into the 12-inch crevice. I ladle the dead squirrel up while Olive watches from inside her pen with rapt attention. “HUH, IT’S PRETTY LIGHT,” I notice. I gingerly pull it all the way up, careful not to drop it. As I walk down the driveway with Chip ‘n Dale’s cousin, I silently marvel about how well honed my rodent removal skills have become when suddenly, Rocky, the no-longer flying squirrel tumbles off his steel stretcher. “SHIT, NOW I HAVE TO PICK IT UP AGAIN.” Olive hasn’t taken her eyes off us yet. I scoop the fuzzy grey carcass back up, walk across the street and fling it into the empty cornfield which is now populated by the ghosts of many pheasants. Thank God that cornfield is big enough to hold herds of elephants.

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