Bobbing Along

My husband is a relatively recent retiree.

As such, he is, on a good day, an endless source of entertainment. (Stick with this blog. Eventually, you’ll read what he is on not-so-good days.)

He traded years of anxiety and pressure in a career he didn’t particularly love to a life filled with daily activities which bring him mostly pleasure. This is not to say his days are without frustration. Oh, no. You see, he loves working outside perfecting the yard and gardens. He has discovered, however, that certain small critters wreak havoc with his efforts by burrowing holes, creating tunnels, displacing mulch and dirt and, gasp, flaunting their activities with, I am told, evil little smiles. Directed at him. The nerve.

Overall, my husband is a kind-hearted soul. He toyed with different methods of eliminating said pests from our property, not all of which were particularly humane. After careful consideration, he settled on the one he felt was best: using birdseed as lure, he decided to trap the critters one-by-one and cart them safely off to a local park, where they would probably make their way into someone else’s garden. I watched with great amusement as he would dance his little “gotcha” jig at the sound of the trap closing on yet another victim. And I tried not to mention the waste of time and gas as he headed to the park to deliver his prey to a new home. My man was a happy hunter.

And then, one morning, the Animal Kingdom got its small but significant revenge. As my Rambo of Retirees watched from our kitchen window, another chipmunk was successfully lured into the trap. A-HA!!

BUT.

Before he could dance out the door to gloat, before he could collect his bounty and head victoriously to the park, he was stunned to watch a squirrel, another pest destined someday for battle, nose curiously around the trap, managing somehow to set the chipmunk free. Together they scampered off, no doubt laughing all the way back to their garden homes.

I haven’t seen that trap since.