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Some of you may remember, a few years ago, when Mom decided one winter that the squirrels weren't getting enough fat in their diets, and started flinging them buttered toast in the mornings. Which was fine, until I opened the door one morning to find a squirrel the size of a dachshund clinging to the screen door when he didn't get his breakfast on time.
Tonight I made peanut butter toast for dinner (it's hot and windy and food really doesn't appeal much). The back door was open. After the toaster popped up, I heard a sound at the door.
It was a squirrel the size of a dachsund, clinging to the screen door.
"What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!"
Cling.
"GO AWAY!"
It wandered back to its tree, not very quickly.
I don't know how long squirrels live, but whether it was memory or coincidence, that fat bastard didn't need no buttered toast.
Tonight I made peanut butter toast for dinner (it's hot and windy and food really doesn't appeal much). The back door was open. After the toaster popped up, I heard a sound at the door.
It was a squirrel the size of a dachsund, clinging to the screen door.
"What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!"
Cling.
"GO AWAY!"
It wandered back to its tree, not very quickly.
I don't know how long squirrels live, but whether it was memory or coincidence, that fat bastard didn't need no buttered toast.
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