doctorskinny

I was just growled at by a squirrel. A squirrel. Admittedly, I was chasing it around the house screaming, "I'm going to eat your soul you little shit bagging fuck ass!", waving a ski pole and occasionally swatting at it with my non-ski-poled, double gloved right hand, but that's no cause for a squirrel to growl at me.

I mean, it was in my house. If we both were outside tearing around the yard -- its home turf -- I could understand the growling and biting of my ski pole and jumping on my arm and hissing and growling some more and biting my ski pole again. That would be completely understood and I could not argue with the rodent that I was indeed doing something strange. Going all Hayden Christensen in the yard would just have been fucking weird.

But it was in my house. With a friend. My house.

He's an outdoor rodent! Not an indoor rodent! Mice? Sure, I know how to handle them. Bats? Easy enough. Squirrels? Squirrels require lunacy to properly combat their wiles and wit.

Or big boots, but that would have left a mark.

*No squirrels were harmed in the making of this journal entry. Some squirrels did however wet themselves. And my glove. Maybe my t-shirt a little.