We knew something was wrong as soon as we saw the picture frames lying on the floor.
Whoever had robbed us had taken the time to throw our family photos to the ground, which I though was a bit rude. I know we’re not supermodels, but my sixteen-month-old son is pretty cute – come to think of it though, robbing us was kind of rude.
Fortunately my wife was thinking clearly and offered to take our son back to the car. I picked-up the nearest weapon – my tennis racket – just in case the robber was still in the house and/or wanted to play singles.
The house was a disaster. As I took a few more steps I noticed the plants on the floor, the blinds mangled across the window, and – no, really? On the dining room table, that’s not? Is it? Yes, those are indeed little poop pellets.
“We’ve been robbed my midgets,” I told my wife, Laura, “and they’ve got stomach problems.”
I thought it was rude to break into our house, but I almost felt bad for somebody with stomach issues that awful.
“They didn’t even make it to the bathroom,” I said, “there are little pellets all over the place.”
Laura was running out of patience. “Nothing was stolen, right?” she said, trying to prod my thinking.
“No, but the kitchen looks like it’s been hit by a tornado. There’s flour everywhere, the spice rack has been chewed through – it almost looks like a pack of squirrels was running loose in there, not midgets.”
My wife calls moments like these my “Price is Right” moments – when my face lights up because all my little thoughts have lined-up like kindergartners to form one clear string of reasoning.
“The midgets covered their fingerprints with squirrel poop so they couldn’t be identified!” I cried.
We do spend a fair amount of time hoping and praying that our son was born with his mother’s intelligence and not mine.
So here’s a quick summary of the situation: we’d been gone for ten days and the house had been invaded by multiple squirrels. It was disgusting. We checked into a hotel downtown and I returned to the house to begin squirrel hunting.
It didn’t take me long to find the one who chewed through a wire and electrocuted himself.
I quietly moved from room to room looking for the rest. Armed with my pellet rifle, I reminded myself not to shoot if the squirrels stood in front of a window or valuable object.
“You know,” I whispered to myself, “there’s a very fine line between Rambo and Elmer Fudd. Show yowself you silly sqworrwels.”
I did think I looked pretty hot running around in my fatigues and face paint, though. If Laura hadn’t been back at the hotel fighting the stomach flu I honestly think we’d be expecting again.
When I saw the first squirrel running across a sofa, I was so scared my teeth hurt.
I’ve seen snakes and alligators, spiders and lizards (not in my house, but in the wild – you know, I really doubt people are going to want to come to my house anymore), but squirrels gross me out almost more than anything. They’re rats with tails.
Really, if you get fairly close to a squirrel – like one of the several I trapped in a metal cage – and begin speaking to them in the voice of Don Corleone from The Godfather, “You break into my house, you poop on the table where our family breaks bread, and you chew on my first born son’s toys – and you think I’m not going to send a message to the other squirrels?” – they’re scary.
But if you’re from PETA, here’s what I did: After trapping the squirrels that had destroyed my house, I loaded them in my car and chauffeured them to a beautiful open space where I fed them a lovely vegan lunch before releasing them into the wild.
Really, I was surprised at all the kind thoughts I was having towards the squirrels. I’m not sure if it was when I paid the professional carpet cleaners or disinfecting each individual – you know, I think it was while I was applying stain remover to my son’s teddy bear, that I just grinned, shrugged my shoulder’s and said, “God’s cute little creatures!”
We spent four nights at the hotel. My wife went to the office and I dropped my son off at daycare. Then I’d return to the house to clean.
They even pooped on our elliptical machine. Really, like I can picture a squirrel working out while watching TV.
And why not? They’d probably been in the house for the full ten days, chewing through the bin of dog food, chewing through the kitchen pantry, and I’d imagine they wanted to stay in shape.
I kept telling myself to look on the bright side. We still had our house, the total damage wasn’t more than about a thousand bucks, and I never had to use my tennis racket to fight a midget. There’s always an upside.
Brian Yake (bayake@msn.com) is a financial advisor in Denver and a former Colorado Voice. EDITOR’S NOTE: This is an online-only column and has not been edited.
