Prisoner of War

It was three in the morning when I first heard the rat-tat-tat and a little squeal. It continued relentlessly five long hours until the rest of the family woke up. The keeper of the trap, my father-in-law, has kept up the good fight roughly 25 years. He orchestrated many a mole, ground hog, squirrel, and an occasional skunk relocation effort, but they just keep coming back. It's a caddy shack syndrome for which we know of no cure.

The kids thought this baby squirrel was so cute and already dreamed of his release in a park far far away, but Grandpa had other plans, which isn't even uttered under his breath for fear of what the kids might do to him should they discover the truth. This is war after all.

If I could post more blips, I would also include the huge Plexiglas barrier he installed on top of the fence to keep the menacing squirrels from jumping onto his beloved bird-feeder. Said bird feeder is also modified with a 16 inch carved stick nailed upright into the air so as to impale any creature that might leap from the nearby tree branch.

Often compared to Captain Ahab or Bill Murray, Grandpa is earning a reputation in our family that closely resembles a psychotic grounds keeper with a gopher-fixation obsessed with finding and killing any small rodent that threatens grandma's beloved garden.

At least he hasn't taken up a gun...yet.