sopa de ardilla

Let's pretend. I invite you over to Casa Tinsley. I'm cooking. Some ethnic looking soup. I don't cook that much, but when I do, its usually something ethnic. So, in this fantasy land you wouldn't be that surprised to find us eating something a bit different. Imagine, eating it, knowing me, it is rather spicy. I'd pair it with a nice hoppy beer to cut said spice. We're eating, enjoying, talking. You start wondering what we're eating...so you ask.

"Stu, what is this. It's pretty good. I just can't put my finger on what it is..."
I reply, "Sopa de ardilla."
In this pretend world - you didn't have the benefit, like yours truly, of Senorita Davis' 11th Grade Spanish class. So, I help you with the translation, "squirrel soup."

Pretend time is over. Now I ask - what would you do? Would you feel sick? Gag. Be pissed at me for feeding you squirrel meat in a spicy soup? Laugh? Not care? What would you do?

I drive my Lovely Bride nuts with these silly "what would you do" exercises. You probably think I'm nuts for posing such a goofy scenario. Why in the world would I feed someone squirrel? Where in the hell would I get squirrel? Last time I looked they didn't sell it at the Piggly Wiggly. Actually, the answer is quite simple. I'm from Oklahoma. Most Okies hunt, and most are taught that you only hunt (or kill) what you will eat. Some sort of code. Thus, if I kill a squirrel in my warped mind you should eat it. You're probably wondering what in the hell that has to do with me serving squirrel soup in some fantasy land dinner. Perhaps I should back up a bit.

I have a squirrel problem. I've decided to fight back - reclaim my back yard from the little bastards. If you've read my BLOG before, this is what I was referring to in the I been one poor correspondent BLOG. One of the reasons I haven't BLOGGED much lately. I've been fighting the good fight, and as promised, here is the whole sordid story.

George W. has his war against terrorism. I have mine against the squirrel(s). Not to get political, but I think they are both hopeless causes. Trying to win against an 'ism' is damn near impossible best I can figure. Same thing with the squirrel(s). I think the only way I can ultimately win is to cut down the majestic, old pecan tree in my back yard. That would be equivalent to cutting off my nose to spite my face, or however that saying goes. Sort of like trampling on the Constitution a la the Patriot Act. Shit, I guess I am getting political. A skinny Michael Moore. I'll quite that tangent. Let's talk about my enemy, the squirrel. I really don't care that much about George W. even though I'm from Texas.

As I've typed, we have a majestic, old pecan tree in our back yard. The neighbors just West of us have an even bigger one that partially hangs over our property. Squirrel(s) love pecans and spend a good deal of time in these trees. For the first six years that we've been at Casa Tinsley, I've been cool with the squirrel(s) doing squirrel things. Annoyed, yes. But, I've been tolerant. I'm not big on killing things. Never was a hunter. I went through my killing stage as a kid in Oklahoma. BB Gun, sparrows, blue jays, a few snakes. I massacred some giant frogs once. I have serious regret about those incidents. My blood lust. Probably on my Top 5 list of things I wish I could hop in the Time Machine and fix. Back to the point. About 15 years ago, I decided, I wasn't going to kill anything I didn't have to kill. I'm talking anything. I've been known to catch a bug and set it free. Now, before you get political on me while reading this - I'm not some tree hugging Whole Foods dirt eater. I eat meat. Fish. Someone is killing those things for me. I wear leather. I'm not on some moral crusade, just a personal decision to not harm anything if I don't have too. So even though I was greatly annoyed by the Squirrel(s) I decided on a live and let live policy.

That was until 2004 rolled around. Faced with a bumper crop of pecans, the Squirrel(s) descended on our property like a swarm of locusts. Bastards. They would spend the day eating the pecans, and throwing down their trash, all over the patio, yard, house, etc. That's something I didn't get until I had my very own pecan tree. The squirrel(s) like green pecans. In cartoons (where I get most of my info) they always have the mature nut. That ain't the way it is in the real world. Once they are ready to harvest, where a human would want to eat them, have to crack them, the squirrel(s) is off to something else. Probably wires in your attic. Bastards. I guess they can't get at the pecan as easily. The prefer the young, immature, green pecan. They live to munch on it from sun-up to sun-down, eating a small portion of it and then dropping the rest down. I have dents in my lawn chairs from their refuse. Shit, I've been Chicken Little, and bopped on the head. Stepped barefoot on a sliver. You name it. We could make our backyard a hard hat area from late July to October. It is that bad. So, after a particularly bad day I walked out and saw the crap all over my patio, backyard, etc. and decided, then and there, I was declaring war on the squirrel(s). I was done. Bastards.

Now - just because I was done, didn't necessarily mean I wanted to kill them. Disgusted, yes. Blood thirsty, not quite. I was more interested in convincing them to move onto greener pastures. Find a nice park. Another pecan tree. Relocate. First thought was that I could trap them. But, I decided this was to much work, and a little odd. Remember, I'm not a tree hugger. BB Gun? Nope, might actually kill one. Not sure if I'm ready for that discussion with Ethan if I was lucky enough to hit one of them. Probably would be injured and I'd end up nursing the damn thing back to health. Be like George from Seinfeld, squirrel strapped to me in a Baby Bjorn - if you dig that reference.

I'd been throwing things at the squirrel(s) for a few weeks, amusing them more than much else, not hitting them, when it hit me. Wrist rocket (read: sling shot)! I had one as a kid. Was pretty decent with it. I'd probably never kill anything, just annoy them. So - on one fine Sunday I loaded up the Little Warrior and we were off to Oshman's to purchase a wrist rocket. $7 later, I was in the backyard ready and waiting.

The squirrel(s) must have sensed something because they were gone. I waited. Patiently. Drank beer. Waited. Finally - one was up eating my pecans, I took aim (with a pecan I might add - I liked the karma of using it for my ammo) and fired away. Missed, bad, but I did get his attention. He was on the run. I was in business. This went on for about a week...slowly the squirrel(s) knew that they should scram when I was around. Out of 100s of shots, I actually hit 2 squirrels. And, as I had hoped, neither was hurt. Just annoyed. I came close a bunch, causing them to drop their contraband pecans which to me was better than actually hitting them. Side note, my neighbors probably think I'm crazy as I'm yelling "Squirrels" and or "Bastards" often when I'm on the hunt...when my blood is up, and I'm after the damn vermin like some pyscho Elmer Fudd. Ethan even helps me spot them. It is glorious backyard fun. Back to the story.

My war was going well - until about a week ago. I had the enemy spotted, low on a tree. Had him in my sight, loaded a fresh pebble (I'd pretty much exhausted my pecans on the ground supply by this point) and pulled back....snap. My wrist rocket broke. I was impotent again. Squirrels 1. Stu 0. My only weapon was my rage as I yelled "SQUIRRELS!!!" Out of commission.

The squirrel(s) are smart, they must have had a meeting the next morning because they were out in mass. Acting as if nothing had happened the past two weeks. Busy, it took me a few days to get another Wrist rocket (to be honest, I almost got a BB Gun in my anger at the squirrel(s) - but better judgment won in the end.) Back in business.

The next morning I was up and out waiting. I saw a fat little bastard running their squirrel Ho Chi Minh trail. Yes, my obsession had become so great I was thinking in Vietnam terms. The squirrels were Charlie, and the tree trail from my neighbors pecan, to mine, and then to a huge elm tree in my neighbor's yard to the East was their Ho Chi Minh trail - a regular squirrel highway. I've watched them so much, I could chart if for you. I'm obsessed. Ask my Lovely Bride. Anyway. From any of these trees, they can hop to the power lines that run the alley and hop over into the trees on the South Side of the Alley. Cambodia if you will, and yes, Like Tricky Dicky Nixon, I have no problem bombing the bastards on the other side. That's where they come from, hide. Everythings fair in love and war - right? They are crafty little bastards. The squirrel(s).

At any rate, the little fat bastard sees me, and starts up my tree. He has a big fat green pecan he's trying to eat. I get off my first shot nearly hitting him. This gets his attention, and he starts for the power lines trying to get across to the other side of the alley. He's not so freaked that he wants to lose his pecan though...so he's trying to take it with him. I reload and sight him as he's doing his high wire act. Another great shot that just misses his ass, and hits the wire causing it to move...which nearly knocks him off, but, being a squirrel, he catches himself easily, but not without losing his prized green pecan. Take that squirrel(s)!!!!!! This pisses him off. He stops, turns toward me. Staring me down in some sort of primal squirrel rage, flicks his tail around like his kind does, and starts barking at me. Probably "MAN!!!!!" in squirrel. I smile as I reload and take aim (missing of course) but he knows the war is back on - and hops across the border to fight another day. Squirrel(s). Bastards.

Until I BLOG again...SQUIRRELS!!!