Yesterday evening, my husband reported a close encounter with a backyard bomber.
He and Mollie were out in the yard, doing yard things, when something hit him from above. He first thought it was a branch falling off a tree and didn’t pay much attention. But then, it happened again. This time, he noticed that it was a little piece of the tree, not a nut like an acorn or pecan, but a similar type of tree bloom.
Then, it happened again.
At that point, he looked up and saw…a squirrel.
Mr. Squirrel was sitting in the branches above him, throwing pieces of the tree at him.
My husband yelled at Mr. Squirrel. Mr. Squirrel smirked and chattered in his squirrel language (which, if you listen closely, sounds a lot like laughter). He then went on his way, up into the higher branches, most likely to tell his squirrel friends about his amusing backyard adventures.
My husband then looked over at Mollie, who was watching it all play out. She looked back at him.
If dogs could shrug, she would have. If dogs could talk, she would have said, “Dude. Every day. Why do you think I bark so much? I’ve been trying to warn you. Squirrels, man. Let’s go inside.”