The “ghetto squirrel” was in top form preparing for the long Michigan winter ahead. In his mouth were three huge green balls. I watched as he scampered across the drive carefully gripping the orbs with his widespread lips and tong-like teeth.
Inappropriately named by my smartass son for his sleek black coat and wily ways, the squirrel was particularly rambunctious that day as he raced back and forth across the lawn hording walnuts unpeeled.
Who even has a walnut tree? For a moment I wondered but quickly I returned to my happy chore. We were heading to our cabin for three weeks—the record stay.
As we chucked bags and boxes into the car the ominous hood rat watched. A couple of times we even caught him lurking inside the garage; I brave move given all of the commotion.
I warned my husband. “Watch out! That’s the last thing we need…
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