Rambo Squirrel

Have I written about the crazy squirrel who lives in our yard? He's big and he's bad.

He attacked the little flags I put out for national holidays. John saw it. All I found was the shredded remains of a flag, leaning drunkenly against the next. I suppose Rambo squirrel just didn't like the looks of it. Or maybe he needed a new bandana?

Normal squirrels flee when you approach. This one has been known to stare me down when I go out to check the mail. It's unnerving.

And I'm pretty sure he stole the bulbs I planted in the front beds a few weeks ago. He may have taken out the ones in back, too, but I can't really blame him for those since I forgot to water back there under the magnolias. And next to the fence, where the ground is stony. I call it gardening by parable (Behold, a sower went forth to sow...) and hope there were a few good seeds that will bring forth fruit. Squirrel notwithstanding.

I haven't seen the glorified rodent for awhile. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that our live oaks out front are about half the trees they used to be, thanks to the combined efforts of the freak snow this year and enthusiastic tree guys attacking the storm damage. Moved on to greener branches?

Last week I drove past a freakishly large squirrel downed in the road, creepy little feet up. It was a few doors down. I didn't think much of it at the time. But now I wonder...