I recently came across some stuff from an old blog I used to have – think 2004-2010 timeframe – and thought I’d start sharing some of it here. Maybe like an Archives Wednesday feature or something.
Finding those files has really been what’s pushed me to start doing this again – I’ve had this site since 2013 or so and, honestly, the content has been pitiful to say the least – but reading this old stuff made me realize how much I enjoyed it, and how much reducing my writing to 140 characters or a FaceBook attention span length post, really is a terrible thing…
From December 2008:
Last night at about 3:15am we had a squirrel in the house.
I don’t know how it got there, and to be honest, I don’t much care.
But it was there nonetheless.
And it wasn’t just in the house. It was in the bedroom.
Where I was sleeping.
Normally that wouldn’t bother me too much as long as it wasn’t making a ton of noise and messing up my stuff, but my wife sleeps there too, and it bothers her pretty bad, so she expected me to do something about it.
That’s where it got messy.
How, exactly, does one catch a squirrel?
It’s not like you can whistle and it’ll come and cuddle up on your lap, and this one was especially mad because he could see the outside from the window he was sitting on, but he couldn’t get there on account of we have glass in that particular window.
He was pretty antsy by the time I got to him and he wouldn’t hold still long enough for me to smack him in the head with something.
After about 45 minutes of me standing there repeating “hold still, I need to hit you with this board”, I had had enough. The only other thing I could think of – and this was a logical thought because it was 4:03 in the morning – was the boy’s B.B gun.
I fetched it out of the closet and stood 15 or 20 feet away so that it wouldn’t shoot a hole in the wall if I missed.
Apparently I pumped it a few too many times because even though the shot was good – right in the head because I didn’t want some injured mad squirrel running around all over the place squirting blood on all my stuff – the B.B. went in one side and right out the other and put a hole in my wall anyway.
And it’s not just a hole. It’s a hole filled with squirrel hair.
And my wife wasn’t even mad at me! How cool is that?
I mean, I shot a hole in the wall! With a B.B. gun! In the house!
Now she wants me to figure out how it got in the house.
I told her it was probably the same way my in-laws get in the house. It bribed the boys with presents and they let it in.
She thinks it came in through the ridge vent on top of the house and got in when we had the attic door open.
Either way, she wants it fixed.