I haven't always hated squirrels. I'm mature enough to admit that my hatred stems from fear.
Fear that I will again experience one jumping on my head (yes, that really did happen). Fear of going for another run, and feeling that bushy tail on my leg (again, true story). On one hand, I believe the squirrel to be a smart little animal. I believe they know things. They can sense my fear, and in turn, they mess with me. Torment me, if you will. On the other hand, I believe they have nuts for brains (pardon the pun). I mean, think about what they do when your driving. They play a mean game of chicken.
My husband firmly believes that I need to let this go-I agree, but it isn't that easy. This squirrel anxiety has been a part of me for so long. I mean, I can't just shut it off. I can't pretend that when I take a stroll in our subdivision, which I'm sure has won awards for having the most trees, that everything is okay. It's like a Hitchcock film..where the birds have been replaced by rats with furry tails, and Tippi replaced by yours truly.
Maybe this blog post will serve as my first step in the healing process.
That, and a bb gun.
1 comment:
Oh my! I just busted out laughing because I remember the squirrel story you told one night at Cinch. I'll never forget it. You told this story about how one night your mothers panty hose were blowing on the towel rack in the bathroom and you mistook them for a squirrel tail. You had everybody crying with that story. I had no idea this "squirrel anxiety" ran so deep.
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