We live on the 3rd floor in an old Victorian with a deck. When we moved in we built planter boxes and gleefully planted them full of food. Swiss chard, lettuces, tomatoes, sweet peppers, hot peppers, cucumbers, herbs, even a watermelon.
Each evening we would play in our makeshift garden waiting in eager anticipation of the harvest of each of our growing delicacies. We would say to each other “oooh, won’t that be nice fresh picked for tomorrow’s dinner!”
And the very next day when we went to harvest our tasties… they would be lying, half-chewed, on the deck with little squirrely toothmarks and paw-prints identifying the culprits.
This happened with every single thing in the garden except the hot chiles we planted.
So the following year, we only planted hot chiles. So the bastard squirrels sent their hot food loving cousins over to clean us out of chiles.
So we tried flowers the next year, but they dig them up… We hate ’em!
Now in the colder months, they regularly break into our house stealing food, and leaving little treats.
Like other people’s cookies hidden in our underwear drawer.
How they open the underwear drawer is beyond me… but they seem to have some sort of psychic power to gain entry into the oddest places.
Ask Gerry about the squirrel who ate our chocolate cake sometime… it’s especially “funny” when he’s had a couple of beers and acts it out.
Dad keeps sending me squirrel recipes.