I heard the sound even before I opened the door to the milking room. It got louder as I stepped inside, but I couldn't find the source and it seemed to drift from one spot to another. I knew what it was, but not where. Ground squirrels have the most irritating, high-pitched, unbelievably loud warning chirp, uttered with an annoying regularity that sets my teeth on edge. The noise continued as I went about the business of letting the girls out and getting Cindy up on the stand and ready to milk. And then I saw her, this little creature with the big attitude. Far from being afraid of me, she was telling me in no uncertain terms that she had moved in and I was not welcome, and she told me to my face! In addition to the burrow under the milking stand, she'd opened up this other tunnel, as well, which seems to be in use on several levels by the resident mice who poked their heads out to see what the fuss was about. It's a regular apartment complex!
Neither of us was willing to back off, so we reached a tenuous detente and went on with our chores. I continued to switch out goats, sit and milk, and rake out the stalls. She made trip after trip outside, coming back in with her mouth stuffed with grasses for her nest, occasionally giving me a garbled chirp as she passed by. These photos were not taken with telephoto; she's darned near running over my foot.
It's said that like begets like. One of us is meshugana. Or maybe it's just us.