Seriously? Stepping out to feed the hummers and do a morning walkabout, a grey squirrel high up in one of the young oaks in the backyard started yelling, "Chuck, Chuck, Chuck!" I told him to pipe down and explained that I had every right to be there. That's when I saw the second grey squirrel right there, lying flat out on the railing like a bikini babe at the beach. This one held his ground as I approached, but reluctantly got up to leave. Changing his mind, he turned around and came back at me, stamping his forefeet in that tom-tom dance that squirrels do when they're irritated. I'm a grown woman and I refuse to be intimidated by a five-inch tall squirrel.
Two five-inch squirrels were waiting in the oak, sitting on the bird feeder and chittering at me to hurry up. Eye to eye and only a foot away, these bold boogers were giving me what-for in no uncertain terms. Turkeys were lurking behind the tree, waiting for the outcome and hoping for their breakfast, too.
Squint had gathered a squad down in the barn. They took turns raiding the mice's grain pile, each getting a few squirts with each mouthful. Maybe they've decided that a milk shower was the price for breakfast, or else they've developed a taste for milk on their cereal.
George Orwell's "Animal Farm" or John Belushi's "Animal House;" take your pick. I'm outnumbered here and the animals are taking over.