~ Matt Groening
Our ice weasel comes in the form of a ginger-haired, flexible, death-proof squirrel. Of course, the Effin' Ranch has many of these creatures. They create gangs: gray squirrels versus red. There are secret handshakes and everything.
However, one of these death squirrels discovered a way to squeeze into the attic through the corner eave of the roof. He left the gang calling card: a black walnut and pile of poo.
We are not pacifists. The boys (including the largest, oldest one) play Halo. I have been known to scream, "Beat him down!" during one son's football game. Mice caught in the basement get hooted out the door and into the garbage bin. And I will admit that I laughed out loud, frightening our dogs, when I saw Mr. Squirrel try to get in with a pawful of acorns, then fall two stories to the snow below... and run away from our German Shepherd mix, Savvy, who had been waiting with her jaws open.
So, the largest (for another six months), oldest male pounded a slab of wood into the corner, either blocking out our errant ice weasel or sealing it for an Egyptian-style death.
Not to be deterred by a simple wood block, this blasted squirrel is testing the remainder of the roof. His means? A black walnut. He means business. As I try to answer student email or grade papers, I hear the tap-tap-tap of his gang knock, and I freeze. He'll wait, like a perverted stalker, and - tap-tap-tap - knock somewhere on the opposite side of the house. I spin around, surrounded by these knocks and taps and warnings that if I step outside, I will be shanked with a black walnut.
Gray squirrels - good for a replacement if possum is not available. Red squirrels - just let 'em go.