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The raccoons were in the yard last night. We’d just come home from a long day at the in-laws, lunch, and dinner when Junior heard them through the kitchen window scrambling around in the tree. I shooed him off from shooing them off with his paintball pistol.

Who knows what damage they do in the night? I suspect they may have taken to the fruit…

They look at you; don’t make a noise. You don’t know if they’re going to attack or what. They don’t, just sit up there looking at you as you blast them with the flashlight.

Blast. I shouldn’t have eaten that sausage last night. How was I supposed to know? Now I have blasting powder (not powder; liquid: nitro) inside me. Oh butt-pee, just what I need. Had to do the duck-waddle back to the bathroom as I left for work this morning. I was all the way to the car…

The squirrels are bad this year. I hate killing them--their cute little squirrel-eyes—right before you blast them. I must’ve shot a hundred pellets; only got three of them. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if we ate them. Even junior wouldn’t, not ground squirrels, scavengers he says… eat anything they find; look all grungy.

Oh well, the vultures got to eat, the coyotes… I throw them out there and they never last long.

Every single pomegranate is now gone. Never even thought about getting an apricot. The guava is full, and I could see them tugging on it. Six fruit trees; four varieties and we never get any fruit…

There’s a limit to my empathy. Son-of-a-bitch, I know they would eat me, my entire family— given the chance. Why mustn’t I kill them? Do the Hindus let all their grain be eaten so they can starve? Rats, for chris-sakes… fluffy-tailed rats with big beady eyes.


as always full of stuff i enjoy so much..the style of writing really appeals to me....this man gave names to all the animals

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