Run Samson Run

So, I have done it.  Made my stupid goal of making my 100th blog also the blog of my one year anniversary of blogdom.  Bear with me, if you will, as I force out this, the last of my double digit blogs. 

As I stood washing dishes this morning, I watched as a very hard working little grey squirrel began building her nest on the roof of my neighbor's house.  I tried to get good photos to capture all her valiant efforts, but scared the poor little critter away.  I'm not an epic failure, though, as I did manage to get a few not so great photos from inside my house.






You can see the dried grass in her mouth

All little grey squirrels are named "Sammy" and they hold a special place in my heart even though they are basically a rat with a bushy tail.  Still, I feel as though all squirrels are partially my pets.  In my last house, I had a whole harem of Sammys who begged each morning for a handful of peanuts.  It even got to the point of hand feeding one or two of them which was a little scary and a little exciting. 

At first it started out as two daily squirrels that I named Sammy and Delilah.  Not after the biblical names, per se, but from the Neil Sedaka song, Run Samson Run.  Anyway, two squirrels grew to three squirrels grew to ten squirrels.  The third of the bunch was named Howie after Howard Cosell whose death made the papers the day Howie showed up on the back deck with Sammy and Delilah.  Each squirrel had their own little identifying features making it easy to distinguish one from the next. 

The peanut feeding had to subside after Ricky Raccoon joined the bunch.  Yes, each night Ricky feasted on the uneaten peanuts leaving a mess behind.  Ricky became mighty large after receiving nightly meals of left over peanut butter sandwiches, popcorn, stale cereal or any other food my mom was able to confiscate from her job.  We even put out a bowl of water for Ricky once we learned that Raccoons are "clean" animals and enjoy washing their food in water before eating it.  Sure, enough, Ricky loved to dip his food as though he were eating a beef au jus. 

Ricky with her plate of food and water.

Turns out, Ricky wasn't just fat from eating all this food; Ricky was fat because she was pregnant with 3 babies that she later brought along for these midnight snacks as well.  So during the day we fed the hoard of squirrels and by night we fed the family of raccoons. 

All snacking ceased once the cat and the raccoon had a face to face meeting on the back deck.  Both claiming the territory as their own.  No blood was drawn, but it was enough to close the kitchen from then on.  Sure it was hard watching the woodland creatures beg for the food they had so easily obtained, but the life of our household pets was much more valuable than a backyard zoo. 

Just as all squirrels are Sammys, all raccoons are Rickys. 

And, with that, I enter into my 100th blog.  So long double digits, hello triple digits!