I put Christmas bells on my doorknobs last December adding to the mish-mash of sparkly Santa that flies over and barfs in my house.
Now while I took down everything the following month, I did leave the bells on because I’d found it scared away the wildlife in the yard and gave them a running chance before I cried havoc and let slip the dogs of war on their multi-millionth time of going pee in the yard. They may not be Julius Caesar’s looting soldiers, but they dang sure could rip a head off a squirrel if given the chance.
Having had several funerals for squirrels in 2011, I wanted to make 2012 a year of the olive branch. So far there has only been one squirrel funeral due to the Husky having The Flash’s blood within her.
This has given the squirrels a sense of nyah-nyah-poo-poo. They have figured out the distance to the fence at the moment of the bells and sit within that safe perimeter so that they may raspberry the dogs with their tails and sit right at the other side of the fence chitter-chatter-laughing at them. This, of course, drives the dogs NUTS. (Which I think plays into that whole genre of squirrel.)
Now I’ve been patting myself on the back with the Pavlov concept skewed to my needs until I drove up the other day and saw not one, but two squirrels hopping out of my trashcan with their booty. Here I’ve been blaming dogs and raccoons all this time. Then I got to thinking of when my trash issues began. Long about December yep, yep.
The little bushy tail bastards. The bells are comin’ dooooown in my version of the Bell Curve. Environmental influence indeed.