My family moved into our current home back in July and–as is my custom–I immediately set up a bird feeding station. I like birds. They’re pretty and sweet and cool and they make loverly noises. I am proud, in fact, to report that I had a pair of cardinals just last week.
Now, many bird lovers hate squirrels. I don’t. I like ’em. They’re cute and furry and make…uh, noises. I don’t like ’em messing with my birds, though. So I set up a little squirrel feeding station hoping they’d let my birds be.
It worked! It immediately attracted a pair o’ squirrels. Franny and Jack are their names. (That’s what they told me, anyway.) And they leave my birds alone.
This was–however–a big mistake. I took two perfectly self respecting, hunting & foraging squirrels and turned ’em in fat, lazy freeloaders. Their hunting & foraging days are over. Now they spend their days sittin’ on their asses, drinkin’ beer and watching Springer on the tube. Every so often they come out of their lair and fill their disgusting cheeks with my food, as you can see here (taken last summah):
So you see, dear readers, I have become Squirrel Welfare. They now have three squirrel children who will never know the joy and satisfaction that comes from honest toil; eating the fruits of their own labors. And it makes me sad.
3 thoughts on “Here is the story of Franny the Welfare Squirrel.”
Get a cat.
That’ll keep ’em on their toes.
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