Turf War

Remember our post-apocalyptic-looking backyard? Or, more properly, post-ridiculously-expensive-sewer-line-replacement?



Well, Bren tilled, seeded, fertilized, and ever-so-tenderly nurtured it back to life.



There are still some patches that didn't get the memo, but it's worlds better looking. Just in time for the first frost.

In his adventures in watching grass grow, Bren came across a homely little squirrel. He thought he was some kind of mutant squirrel, in fact.

Sunday, I swore all morning that I heard a rustling in/around the heating duct in the basement. Then Chevy started acting all weird and looking up at the ductwork. Bren didn't believe either of us until he came down later in the afternoon...only to find Chevy in a tussle with THE MUTANT! (Bum bum BUMMMMM!)

The best documentation I could manage amid the ensuing chaos was this:



He's behind a paint can in the bookshelves that are currently serving as our "garage" in the basement.

Bren and I eventually shooed him out the back door, after several minutes that might have fit well in a Chevy Chase movie. I thought to myself, "Well, he'll never want to do THAT again."

But yesterday, he seemed to think otherwise.



He peered longingly through our kitchen window. We named him Douglas.

We still don't know how he got in. We're taking bets on Chevy vs. Douglas in the event he tries again, though. The staring contests they engage in through the windows are so intense I keep waiting for a tumbleweed to roll by.



"Do you feel lucky, punk?"