My friends, the situation worsens. I mentioned yesterday that I had just learned that my parents were shooting squirrels with an air rifle to keep them away from the birdfeeder. Bad enough, right? Oh, not nearly.
I did some mental calculations, see, and knowing the rough position of the birdfeeder vis-a-vis the house, I began to wonder where my parents were aiming from. If it was the birdfeeder I was thinking of, it doesn't face any major doors. So I asked.
"Hey Dad, where are you shooting these squirrels from?"
You're not going to believe what he said.
No, trust me, you won't.
They're shooting squirrels out their bathroom window.
It was bad enough when he started picking up fresh roadkill and bringing it home to skin the pelt. It was bad enough when he made a boyfriend of mine skin a roadkill fox with him. It was bad enough when he hung fox tails from each handlebar of his motorcycle and stuck eagle feathers in every nook and cranny on his bike. It was bad enough when I opened the chocolate box in the freezer and found the frozen remains of a dead owl. It was bad enough when he started hanging decomposing fox heads from trees scattered throughout the property so the bugs could pick the skulls clean. Skulls he would inevitably decorate with. It was bad enough when all that was happening, but honestly. Shooting squirrels out of your bathroom window? All I'm saying is if even one of those little suckers makes it into a stew pot, I am never coming home again.
Mom, Dad? If you're out there reading this? Just a friendly reminder that you're from New York City. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go change my name to Bobbie Sue Beth and cut my hair in a mullet.