My Life is a Zoo, Part II

Some days, it’s a miracle that the never ending wave of chaos doesn’t sweep me off my feet and onward to the nuthouse.

Our newest ‘guest’ ala Mother Nature has been christened ‘Ricky’ by JB. She was the first to see him hanging out on the deck by the grill, waiting for the opportunity to raid Squirts rawhide basket.

We had noticed that Squirt was going through them more quickly than usual, and she was continually
searching for ‘just the right one’ to no avail. We had figured that she was dropping them off in hidden corners of the yard, waiting for them to develop just the right blend of flavors. Never did it cross our minds that Ricky and friends were making good use of them.

After a couple of nights where Squirt woke us with barking and a seriously strong ‘attack mode’ posture and we found the deck furniture moved about, we set up an infrared camera to see if we were able to identify our newest friend.

Only, it wasn’t one friend, it was three. (The third is hiding behind Ricky and isn’t seen in this photo, but the bugger is there!)

None of them paid any attention to either the camera which we were able to monitor and control remotely, nor Charles or I when we went to take a closer look at them and made no attempt to be quiet when doing so.

Rather, they began to paw at the glass deck doors as if to try and find a way into the house and join us for a midnight snack.

Two weeks later, Charles came into the house, and mentioned that I really shouldn’t leave my garage open past sundown.

It seems that just as the sun tucked itself into bed, one of the buggers had made its way across the yard, over the fence, around the front of the house and into the garage on the faint hope of snagging some of Squirt’s dog food.

Running at nearly $2 per pound for our pampered pet (Greyhounds have hideous teeth and horribly gassy digestive systems), this ‘friendly’ pest has good taste. Sadly for him, Charles foiled his plans and the bastard was run off before he was able to dine in style.

But not to worry. I happen to know that the older couple who lives three doors down has quite the assembly of foods set out for Ricky and friends.

They, unlike us, think he’s ‘cute’.

 

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