It started with the sight of a squirrel.
“Oh look there’s a squirrel out in the garden,” my mum said one evening.
I literally squealed with delight, ran to the fridge and broke off a carrot.
I mean wouldn’t it be cool to have a squirrel friend like they do in cartoons? HELL YEAH!
Unsure if the bushy-little creatures do eat carrots, I stood on the porch and threw it on the grass anyway.
The squirrel stopped and looked at the orangey thing that landed with a thump.
It sniffed the air once, twice and continued to climb the fence, ignoring the carrot I offered out of goodwill.
I thought to myself “they must be picky eaters”.
The following day, my dad told me that a squirrel ate all the spring onions my mum just started growing.
I didn’t believe him. “Must be something else, I don’t think squirrels eat spring onions,” I said.
Three days later, my mum complained that the squirrel had a go at her newly planted tomatoes.
And as she made her complaint, I saw the sneaky little thing dash across the garden towards the fence.
I swear the fugitive was exerting an air of happiness as it hopped along the railing and towards the plum tree in the garden.
Now my parents have declared a war on the rascal and I am solely to blame.
Apparently, my mum explained, the carrot was a declaration that it was allowed to eat everything it pleases in the garden.
And that is how my plan of trying to be chummy with a squirrel backfired.
(Note: I never did have luck with squirrels anyway. Read “Confessions of a noob driver” point 3)