First The Fat Boys Break Up, And Now This
By Wyatt Earp | June 26, 2007
By now you are all painfully aware that I am blog/house-sitting for Captain America while he and the uber-clan are away on vacation. In the past week, we’ve had to almost use deadly force to stop a would-be burglar and bail out his water-logged den. We thought we were out of the woods.
We were wrong.
When the Captain left his sprawling Kennedy-esque compound, he placed his kids’ inflatable swimming pool atop the jungle gym to protect it from the many critters that roam the neighborhood. We live near a wooded area, so we see squirrels, rabbits, possums and skunks in the yards on a daily basis. Last week, we had a torrential rain shower that lasted a little over a day, and the water formed a rain pool inside the inflatable one.
Being good neighbors – and dreading a wiseass comment from the Captain – the missus went to empty the rain yesterday by overturning the pool. As she approached, she looked inside and saw . . . a soaking wet, bloated, dead squirrel. A few moments later, she was back at Casa de Wyatt telling me about her ordeal.
I said, “So, did you get rid of the squirrel?”
She replied, “Hell no. I’m leaving it there!”
Now, as much as I can understand her not wanting to fish a dead rat - and yes, without the furry tails, everyone would hate squirrels -all of our good neighborly deeds this week would be eradicated if we left them a dead squirrel in their pool. Can you imagine the blog fodder the Captain would have? This was unacceptable, but since I was going to the movies last night, Bullwinkle’s friend would have to wait until today.
When we awoke, we trekked to the Captain’s backyard for our fishing expedition. I wore a canvas vest and a bucket hat with hooks strewn across it. Gotta look the part, right? The missus climbed the jungle gym and peered inside. “Ew, that’s disgusting!” she said. Since she was already in perfect fishing position, I figured she should make the first attempt with the rake. She agreed, as long as I kept our three-year old son Erik occupied. No reason to scare him, although he would probably want to eat it – he eats everything else.
Wifey fished Rocky out of the pool on the third attempt, and we dropped him into a plastic trash bag, before carrying him to his final resting place – the trash can. While she transported the corpse, I became “The Cleaner.” I emptied the rest of the pool water, which was much heavier than I thought, and wrestled the pool from the jungle gym. Then, I placed it wet-side-up to dry in the Philly sun. Finally, I sprayed half a can of Lysol on the scene of the crime, so the uber-kids don’t get fleas, ticks, crabs, or whatever the hell squirrels carry.
As we were walking home, I reiterated what good neighbors we are, while the wife demanded that they “never leave again.”
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