ART FROM THE SKETCHES OF PAUL BOECHER – HUMOR FROM HIS WIFE KATHY BOECHER

The pencil drawing is more than a sketch. In fact it is a constant reminder of the squirrels that dwell in our midst. They are very active right now, especially when it comes to the midnight raids on the bird feeders. I can’t help but remember a funny story that occurred many years ago. We had just settled into our new home. I was observing all kinds of wildlife from outside my window, and I’m not talking about the neighbors. What I thought were huge pheasants, turned out to be turkeys. The squirrels were the main attraction. I shared this story before, but in lieu of my squirrely tales, I thought it deserved a rerun.

I patiently resupplied the feeder for about three or four days, but there is just so much one person can take before they lose it completely. I don’t consider myself a violent person. I’ve never intentionally hurt anyone or thing in my life, but something snapped in me, turning me into one fierce, fighting force impossible to control. I knew my husband had a pellet gun, so I made it my quest to find it and merely put the wrath of Kathy into that furry little creature. I had no intention of actually doing harm to it.

The next day came. I was determined. The pellet gun rested on the kitchen table at the ready, the bird feeder filled to overflowing. There he was. He wrapped his four scrawny legs around the pole and scooted to the feast that waited at the top. I admired his coordination. He could have made a fortune as a performer in the circus. All he needed was a pair of extra small tights and a little tutu. He maneuvered his way around the periphery – nibbling and gobbling every last seed he could get his mitts on.

I slowly opened the patio door. He did not hear a thing. He was far too busy gorging himself to notice anything. His eyes were glazed as he feasted on every last morsel. I took aim, pumped the gun, pulled the trigger, caught my finger in the pumping mechanism causing myself extreme pain. The gun went off and a little pellet made its way directly at the squirrel. It took only a fraction of a second. He reeled. He grabbed his chest and spun around. He then did a perfect swan dive off the bird feeder and fell to the ground below. It was a most dramatic death.

I immediately felt a knot in my stomach. My knees were shaking. I felt complete remorse for my actions, but it only took a moment for my grief to turn to joy as the gutsy rodent pulled himself together and dragged his poor, stunned body into the woods. I overcame my feelings of guilt knowing that my original plan to simply scare him had worked. That night as I lay in bed, the thoughts of the day came back to haunt me. As my sleep took me into dream land, I envisioned myself sitting on top of that bird feeder. My hands and feet were bound. There, at the base of the pole, were several squirrels circling with their beady eyes focused on me. In their paws each held a little pellet gun and they were aimed at me!

I woke in a cold sweat. I ran to the window to see if it was real or a dream and there they were. A whole slew of squirrels were helping themselves to breakfast.