Them squirrels want my bulbs? They’ll have to come through me
The first leaves are starting to fall, that gentle breeze has turned nippy and we’re turning on the lights earlier in the evening. The nights are indeed fair drawin’ in.
Which means its bulb-planting time. I have become weirdly gardening oriented. It might be a post-menopause thing. Other women throw themselves into the sea, and I have been known to do that, but I find myself oddly attracted to garden centres as I age.
Should stress, I am utterly clueless, but the internetweb is a boon and blessing to the fumbling garden-starter. The daffodils, snowdrops and snake’s head fritillary will go in first, according to The Royal Caledonian Horticultural Society website. The tulips go in later.
And this means I must plan my war against my sworn enemy, the squirrel. Oh, I hear you all scream, you can’t mean the fluffy tailed little squirrelly nutkin? Surely, you cry, they are just so sweet and cutesy?
No, I bellow back. Do not be fooled by these tail twitching terrors. They are the Visigoths of the gardening world. They are an army of Vandals facing the horticulturists of Scotland. Bulbs are dug up, hard planted beds torn apart and carefully tended shoots ruthlessly munched by their barbarian hordes.
They aren’t even ours. They are an import from the USA. They’re out-breeding and out-feeding our native ginger lads and lassies. If this was a Western, they’d be the big bad boys of the bar, brawling with the sheriff and causing a ruckus about town until the new lawman came in to bring them to heel. I imagine the sheriff being played by Henry Fonda, facing a Grey Squirrel Gang featuring such great villains as Eli Wallach, Lee Marvin and Jack Palance.
Defeat is not an option this year. Anti-squirrel technology has been acquired. Obviously, I’m not saying exactly what, because these Yankee invaders are clever and might read this. I will sit and watch over my garden like Fonda rocking in his chair outside the county jail. Them squirrels want my bulbs? They’ll have to come through me. Those snake’s head fritillaries are coming up in the spring, squirrel boys.