Coffee House Writers

Top Menu

Main Menu

  • Home
  • Article Categories
    • Creativity
    • Culture
    • Design
    • Family
    • Fashion
    • Fiction
    • Food
    • Environment
    • Health
    • Home
    • Lifestyle
    • Memories
    • Nonfiction
    • Poetry
    • Politics
    • Relationships
    • Sports
    • Style
    • Technology
    • Travel
  • About Us
    • Our Story
    • Our Founder
  • Meet Our Admin
    • Chief Editors
    • Editors
    • Poetry Editors
    • Advertising Team
    • Recruiting Team
  • Testimonials
  • Apply
  • Login

logo

Coffee House Writers

  • Home
  • Article Categories
    • Creativity
    • Culture
    • Design
    • Family
    • Fashion
    • Fiction
    • Food
    • Environment
    • Health
    • Home
    • Lifestyle
    • Memories
    • Nonfiction
    • Poetry
    • Politics
    • Relationships
    • Sports
    • Style
    • Technology
    • Travel
  • About Us
    • Our Story
    • Our Founder
  • Meet Our Admin
    • Chief Editors
    • Editors
    • Poetry Editors
    • Advertising Team
    • Recruiting Team
  • Testimonials
  • Apply
  • Login
  • I’ll Never Live Up to the Call

  • Skinchangers Chapter 2.2

  • Behind Your Mirror

  • A Gap In Time – 1

  • Saying Goodbye to NCIS: Los Angeles After 14 Years

  • Love’s Cut

  • A New York Summer

  • Welcome to Hell: How Can I Help You?

  • Paradise Falls: Chapter 1

  • Cloaked Miracles, Part 3

  • Becoming a Mother

  • A New Home

  • Unlock Your Hidden Potential: How to Tackle an Extraordinary Challenge with Ease

  • Appreciate Your Talent

  • Writing With ADHD: How Hard Could it be?

  • Southern Ways – Part 1

  • Skinchangers Chapter 2.1

  • The Book

  • The Familiar Mask

  • The Mystery of Cash Castle: Part 14

  • Shivering Leaves

  • Calming the Chaos of the Heavy Mental Load

  • Paradise Falls: Prologue

  • May Flowers

  • New Diagnosis, Same Person

  • Pierce

  • The Deadline

  • Cloaked Miracles, Part 2

  • Ma Millie-7

  • A Road Not Taken

LifestyleCreativityRelationshipsEnvironmentFictionHomeCulture
Home›Lifestyle›Don’t Shoot The Squirrels!

Don’t Shoot The Squirrels!

By Allorianna Matsourani
April 27, 2020
2271
2
Share:

I learned early on there ain’t no gettin’ rid of the squirrels ‘round here.

The damned critters run back and forth across my roof all day, chew my wood siding, nest in my attic, and steal peppers and tomatoes out of my garden. They’re annoying as hell, but I don’t want to wipe ‘em out. Above all else, they’re living creatures. Plus, they scare the shit outta me.

I live in Prairie Station, Texas, a small town about 80 miles west of Houston and 80 miles east of San Antonio. A lot of folks pass by us on Interstate 10, but they rarely stop. Probably too rural for ‘em. Now and then someone does stop. Maybe for gas from the Quik Stop or lunch at Ruthie’s Diner. They like the place so much, they stay. That’s how my neighbor, Dylan, ended up here.

Dylan was raised in the Houston suburbs, but he wasn’t the suburban type. “Them homeowner associations got too many rules,” he told me. “I had to find me some open space.” Although folks here consider our acre lots at the end of Main Street to be “in town,” they’re country enough for Dylan. He bought the old Garcia place next to mine and moved in just after Thanksgiving. We both got tons of trees in our yards. Big ol’ oaks, elms, and sycamores. Problem is, lots of trees bring lots of squirrels. And I mean a shitload of ‘em.

We ain’t got written rules or owner associations here in Prairie Station. But we do aim to be good neighbors. One afternoon, Dylan was running his lawnmower. It was early spring and Texas hot—eighty-eight degrees, full-on sun, and steam-bath humid. My wife Rosie made a pitcher of hard lemonade, and I waved him over to join us.

“Real scorcher today,” I commented as I handed him a tall glass with lots of ice.

“Yeah. The squirrels’ll be breedin’ soon,” he replied as he wiped the sweat off his face. “Those varmints drive me crazy. I seen ‘bout five or six scamperin’ in the yard since I been mowin’.”

“I’m with ya,” I said. “They’re a bother to us, too.”

“I’ll take care of ‘em for ya.”

I wondered how Dylan was gonna “take care” of ‘em and decided I better throw him off that track. Can’t do much about the squirrels here. I took a big swallow of Rosie’s lemonade. “Thanks,” I replied, “but I got it covered. I’m getting me a cat to chase ‘em off.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow and gulped his drink. “That’s one plan.”

I shoulda told him then how things work here in Prairie Station, but I didn’t. Then a week later, Dylan was shooting targets in his back yard. When he took a break, I hightailed it on over.

“Hey, Dylan, whatcha shootin’?”

“Air rifle for hunting small game. Check it out. Shoots .177-caliber pellets at 1,200 feet per second. Uses a 10-shot magazine.”

I’m not the kinda guy that keeps guns, but I figured I’d be polite. “Sweet. What’re ya huntin’?”

“Squirrels.” He pointed his air rifle at another target and pulled the trigger. “Their numbers need thinnin’ out.”

“Yeah, uh… we don’t shoot squirrels here. We let ‘em be.”

“You trap ‘em?”

“Nah. Nothin’ good comes from huntin’ or trappin’ ‘em.”

“I don’t get it. Squirrel season’s year-round in this county, with no bag limit.”

“It ain’t Texas Parks and Wildlife we worry about.”

Dylan scratched his beard. “Then what the hell you talkin’ about? Why shouldn’t I dispose of these pesky bastards? ‘Specially if I’m huntin’ ‘em in my own yard?”

“They’re hard to get rid of, Dylan. I’m tellin’ ya now.”

He eyed me for a moment, grunted, and reloaded his rifle. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

It was real early the next morning, around six o’clock, when I heard several loud cracks. I knew it was Dylan firing his air rifle. I rolled over in the bed and nudged Rosie, who was lying beside me.

“You hear that, hon?” I whispered. “I bet Dylan’s shootin’ at them squirrels.”

“If he is, there’ll be hell to pay today,” she mumbled as she pulled the blanket over her head. “I’m stayin’ inside.”

I got up and looked out the bedroom window. Sure enough, Dylan was aiming his rifle at squirrels and taking shots. I opened the window and yelled at him while he reloaded. “Dylan, I told ya. Don’t shoot at the damned squirrels. Ain’t worth it.” But he didn’t listen. Gave me a quick nod and kept firing.

I made a pot of coffee, poured myself a cup, and parked myself at the table next to the kitchen window, which gave me a clear view of Dylan’s property. A few minutes later, Rosie came along and sat with me. We both watched and waited. We knew what was coming.

Three squirrels perched in Dylan’s tree branches were screeching and barking alarm calls. Dylan reloaded his air rifle. He took a shot and nearly hit one squirrel, which fell out of the tree and laid on the ground for a few seconds before it scooted away. Two minutes later, six or seven squirrels scampered into his yard. They darted around the trees, also sounding their alarm cries. Dylan aimed his rifle and fired, pausing after every shot to cock the rifle. He discharged all ten shots in the magazine but didn’t hit any of ‘em. As he reloaded again, about twenty more squirrels scuttled into the yard. They dashed up tree trunks and jumped from tree to tree. Soon, even more of the critters rushed onto his property. About two dozen or so.

Those squirrels kept a-comin’. A large group of ‘em bunched up in the street in front of our houses, then scurried into his yard. Lord help me, it was like an infestation of Texas-size roaches. From where Rosie and I sat, we could see Dylan’s eyes widen and his jaw drop open. Then, like a crazy man, he spun around in a complete circle, firing pellets willy nilly. When he stopped to reload, the damned things rushed him. Squirrels in the grass climbed up his legs, and the ones in the trees jumped down on his head and shoulders.

Still gripping that rifle, Dylan frantically waved his arms, trying to swat them squirrels away, but he lost his balance and fell. The dumb-ass didn’t have a chance after that. Those damned squirrels swarmed his body until his legs, torso, and back were covered with their furry little grey bodies. All we could see was his outstretched hands and that ol’ ball cap on top of his head. As he crawled toward his house, Rosie and I could hear him screaming. He made it to the steps and dragged himself up to the front door, slapping at the little bastards that still clung to his clothes. Although he was all scratched up and bloody, somehow Dylan managed to push the door open and limp inside.

“Should we call animal control?” Rosie asked as she sipped her coffee.

“Nah, they’ll leave soon,” I answered as I got up to make toast. “He knows better now.”

TagsCoffee House WritersfictionTexas. small townsquirrelsriflefriendshipLifeshort storywritingcreativitycreative writingculturefantasyGunshunting
Previous Article

The Light Across the Room

Next Article

Quarantine In My Mind

0
Shares
  • 0
  • +
  • 0
  • 0
  • 0
  • 0

Allorianna Matsourani

Allorianna Matsourani grew up on the East Coast of the United States near Annapolis, Maryland, and has been a writer at heart since she wrote her first fantasy fiction short story at age 12. She attended journalism school at the University of Maryland and directed her writing efforts toward nonfiction articles for newspapers and magazines. Most recently Allorianna was the editor of a business-to-business magazine for the oil and gas industry. An avid reader and fan of science fiction, fantasy, and mystery novels, Allorianna has spent the past several years refocusing her writing on fiction.

Related articles More from author

  • spa
    CultureCreativityRelationshipsFictionEntertainment

    Orion’s Embrace – Part 4

    April 1, 2019
    By Amber Jenkins
  • An hour glass to indicate the passing of time.
    CultureCreativityFictionHistoryPolitics

    The Storm of an American Gridlock

    May 30, 2022
    By Rachel Du Mont-Greenlee
  • A Beautiful Enigma
    CreativityRelationshipsPoetryEntertainmentRomance

    A Beautiful Enigma

    April 25, 2022
    By Scarlett Faye
  • Light
    CreativityFamilyRelationshipsPoetryMemoriesHomeLifestyleHealth

    Light

    November 24, 2020
    By B.R.Henry
  • HealthFamilyRelationshipsFictionHome

    Learning To Cope: Meet Gertie

    February 11, 2019
    By Sylvia Stein
  • mirror
    LifestyleFantasyMysteryCreativityFiction

    The Finding: Part One

    August 2, 2021
    By Brooke_Smith93

2 comments

  1. Pat Brown 27 April, 2020 at 11:21 Reply

    Cute. Lol.

  2. Kory 27 April, 2020 at 12:13 Reply

    What a fun and humorous story!

Leave a reply Cancel reply

You may be interested

  • Late 1950s picture of John&Rita from personal album
    NonfictionFamilyMemories

    Ma Millie-4

  • LifestyleEnvironmentCreativityFamilyPoetry

    Defeated

  • Northern Lights over Lake McDonald
    CreativityPoetryMemoriesHomeEnvironmentTravel

    The Northern Lights

Timeline

  • May 29, 2023

    I’ll Never Live Up to the Call

  • May 29, 2023

    Skinchangers Chapter 2.2

  • May 29, 2023

    Behind Your Mirror

  • May 29, 2023

    A Gap In Time – 1

  • May 29, 2023

    Saying Goodbye to NCIS: Los Angeles After 14 Years

Latest Comments

  • Ivor Steven
    on
    June 1, 2023
    A wonderfully thought provoking poem Ynes … "You may never know what results of your actions, ...

    I’ll Never Live Up to the Call

  • Behind Your Mirror, Is in this weeks Coffee House Magazine – Ivor.Plumber/Poet
    on
    May 29, 2023
    […] Hello dear readers and followers, I am now back writing for “Coffee House Writers” magazine, ...

    Behind Your Mirror

  • Creative Nonfiction Types and Writing Tips - E. M. Sherwood Foster
    on
    May 27, 2023
    […] My serial publication The North Wind at Coffee House Writers! Part 1 is here. […]

    The North Wind – Part 1

  • Reblog: Why You Need Realistic Writing Expectations- Andrea Lundgren - E. M. Sherwood Foster
    on
    May 24, 2023
    […] My serial publication The North Wind at Coffee House Writers! Part 1 is here. […]

    The North Wind – Part 1

  • How to Write Dual Timelines - E. M. Sherwood Foster
    on
    May 22, 2023
    […] My serial publication The North Wind at Coffee House Writers! Part 1 is here. […]

    The North Wind – Part 1

Find us on Facebook

About us

  • coffeehousewriters3@gmail.com

Follow us

© Copyright 2018-2023 Coffee House Writers. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s administrator and owner is strictly prohibited.