My yard is the site of frequent orgies.
The participants used to be more discrete, confining their liaisons to the backyard, staying behind the bushes. Lately, I feel like it’s been getting a bit out of control.
Wild sex. All day, every day. Behind the bushes. In the bushes. In front of the bushes. In the front yard. Yesterday I opened the door to get the paper and they were doing it right on the front porch.
Have these squirrels no dignity?
I understand what it’s like when reason gives way to passion, but last week a pair of swinging squirrels fell out of a tree (the squirrel equivalent of the mile-high club? No, that’s my roof) and very nearly fell on my neighbor. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Nonplussed, the little beasts chased one another into the road and picked up right where they left off. I have the horniest squirrels in the world.
My yard is teeming with them, a squirrels swinger’s club with an open admissions policy. At any given time some object in the yard is shaking and emitting harsh shrieks and squeals.
It’s completely insane, and it’s also becoming a little embarrassing. There are a lot of small children in the neighborhood (wait, is it something in the water? I hadn’t made the connection before).
Children like to play in our yard since we have an actual yard. And trees. Lots of trees. Trees full of rutting rodents.
“What are they doing?”
How do you explain that to a 5 year old? Play dumb?
No. That won’t work when there’s a wild threesome going on in the azaleas, the screeching and chittering is hard to ignore. Lie?
“They’re, um, playing.”
No. They aren’t buying that one. Tell the truth?
“Well kids. When a girl squirrel and a boy squirrel love each other very much…”
No. Definitely not.
“Go ask your parents.”
That always works.
It could be worse. We could have a lot of deer. Deranged, humping deer. Yes, I suppose that would be worse.