It’s really more about being anti-squirrel than pro-gun. I was all right with the hordes of squirrels that besiege my neighborhood, dropping batches of babies and half-eaten nuts. In fact, I used to laugh with bemusement at folks who grumbled that they are rodents, nothing more than rats with bushy tails. In some ways they’re kind a cute, scampering across tree limbs and zigzagging across the roads.
Then a pregnant squirrel and her soon-to-be scurry took up residence in my attic. I used diplomacy. I used repellents. I used traps. I used poisons. The lady at the Tractor Supply in Brunswick listened to my long tale of woe and said, straight-faced, “I’d use a .22 with rat shot.” A noted local squirrel expert examined my attic and shrugged his shoulders. “They’ll make a mess if you don’t get them out.”
It took two years, but I got them out. I’m not revealing my method. Now I’m chasing them from the perimeter.
Hand me an NRA application.