There’s this old grumpy guy up on the mountainside about two miles from my house. He has a garden that gets eaten up by squirrels each summer. He traps them and brings them down the mountain and drops them off next to my driveway. I don’t mean a couple of squirrels. I mean a whole army of squirrels. They head to our garden like a well-disciplined platoon to feast on the lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli and onions we carefully watered and weeded for months.
It’s not like we don’t have squirrels of our own, but the old man’s squirrels are special. I can pick them out. They have been trained to leave no surviving vegetables. Our home-grown squirrels are lazier and provide chewed leftovers for us to nurse and enjoy.
The old grumpy guy has no idea his drop spot is the entry to my driveway. It’s quiet and tree lined. But is that any excuse for the harm that has been perpetrated?
Instead of getting revenge, I choose to be the diplomat and go up the mountainside to explain the circumstances.
It turns out the guy is neither old nor grumpy. I leave with the best tomatoes and broccoli I’ve ever tasted.