Of Course You know, This Means War

When we plant those tiny tomato seeds in the cold winter, we anticipate pulling those red, ripe tomatoes to make fresh salsa, putting up tomato sauce, making caprese salad, or simply cutting some up with banana peppers and jalapenos as an appetizer.

A Nice appetizer plate of homegrown goodness

You spot a big bodacious heirloom tomato, bulging with flavor and beautiful green shoulders and red fruit.  You reach out and grab it and give it a twist and a pull off of the vine.

Suddenly, you feel something is not quite right.  Your hand is moist and sticky. You flip the huge tomato over to find...

Durned Squirrels!!

Just yesterday that big beautiful tomato caught my eye and I thought, "Tomorrow, I'm gonna pick you!"  No doubt, at the very same time, from the safety of his nest up in a sprawling live oak tree, a fox squirrel saw the same tomato and thought, "Tomorrow, I'm gonna pick you!"  Problem is, I work for a living.  The squirrel does not.  He stays home and pilfers the product of another man's labors.

Well, I thought, I see another tomato that is almost ripe.  I'll pick that one.

Same song, second verse.  When you flip this tomato over, you see the same damage - just not as bad.

Dad-gum squirrels!

So what do we do?  Well, although it may seem a little gross, I bring the tomatoes inside and we wash them and cut off the squirrel-eaten on pieces and we eat the pieces of tomato that the squirrels have been so generous to leave us - the leftovers, if you will.  Well, I'm not gonna take it, anymore.

Of course you know, this means war.  In the first battle, I have a two pronged attack:
1.  Beat the squirrels to the tomatoes.  I'll pick them when they are pinkish-red and let them ripen inside, safely away from those pesky critters.  We started doing this yesterday.  Hopefully they will continue to ripen to peak ripeness and taste even though they aren't out in the sunshine on the vine.

2.   My animal loving friends may take umbrage to phase 2 in my arsenal.  I bring out the arsenal.  I load up my Marlin .22 rifle with .22 Long Rifle bullets.  I don't shoot them to scare them.  I shoot to kill.  These squirrels are thieves and will pay dearly for their stealing.  Just yesterday I ran inside, grabbed my .22 and dropped a big, fat squirrel that was in the fork of a live oak tree.  He fell to the ground and I made sure that his tomato-thieving days had come to an end.  If I was closer and had delivered a fatal head-shot, we would have skinned him and put him in the freezer for a meal. Unfortunately, I was shooting at a long distance and delivered a gut shot that exited his leg.  One down.  Hundreds to go.

We decided that the bullet had torn up too much of the meat to be able to eat it. Instead, dispatching the squirrel with a head-shot, I carried the dead squirrel to the garden and buried it.  Hopefully the squirrel will feed back some nutrients into the soil and, much like the pilgrims and the Indians burying a fish in the garden, grow some great produce.

The war is on.  So far, it remains to be seen who'll win.  I'm winning the arms race. The squirrels have engaged in guerrilla warfare, and are winning in terms of stealth and surprise.  So far they have eaten more tomatoes than we have.   I don't give up easily, though.  Be afraid, squirrels.  Be very afraid.