The boys of Norwood are squirrel hunting. In my backyard. This explains the sticks and rocks that have mysteriously appeared on my garage roof in the past few weeks.
This evening, a flash of white caught my eye as I passed our backyard-facing windows. Young Jack Casey was building a trap. Well, not really a trap, he explained. He had set some bird seed in a small fragment of flower pot, directly beneath a very large and heavy board held up by a stick. A rope was tied to the stick. You do the math.
As we discussed the efficacy of this engine, Jack lit upon a new topic.
"Do lots of people get bitten by squirrels?"
"I don't know if lots do, but some do."
"Have you ever been bitten by a squirrel?"
"No, but I stay away from them. "
"Do people ever touch squirrels?"
"I'm sure they do. Jon Hey does," I noted, referring to our neighbor who is notorious for hand-feeding his squirrels, and, occasionally, inviting them into his house. "But I don't. They're germy."
"So is Jon Hey germy?"
"If he touches squirrels, I guess he is."
"So I shouldn't touch Jon Hey?"
"In general, no."
Thus from the mouth of babes.
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