I’m not nuts… squirrels are coming for us

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 03/04/2019 (2673 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I had hoped to avoid writing another hard-hitting squirrel-related column until the snow in my backyard had vanished, but I can see now that I was a fool.

It is a scientific fact that squirrels are not about to let a few feet of early-spring snow get in the way of their ultimate goal — world domination.

You probably think I am kidding around in a light-hearted manner, but that is only because (a) you are an idiot; and (b) you have a real job that prevents you from frittering away hours at a time Googling the word “squirrel.”

As a public service, whenever I sit down at the home computer to write another informative and entertaining newspaper column, I always devote at least 50 per cent of my time to staring out the dining-room window in case the squirrels in my backyard are doing something suspicious.

For the record, my backyard has long been home to a pack of smallish red squirrels who scamper about and engage in comical hijinks for my amusement.

Lately, however, random grey squirrels, which are about the size of a standard grapefruit, have been staging surprise attacks on my backyard, much to the outrage of the red squirrels, which are roughly the size of a standard tangerine.

When this happens, two of the smaller red squirrels will launch into hyper-alert and chase the grey intruder up and down trees, around bushes and shrubs, in and out of the snow-covered garden, and along the top of our fence until the larger invader has fled to some other house on the street.

I will take a brief moment here to point out that I am not the only person in this city fascinated by the goings on in the squirrel community. Last week, I sat down for a chat with James Favel, executive director of Winnipeg’s famous Bear Clan Patrol, and he admitted to spending a fair bit of time eyeballing the squirrels in his yard.

“My yard has about 60 trees and it’s become kind of a haven for red and grey squirrels,” James told me over cheeseburgers. “They’re a lot of fun to watch.”

Yes, they are a lot of fun to watch, but the important thing to remember is that squirrels — and I am talking about extremist squirrels here — are clearly plotting the imminent downfall of mankind.

In recent years, I have written dozens of groundbreaking columns chronicling the fact that squirrels pose a far greater hazard to our power grid than human terrorists do.

Consider this: terrorists have been blamed for zero recent power outages, whereas a rogue squirrel has been blamed for causing a March 21 blackout in Orangeville, Ont., that left roughly 3,000 people without electricity for… OK, it was only for two minutes, but that’s not the point.

The point is this was only the latest squirrel-related blackout, and if you happened to be be watching a movie, perhaps Planet of the Apes, you might have missed the dramatic part where you learn (spoiler alert) THEY WERE ON EARTH THE ENTIRE TIME!

I am sorry if the squirrels and I have ruined the movie for you, but this is a serious issue. If you think I’m joking, take a moment to check out Cyber Squirrel 1, a website featuring a database of incidents wherein squirrels and other cute creatures have knocked out the power grid.

The website features an official-looking map chronicling blackouts around the world dating to 1987, along with links to stories about the incidents.

For the record, it lists 1,252 squirrel-related outages, 639 caused by birds, 117 involving snakes, 115 where raccoons were the culprits, 13 featuring (wait for it) jellyfish and only three in which humans took the blame, including one involving a Hannah Montana balloon.

If it were only the power grid at risk, maybe I would not be quite so alarmed, but the grim reality is that squirrels have begun to diversify their attacks to include human infrastructure, and (gasp!) humans themselves.

According to the California Highway Patrol — and they rarely make stuff up — squirrels are to blame for a giant sinkhole that closed a stretch of highway last month in Riverside County.

What happened was a gaggle of ground squirrels burrowed a tunnel under the road, creating a huge den that filled with rainwater. “With all the winter rains, water began to flow into the squirrel den and, in time, out the other side of the road. Enough dirt was eventually washed away, causing a cavern to be created under the eastbound lane,” according to the highway patrol. “Bad squirrel.”

Bad squirrel, indeed. But not nearly as bad as the squirrel featured in a Miami Herald news report last month that appeared under this alarming headline: “Florida man attacked by ‘crazy squirrel’ gone nuts.”

What happened was a squirrel, which had apparently been raised by a neighbourhood family, went bad and, without provocation, attacked and bit a man named Robby Armstrong on the elbow and scratched his arm.

“Frickin squirrel attacked me,” is what Armstrong posted on his Facebook page after the attack, which was recorded on his security camera. “I chased him around and shot him with a BB gun about 10 times but he is still alive so be on the lookout for a crazy squirrel.”

If you do not find this alarming, then you are not what we crusading journalists like to call “normal.” Clearly, the hostilities have reached a point wherein these bushy-tailed bandits have abandoned the power grid and are openly attacking innocent roads and people who own both Facebook pages and BB guns.

I’m starting to think I’m nuts, which means I will probably be the next one they attack.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca