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Me And The Munk

June 18, 2022

“Son of a bitch! He fooled me again!”

This refrain has been heard around our house for a couple of years now. As I gaze out my kitchen window, my nemesis has once again eluded me and hopped happily into the waiting forest. Again I think aloud, “I have lost another battle of wits to a rodent with a brain the size of a dime.”

My nemesis? A simple chipmunk who frequents our yard way too often. He depletes the bird seed that I put out for more deserving creatures: the cardinals, wrens and their many friends. He is one crafty little creature. He can shinny up a steel shepherd’s hook, grab his booty and then disappear in an instant.

My wife says, “Make him walk the plank!” She is referring to the old chipmunk dispatching trick of placing a small baited stick over a pail of water. But I really don’t want to drown the little fellow. I just want him to go away and leave me and the birds alone. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, it is!

Let me digress a bit. Many years ago, when we lived in Oregon, my mortal enemies were the 40 plus raccoons that regularly patrolled our property. They would stop at nothing to drive me over the edge. They would try to destroy the wooden shingles on our home’s roof, they would wake us at night as they fought with each other and they did immense damage to our pond and landscaping. Frequently our neighbors would see me out in my underwear at three in the morning as I tried to get the creatures to leave by spraying the hose on them. They just laughed (the neighbors and the raccoons). I would chase them as they dove under our deck. Again, I didn’t want to do them any real harm so I tried a sling shot loaded with chick peas. My masked enemies thought that was just great. As I pelted them in the ass, they would just turn, eat the garbanzo bean and sit up begging for more. I was always vanquished. I never won a single round. Finally, I just moved to Italy. There are no raccoons there.

Returning to the striped little demons that now vex me, I must say that once again I have been outsmarted at every turn and by a mere member of the Rodentia order at that! I tried spraying a little WD-40 on the shepherd’s hooks that hold the bird feeders. The amusement of watching the chipmunk slide back down after his initial assault was short lived. Apparently, most use four-paw drive technology and can go anywhere. Red pepper doesn’t dissuade them either. I have tried to simply scare them by clapping at them loudly. They seem to clap back as though they are applauding my comedy. They genuinely love the sport in all of this and I do not.

Another day has ended and I humbly thank God as I know that chipmunks, like me, must sleep. Tomorrow is another day and another battle will be enjoined. Who will be the victor? I’m guessing that it will again be Mr. Munk and his minions and that I will hear a faint murmur from my back yard: Veni, Vidi, et torquentur.

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Read author Allen E. Rizzi’s latest books available at

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  1. Chip and Dale was really a documentary, not a Saturday cartoon.😆 They torment me, too, but worse are the rock squirrels. They are so destructive!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your wife is correct. Swimming lessons.

    Liked by 1 person

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