There’s a lot of political talk these days about welfare and being “on the dole.” Well, I have a welfare mother at my door every single day. She’s bold enough to walk right up to the patio door, even interrupting Thanksgiving dinner by begging from my family and friends. She’s got that sad look down pat, and lately she’s been bringing her two kids along as props. I’ve basically been guilted into feeding them daily—and yes, I even set up a special table just for them.
When we first moved into our house, I was thrilled by all the wildlife around Laramie. Birds, rabbits, deer, and all sorts of little critters came by to visit. One in particular caught my attention—a squirrel I named Rocky. Not the most original name, but it fit. Rocky and I developed a bit of a relationship. I could hand-feed her, and she’d even perch on the patio table while I sat outside.
At first, I thought we were bonding. Turns out, she was motivated entirely by food. To make it easier, I built her a little picnic table with a food holder. I’d feed her unsalted almonds, and over time, she became pretty dependent on my handouts. Now, if I’m not outside on schedule, she marches up to the sliding glass door, stares me down, and even taps her foot impatiently.
Then came the surprise twist. All this time, I’d been calling Rocky “him.” Well, this summer, Rocky brought her babies along—and I realized Rocky was a she. I felt a little guilty for mislabeling her, so now I make sure to get her gender right. These days, all three of them line up at the door, tapping their tiny feet, waiting for food.
Rocky and her family have pretty much integrated themselves into ours. She plays with our dog, Cyber, and chatters at Edgar Allen Crow, who hangs around the yard. My backyard has become its own little menagerie, and honestly, I love it. This is what happens when you retire and finally stop to smell the roses. I’d much rather be the “crazy guy with all the animals” than the grumpy neighbor yelling at kids to get off his lawn. Don’t get me wrong – I still yell at the rabbits to get off the grass—but everyone else is welcome.
Like most politics, things change when it’s in your own backyard. I’ve learned to have a little more compassion. I can live with a welfare mother and her freeloading family out back. I just tell guests, “Don’t make eye contact with them, and you’ll be fine.”