Molting Turkeys and Flying Squirrels

There has been knitting...poor quality knitting in most cases, but knitting none-the-less. I told you that I was unable to knit a simple sock at Knit Night. Getaloada the turkey dish cloth I knit on Tuesday Dish Cloth Night:

Yes there is a glaring error in the turkey's butt area. Looks like his tail is molting. Since it's a dishcloth and it's just for me, I'm not too concerned. And good news! I have enough of the God-awful circus peanut pink/orange cotton to make another one! Try try again...practice makes perfect and all that. And I kind of like the pattern with the K2togs and YO's in the tail.

Here's one that actually went right! It's my first Conner Cap:

It was fun to knit and I have enough yarn in the correct colors to make a couple more. It only takes an evening or so to whip one up. It's Sharlene Schurch's Straight Stitch Watch hat pattern with a ribbed cuff from her 'Hat's On' book.

And here is a gratuitous Bentley shot....
Poor guy has been having a rough time of it. He's been anxiously watching the 3-mile Island Mutant Squirrels that live in the yard, since we moved in. I swear they go ten pounds a piece. Wicked hefty, Deah. They are the largest, most brazen squirrels I've ever seen. Anyway, lately they have been coming right up to the patio door and provoking him with evil intent. It's pretty unnerving really. He will be minding his business, not even interested and one will come and put his nose right on the glass, look in and squeak. Sometimes they do it in pairs. He runs over and looks at them, with only the thin sheet of glass between them, and then they do that mutant squirrel dance. You know the one with the kind of Pepe-Le-Pew hopping up and down on four stiff legs at once, shaking their tails and scolding loudly. I don't know if it's the fancy dance moves or the chatter, or both, but it sets off poor Ben somethin' awful. He starts bucking and spinning like a mechanical bull, drooling and whining. I just know I'm going to come home one day to a perfect Bentley-shaped hole in the sliding glass door. I feel bad for him because they are so obviously making a fool of him on purpose. You can tell because once he starts in on one of his fits, they grab their little tummies and double over with squirrely laughter, giving each other little rodent high fives. Then they scurry off only to to send another comrade or two back over a few minutes later, after he's calmed down a little, to do it all again. Quick witted as always, Ben treats every volley as if it were the first, a new and novel experience to get all wound up over.

I'm not quite sure what to do about them. My grandmother Grace has a quick solution for the pesky pipsqueaks that involved a .22 as I recall, but that's not my style. I'm more the non-violent wiley type. My initial though is pegging them with a squirt gun filled with vinegar or ammonia water a couple of times or launching them back towards the trees with a badminton racket-kinda 'Whack A Mole' like. My second thought is to just let Ben out. He's too inept to catch them though and I'm afraid they'll escalate their antics to name calling and cussin'. I'll think on it a bit. I'm sure the perfect solution is in here somewhere, I just have to rummage a bit more. (Wanders off mumbling...'Now where did I leave that badminton racket...')