Yes, folks, I remember I vowed to tell no more sad gardening tales. But I got over the shock and awe that was in the wake of Buster a long time ago. Buster, my mysterious garden marauder, eater of vines and stems, sampler of select veggies, but never eggplants. Buster, for whom I'd grown to, er, feel affection akin to the kind I feel for my dog when she's been very, very naughty. Buster, whose persona in my mind was a wily, mischievous raccoon.
Newsflash -- Buster's a chipmunk! I snapped a photo of him as he was evading me this evening. It's a bad photo, you can just see his little striped body tapering to his tail on the right. His darling little face, with it's huge liquid eyes, is hidden behind the thick rung of my garden fence in this photo. Now that I know my garden thief is the star of countless Disney classics, his adorability, in my mind, increases exponentially. I fancy myself to be a bit like Snow White, actually.
Savvy little Buster has surely found the sweetest burrow in the acre we call ours. Under the wooden frame of my garden plot, and against the brick wall of our house, within the iron garden fence, Buster need only worry about snakes, as he would in any other burrow.
This is the mouth of Buster's burrow, into which he has attempted to stuff a fist-sized green tomato, bless his heart. This tomato was hanging next to one I harvested yesterday. Eat up, cute little booger!
The dilemma of what to do with Buster and his burrow when it comes time to clean up and sow my winter crops is one I'd rather not address right now. In the words of Scarlet O'Hara,
"I won't think about that today, I'll think about it tomorrow,"
to which I can imagine Buster answering, (also quoting Scarlet)
"As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again!"
Okay, sweetie, just snuggle on in . Want a blankie? (Quoting nobody here -- that's just me.)