Last night Paul called me to talk about Clara and how our day was. After I told him about how we drove all over tarnation to find my grandparents' house in Arlington (the one they had lived at when my parents got married and where my grandpa Alfred William Harvey Casebolt passed away at when I was 7). I think Clara got a little bit carsick but that maybe it was just bad spit-up and we only found 1504 Cherokee Lane thanks to my iPhone since the GPS decided to go on the fritz.
Paul had sent me photos earlier in the day of our garden which looks totally different from the seedlings I left behind 3 weeks ago.
I mentioned how great everything is looking and he started telling me about how he had been weeding and noticed that there was a ripe strawberry that had fallen off the plant and been half eaten. This was concerning because we already lost two entire cilantro plants to the ravenous squirrels that live high up in our palm tree.
"I went back in the house and watched," Paul told me, "and sure enough, after about five minutes a squirrel came down the fence and made his way toward the strawberries."
Paul shooed the squirrel away but it didn't go far. Five minutes later the squirrel was back.
"Don't worry Amy," Paul boasted masculinely, "I am taking care of it."
I grimaced, hoping that he was just getting mesh cages to cover the strawberries or something.
"I went out and bought a pellet gun!" my knightly husband proudly announced. "I got a really great deal on it too!"
Apparently Paul takes protecting his castle and property very seriously. Take that you vicious, thieving squirrels.