I planted five and a half flats of impatiens in the brick planter Hub built last summer, around the huge shagbark hickory tree in the front yard.

Before I could start, I had to scoop about an inch of nutshells off the surface. Way to go, squirrels. Hide your nuts elsewhere next year.

It took me about two hours to get them planted. They are already beautiful, and when they mound out later this summer, they’ll be spectacular.

Squirrels, do NOT scamper in my flowers. Go elsewhere to do your little ritualistic dances.

And while I’m giving the wildlife a migraine-striped rant, tell Bambi not to come around with all his friends, either. I am not breaking my back and cricking my neck to lay out a salad bar for the area fauna.

Don’t you creatures speak English? Go nibble on the neighbors’ geraniums. And tell whatever creature that’s hanging out on my deck to stop lying down on top of the pansies. The butt-print is too small to be the cat’s. And whatever ate one of my blueberry bushes down to the stem and root had better watch its step. If I ever find out who did that (Bambi) there will be trouble in the forest far scarier than Man.

I really do love to watch all the animals thunder through my yard. They’re beautiful.

But when they eat my flowers, they’re no longer Disney characters; they’re mauraders. They’re piranha. They’re great white sharks.

I can hear the music in my head. Or maybe that’s just the migraine telling me to go to bed before I get REALLY stupid on here.

Too late, huh.