Interlopers Run Amok

It's hard for me to admit this out loud, but I feel that I must.  I've recently failed miserably at a job that I hold very near and dear to my heart.  The job:  Head of Security.  My feelings on the topic:  I'm not happy about it.

Interloper Number 1:  
The laps in security started a couple of weeks ago when I noticed that there was an influx of squirrels passing though my yard on their way to the bird feeder and peach tree in the neighbor's yard.  As I've explained in the past, the squirrels and I have a bit of an understanding.  I'm willing to tolerate their trespassing (I hurry them along by chasing after them) provided that they drop their half eaten peaches on my side of the fence (consider it a toll of sorts).  Later, after scrounging through the bushes in search of these peaches, I trade them for a cookie from Pa, Ma, or Sister.  Anyway, long story short, the squirrel paw traffic has increased, but the number of dropped peaches hasn't.

Interloper Number 2:

Henry, When He Was Small

About a week ago, I came to the realization that Henry, the stupid little bunny who usually lives in the yard next door (I bark at him daily), had decided to start nibbling the grass in my yard.  But regardless of how alarming and disturbing the concept of Henry suddenly taking up residence in my back yard is, it is nothing compared to one additional fact.  Henry is no longer a "stupid little bunny."  He is now a "stupid massively large bunny."  I kid you not, he is huge!  He's even starting to rival in size most of the small dogs I know.  Mercifully, as of right now, he's obviously still frightened of me (he still runs away when he sees me), but I fear that his brazen trespassing and obvious steroid use (how else can one account for his sudden and massive increase in size) could signify that the tables might change if something isn't done soon to rectify the situation.

Interloper Number 3:
Last weekend, Pa went into the garage to retrieve his car washing bucket and was surprised to find that a baby lizard had taken up residence in the bottom of the bright orange bin.  He was shocked because he had no idea how the lizard got into the bucket.  I was shocked because of how far onto my property the lizard had managed to travel despite the hours I've put into chasing his like away.

Interloper Number 4:  
And finally, last week, I received a final blow to my pride.  I discovered that there was a raccoon living in my backyard tree.  I was flabbergasted.  How could a raccoon (or heaven forbid, a family of raccoons) take up residence in my tree?  Now, I've never actually seen the raccoon; I've only smelled him.  Even so, when I get a whiff of him, I don't hesitate to put my front paws up on the tree as high as I can reach and bark hysterically into the darkness.  In fact, the very first night I smelled him, I started barking so ferociously up the tree that the neighbors in back came out to see what was going on.  Pa tried for a good long time to convince me to come in (as did Sister), but I wouldn't have it.  I was too intent on barking at that raccoon.  Eventually, Sister got my leash and Pa walked me back inside the house, but I didn't forget.  Every night since, when I've gone out for my last business trip, I've made a mad dash for that tree (unless Pa thinks ahead and takes me out on my leash).

So there you have it, my great failure.  But I'm not admitting defeat.  Vigilance.  That's what's in order right now.  Vigilance and resourcefulness.  I'm hopeful that, with a combination of stepped up perimeter patrols and barking fits, I'll be able to shore up my borders within the next couple of days, push all the interlopers out, and regain my integrity as Head of Security.

Wish me luck!