True, the title of this post lacks the sense of poetic meter or world-weary advice of the song made famous by Waylon and Willie, but this is what popped into my head after seeing the damage wrought by unknown members of the family Sciuridae in recent days. This is perhaps the price I pay for failing to invest in some of those corn cob treats that some folks use to bribe squirrels from attacking their landscaping or bird feeders.
I must admit that my first thought upon seeing the desecrated pumpkins was that my youngest son was somehow involved. This is the kid whose eyes always lit up with a mischievous glow at the mere mention of the name of the band The Smashing Pumpkins, and I immediately considered him a prime suspect in the crime.
However, several years and several thousand dollars worth of orthodontic services ruled him out as a person with the necessary maxillary central incisors, and I later witnessed the true culprits cavorting around in the vicinity of the defiled gourds.
The only good news is that I do not have to worry about carving these specimens of Cucurbita pepo. Perhaps I can pass them off as some form of avant-garde holiday decoration.