Today I’m going to tell you about the time I caught a chipmunk in a fishing net.
When I was in high school, I kept a bird feeder in the backyard. It was one of those simple, glass-sided houses you see so often. It hung from a shepherd’s hook next to our sliding glass door. It was about 4 feet off the ground, but the chipmunk liked to shimmy up the pole and sit inside the glass bird-feeder, greedily reveling in his plunder like a dragon on a treasure hoard.
The birds would angrily squawk at the chipmunk, too afraid to land but too irritated not to protest. We tried greasing the pole, placing double-sided tape on it, and even placing a sprinkler next to the feeder. Nothing seemed to deter the chipmunk, and he got fatter every day.
Then, one day my brother, sister, and I decided that we were going to catch the chipmunk. I had them bang on the sliding glass door repeatedly, slobbering with feigned hunger. The chipmunk watched them, too shocked to move. I snuck out the kitchen door, fishing net in hand.
As my sister gave an especially convincing wail of hunger, I slapped the side of the bird feeder with my left hand, extending the net with my other hand. In an effortless movement, the chipmunk flowed upward out of the bird feeder and fell to land directly in the net. He thrashed around in the net, freedom within his grasp yet eluding his reach. Eventually he flopped in such a manner that he flopped right out of the net.
I don’t think he ever came back after that.