Buddy wrote, 'I don't like the woodchuck story.'
I winced. Yeah. I didn't think that everyone would appreciate how I defended my lettuce.
After talking with my uncle that day who said, 'You should have shot two!' I went further retelling my story in person, and after my octogenarian aunts listened to my story, they cheered.
'Good job Timmy!' I struggled, is it worse to be called Timmy or that these old ladies celebrated my permanent defense?
I also heard all sorts of stories about really old people who sat watching their gardens with a .22 rifle in hand. A cousin's husband proudly said, 'My great-great grandfather shot and killed his last woodchuck when he was 94 just a few weeks before he died.'
I get the impression that old people think of shooting woodchucks as an Olympic sport?
It gets worse.
My friend listened to my inner conflict and he laughed.
'My wife has an aunt who lived to be 98 years old. She lovingly tended a garden year after year.'
'When she was 95 kneeling down in her beloved garden to pull weeds, a raccoon approached and gave her a hard time.'
'She quietly stood up, grabbed a shovel, and cracked the raccoon over the head.'
'She dug a hole, buried the varmint and finished weeding her garden.'