War of the Tulips

Europe dragged the North American colonies into three different wars in the 1700's - King William's War, Queen Anne's War, and King George's war. French colonies were pitted against British colonies were pitted against Spanish colonies in battles that had nothing at all to do with the colonies and everything to do with differences between the protectorates across the ocean.

Three wars. And all for nothing. For all the fighting, all the loss of life, all the drama, nothing was ever decided by any of the wars that made a lick of difference.

I think I may be embarking on such a war, a futile fight against an enemy who hides in trees, blends in with its surroundings, and refuses to fight in the proper fashion.
The War of the Tulips (aka the War for Squirrelish Domination)

It's early in the year, but the fight is on. A neat row of tulips grows along my fence. I wait each day to see them open in their vermillion brilliance. Today should have been the day for the first ones to burst forth with shouts of spring.

Alas, this morning I found the first of my precious tulips decapitated. Headless, its body drooped to one side. It has lost the will to live. This afternoon, 2 more flowers met their dreaded fate. And this evening, another 5. When will the carnage stop?

Desparate, I pluck 4 flowers prematurely, whispering apologies for my violence. But they are My flowers. They live at My pleasure. Or so I think. Inside, I prop them in a vase and mourn their fallen comrades.

I know this battle won't be the last. Next will come peas and lettuce (which suffer at the hands of the squirrels great garden ally, the slug), tomatoes, carrots and, finally, the heartwrenching stripping of the walnut trees.

I fear the battle endeth e'en before it's well begun.