Now, we hear of Quentin Letts and his issues with squirrels:
Our seven-year-old daughter, Honor, learned about squirrels the sharp way last month. She spotted a grey squirrel in a nearby garden.Note that, despite Daddy's antipathy towards the 'vicious tree rats', he didn't think to warn her that this was a wild animal...
Honor was on her way to see her little friend, Mia, at the time and was in one of those chirrupy, hello-clouds-hello-trees sort of moods. Hello squirrel.
She bent down to stroke the thing.
It bit her. With a hiss and a swipe of claw and a baring of fang, the squirrel had a go at Honor and drew blood from her right thumb.Oh, wow! You're Father of the Year, for sure!
Cue waterworks and wailing and, thank goodness, a shattering of our child's Disneyfied notions of an anthropomorphised animal kingdom where every little furry thing has a name and a benign character.
I suppose little Honor is pretty lucky you didn't take the same 'wait and see' approach to bleach kept in lemonade bottles and unsecured electrical sockets, or she might not have reached the tender age of seven in the first place...