What would the ethical thing be?  Confront him?  He’s the sort who won’t put a shrimp in his mouth but will crush a baby snail between thumb and forefinger.  I’ve seen him running at a squirrel with a rake trying to chase it off because he’s afraid it’s going to eat his precious apples; this in August when the apples don’t ripen for 2 more months.  He doesn’t know for sure the squirrels (there are apparently at least 2) will eat the apples. Well, maybe he does know for sure, but still.  He found walnut trees sprouting in the potted plants and in all the terraces.  Is that so bad?  The squirrels are energetic little entrepeneurs.  That’s what made America great.

Another example: driving on Ocean Beach Highway he is happy to see an area cordoned off as a plover nesting ground but, minutes later he’s thinking of ways to torture the gophers that continue tunneling a clients’ garden. The roots of the coprosma and the astelia are eaten.  Goners.  Three measly plants. Gopher mounds dot the gravel which is sharp and in some places at least 8 inches deep.  They must have steel-plated schnozzes. You’d think he’d find something heroic in that.

It’s not just me; others are exasperated.  C’mon, a friend said, a mussel is not exactly a sentient creature.  I think she felt as though she has to apologize for making bouillabaisse.   I held my tongue, didn’t add my 2 cents. I’d prefer to ignore his hypocrisy entirely if I didn’t see him first thing every morning in the mirror.



  1. Great O. Henry closer. Yeah, the mirror thing is always a lesson in humility. Thanks for the stories. Keep them coming.

  2. Somehow I knew that was coming. . . .

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s