Rasping. Periodic rasping.
There was no other word for it. As if a pachyderm pedicurist had opened shop next door.
Not really an annoying sound. Just regular. And persistent. Something was trying very hard to get at something.
It did not take long to find the culprit. We call our surroundings a jungle here, That is merely a high-falutin’ word for a lot of shrubs and trees. But the wildlife in our trees are not hidden very well -- as you can see.
The culprit was a squirrel. Probably, a Colima tree squirrel. Intent on having a coconut lunch.
And he was well on his way to success. Having gnawed away the husk, he was at what would be his next challenge -- the coconut shell. The required accessory for every production of South Pacific.
Anyone who has ever tried to get a coconut to give up its milk or meat has to give this little critter a good deal of credit. My neighbors use muscle and machete. This guy is using enamel and a good deal of heart.
But it solves one mystery for me. I regularly find empty coconuts with an odd hole in the top -- but empty inside. The detritus of a squirrel cooking show, I guess.
My admiration only goes so far. Coconut just happens to be on the list of things that I do not care to eat. Something I inherited from my father.
As far as I am concerned, the squirrel is welcome to the lot.
