05/26/2025
Neighborhood Squirrels Declare Themselves “Tired of Winning”
Announce Ceasefire In Conflict with Bill
A PMB Times Special Report
A White Flag Rises
PMB Times has confirmed a “cessation of hostilities understanding” was reached last
month in an ongoing conflict between Porters Mill Brewery owner, Bill Hughes, and a group of
insurgent, neighborhood squirrels. Amidst reports of the conflict’s end, I travelled to PMB to
interview Bill, who I observed taking down a large white flag from atop the shed, its message
delivered. I found him despondent, and though this was tempered by a couple of ounces of the
“the good stuff”, he also vibed defiant in his firmly held belief that his Cause had been just. Even
so, as he well recognized, it was a Lost Cause nonetheless, and so I rendered the essential
questions: what happened and what went wrong?
Birds Were the Goal; Squirrels Drew First Blood
Remarkably, the facts are largely undisputed (the rest, gentle readers, I will make up).
And so, to the story. Bill began, earnestly enough, with the intention of beautifying the PMB by
attracting an array of birds. His plan was simple: set out copious amounts of bird seed at the right
locations and voila’, a backyard aviary of vibrant feathered guests. One Problem. The squirrels
got there first, time and time again. I trust some of you know this experience. And, according to
the Hughes’ spin, these particular squirrels were some real Gordon Gekko devotees – “greed is
good” and conspicuous consumption even better. So, while the squirrels grew fat, PMB had yet to
witness any meaningful addition to its bird population. While I hasten to get to the good stuff, I
should pause here to say that Bill began with an olive branch. So, as there are some who might
judge Bill not only as a loser in this fray, but a scoundrel as well, it is only fair to report that Bill
did indeed offer a solid reach-out prior to his disastrous escalations: PMB Times can confirm that
he built a tree-mounted bar, bar stools and all, stocked with nuts and grains and everything we are
led to believe that a squirrel could want. The hope was, squirrels had the Bar, birds could have the
seed. To this, (and Bill was happy to share the evidence) the squirrels responded by chewing
away the bar stools, eating the inventory, and generally trashing the place. Rude. And, of course,
they never paused their raids on the bird seed. So, to Bill, and his point is well-taken, the squirrels
drew first blood. I could only chide my friend for overestimating the ethics of rodents.
Operation: Deportation
Here is where things take a turn. We won’t say what or who inspired this, but Bill
decided that Deportation was the Plan. He strategically deployed humane traps throughout PMB
and began taking the captured critters to various sanctuary sites offered by Smoke Tree South.
Weeks went by, and even though the number of deportations grew and grew, there did not seem
to be any ebb in the flow of squirrel traffic, nor any reduction in their rampant theft of the bird
seed. To a less competitive (or, as some have suggested, more astute) human, this might have
marked a point for a graceful exit and a recognition that this bird thing was like “fetch” – it just
wasn’t going to happen. But, this was Bill, and he was determined. So, if you have borne with me
this long, in whatever “this” is, I can assure you this is where the story gets weird and worth
telling.
Operation: Red Paint
While my friend spoke with simple and moral clarity about his efforts to this point, the
explanations going forward became a bit murky (as they do in war), but I will do my best. It may
have had something to do with tracking deportees, or repeat offenders, or maybe it was just some
type of dominance move, but whatever the case, Bill decided that to supplement his relocation
efforts, he would also mark the captured squirrels with red paint. Yes, really: he would spray
paint the squirrels red, and then deport them, or maybe not (here is the murk). Hilariously, the
“red shaming” produced neighborhood chatter of a possible new breed of exotic crimson
squirrels. To the disappointed who fell for this fable, don’t feel gullible, afterall, it is hardly a
more plausible explanation than the emergence of an exotic squirrel to say that a 60-year-old man
was painting squirrels in his backyard. But, for the record, that is what actually happened. In any
event, in the squirrel world, this “coloring” was not well-received, to say the least. And, think
what you will about their many dubious road-crossing decisions, but when confronted by a
common foe, squirrels are capable of decisive and effective opposition. So, Bill would learn.
The Squirrels Respond
Enter now, Magnus Churchill, a white pot-bellied squirrel nearly the size of a cat, and
(until then) the unquestioned leader of the pack. Magnus faced little opposition to his leadership
before Bill painted him red. Even so, it had been the case for years that Magnus had been getting
by on size and reputation. He was well past his prime and far too fat to really rumble, but the
young bucks remained too timid to come for the Silverback. Now, however, Magnus was
humiliated, red, and a laughingstock. The upstarts sensed weakness. Magnus, knowing he had to
do something, naturally went to plunder a neighbor’s garage – something our rodent sources tell
us is a sure path to securing reputations and building legends. In doing so here, a most remarkable
thing happened. For what should have been another mishap and possibly Magnus’s final
humiliation turned the other way when Magnus knocked a bottle of turpentine onto himself.
Though he barely escaped the garage, a few rolls and turns in the grass later, and Magnus was
(minus his prodigious white belly) his magnificent gray self again. His red was gone and so were
any doubts about his awesomeness – in fact – the near miraculous disappearance of his red coat
ignited something of a religious fervor amongst the squirrels such that his leadership took on a
cult of personality. With his power now unrivaled, Magnus turned his attention to Bill, and his
goal was Revenge.
Operation: One Big Beautiful Attack
Late that night, Magnus and his high command of Squirrel Council planned their attack.
Incremental or half-measures were flatly rejected in favor of Massive Retaliation. They called it
“One Big Beautiful Attack”. Just after midnight and fresh-off pumping themselves up to Phil
Collins’ “In the Air Tonight”, the squirrels struck and struck hard. As you know, Bill has had
string lights suspended above the Shed for years – his nod to ambiance. But on this night, one by
one, with surgical precision, the squirrels gnawed through the wire, dropping each light to the
ground, and leaving nothing but dangling cords – and for Bill, a similarly dangling and damaged
ego.
The Final Days
For Bill, he sensed the End, but he was not prepared to announce surrender. His delay
proved costly. Several nights later an allied group of mice evaded Shed security and ate his prized
stash of special hops slated for his next “IPA”. This was the final straw and Bill (who speaks not
a lick of Squirrel) decided upon the universal symbol of the white flag to declare no mas. Word
obviously spread quickly in the animal kingdom as several days later, Bill was unceremoniously
s**t upon by a group of squirrel-friendly birds while in retreat to Texas (photos provided). As if
joining the ranks of the Elmer Fudds or Mr. MacGregor’s was not enough insult to injury, and
recalling how this all began, “the birds” “the damn birds” came to his mind. Et tu, birde’.
-Todd M. Ritter
Porters Mill Brewery Times Reporter
