I was sleeping like a baby - as they say, when I awakened suddenly at 4:09 AM; startled, I bolted upright in my bed, propped upon my elbows ready to defend my sanctuary of sleep and my wife (who remained dreamily oblivious to this danger in the dark).
I've found that when one has to rapidly transition from the realm of sleep to high-adrenaline wakefulness, one does not necessarily command the most reasonable and logical thought sequence. What I heard in the darkness was a cracking, scratching, loud and drawn-out sound, which I assumed was at our bedroom window. My first thought, as illogical as it was, was that this sound was caused by a giant squirrel attempting to invade our bedroom. Perhaps I've watched The Princess Bride too many times and was all too well acquainted with ROUS's (Rodents Of Unusual Size). Though, if I was thinking right in these wee hours, I should have known how silly my idea was; everyone knows that ROUS's inhabit the Fire Swamp, and are not common in northern Dallas County. But such is the sloppy work of a brain instantaneously thrown into high gear from a sound sleep.
As I sat up in bed I was about to spring upright and barefoot onto the floor and I was ready for an epic tussle with the invader in my skivvies (how that large squirrel got into my skivvies - I'll never know). As I cocked my head and listened for more danger, all was now quiet. I lulled myself back to sleep humming the enigmatic old lullaby, Rock-a-bye Baby.
Now no squirrels, small or large, can easily jump to our roof top, and we can sleep soundly under these arching boughs through stormy Texas Spring nights, knowing that when they break, they will not bring a calamitous fall onto our roof or our sleeping heads.
And who would put their sleeping baby in a precarious tree top anyway? That makes no sense. And it is defiantly not a soothing lullaby, rather dark and threatening I'd say. And if Child Protective Services get wind of these Rock-a-bye Baby lyrics being sung, there will be some trimming in your family tree.
I've found that when one has to rapidly transition from the realm of sleep to high-adrenaline wakefulness, one does not necessarily command the most reasonable and logical thought sequence. What I heard in the darkness was a cracking, scratching, loud and drawn-out sound, which I assumed was at our bedroom window. My first thought, as illogical as it was, was that this sound was caused by a giant squirrel attempting to invade our bedroom. Perhaps I've watched The Princess Bride too many times and was all too well acquainted with ROUS's (Rodents Of Unusual Size). Though, if I was thinking right in these wee hours, I should have known how silly my idea was; everyone knows that ROUS's inhabit the Fire Swamp, and are not common in northern Dallas County. But such is the sloppy work of a brain instantaneously thrown into high gear from a sound sleep.
As I sat up in bed I was about to spring upright and barefoot onto the floor and I was ready for an epic tussle with the invader in my skivvies (how that large squirrel got into my skivvies - I'll never know). As I cocked my head and listened for more danger, all was now quiet. I lulled myself back to sleep humming the enigmatic old lullaby, Rock-a-bye Baby.
Rock-a-bye baby in the tree tops
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
And when the bough breaks
The cradle will fall
And down will come cradle, baby and all
Come Saturday's morning light, I arise safely from my bed and before I can step outside to examine the ground for ROUS tracks, I see through the window the reason for the menacing sound of the earlier dark hours, a large tree limb has cracked and partially pulled off the supporting branch and has bent straight down from about 20 feet up and has come down to touch our front walk. It was not a large squirrel after all, but my wife says "we are living beneath the bough of Damocles".
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| Once the bough breaks It is a matter of time before The wind brings it down through our roof |
I agree. But I have to mow the lawn anyway, I just hope this precariously suspended 9" limb of doom does not let go and drop onto my head while I cut the grass below. Chores done, no damage to our eaves or my skull.
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| Partially fallen Ash Tree limb Dangling from 20' above the ground |
During the work week, I call out and get a couple of bids. The first guy tells me he can take the whole ash tree down for $1350. I say, not really my plan or my budget. He comes down to $900 for the tree-removal job, but can take off the dangling limb for $300. I say, I'll want to get a few other bids. The next guy says that for $200 he will take this bad limb off AND another limb that is hanging over the street and just begging for the inevitable violation notice from the city code enforcement patrol. But, he'll "clean up both ash trees and remove any other potential problem branches for $400." He gets the job. Two days later, five guys take half an hour to pile up a whole lot of biomass onto the front curb. The City of Garland will take it all away on Wednesday.
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| The new look from our killer ash tree (No place for large squirrels to hide either) |
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| Two trees trimmed A mass of limbs, stems and leaves ready for curbside pickup |
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| Lower limbs all removed |
Now no squirrels, small or large, can easily jump to our roof top, and we can sleep soundly under these arching boughs through stormy Texas Spring nights, knowing that when they break, they will not bring a calamitous fall onto our roof or our sleeping heads.
And who would put their sleeping baby in a precarious tree top anyway? That makes no sense. And it is defiantly not a soothing lullaby, rather dark and threatening I'd say. And if Child Protective Services get wind of these Rock-a-bye Baby lyrics being sung, there will be some trimming in your family tree.
