Now listen, if you rewind approximately two months ago, I made that same urgent call to my own Dad. I had discovered the little wretches all over my summer squash plant and I grabbed my cell phone, put it on speaker and called to find out how to slay 'em dead.
He answered, I let out my call of distress, and he and Uncle Sherwood replied in tandem,
"Oh, them are bad little bastards!"
This much I had gathered. So, we got it all figured out and one run to IFA later to pick up the necessary supplies left me down a summer squash but saved all the rest of my squash plants including the boys' beloved pumpkins.
So, here we are, back at present day. I went outside and inspected the beetle atop one of our pumpkins that had my Big K all flustered and declared it NOT a squash bug. Kaelster breathed a sigh of relief and without skipping a beat said, "Oh Good, them are bad little bastards!"
And then I died.
This little right of passage has been brought to you by Grandpa Hooky and Uncle Sherwood.
Thanks guys. :)
Truth is... I get it. Pumpkin pride elicits cuss words in diligent little farmers.
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