Who’s been eating my tomatoes?

Rogue raiders are munching on my garden by moonlight while I fritter away the early hours, just feet from the crime scene. One would think my alleged snoring would keep them at bay. I never had this problem when I grew cannabis with my fruit and vegetables.

People tell me it’s raccoons, which makes sense considering the fact that the tomatoes were surgically removed with no sign of a struggle. The prize was stolen without upsetting so much as a leaf but I noticed some chewed stalk ends, probably compliments of my resident mule deer named Eduardo after a Uruguayan friend who loves roasted venison.

Nothing else has been taken. My peppers are fine and my green onions are untouched. They just want my tomatoes. I even left them some Olathe Sweet Corn that had been nibbled down to the stalk but still had the aroma. They ignored it. May they burn in raccoon hell, if in fact they are raccoons at all. It could be marauding badgers.

And let’s not take the easy route here by blaming the birds. Yes, the hummingbirds are attracted to bright, red tomatoes but they only hover. The newly arrived magpies don’t seem interested either. The doves are too timid and the hawks busy hunting for meat, not greens and reds. Maybe it’s rodents or a trekking bruin.

Last night I slept in a lawn chair with shotgun across my lap, then at 3 am I heard something creeping around but it was only a mule deer quite content to eat from my apple trees. Chow down. I have lots of apples. It’s the tomato slaughter that has intruded into my very dreams. Note: Get some sleep tonight.

I wrapped floodlights around a nearby tree and poured cayenne around the plot. Now I have bad hip-hop music set to go on at the smallest provocation. It will wake up my neighbors but I don’t like them anyway. There. The hoses are rigged, buckets in the trees and baited traps everywhere.

Maybe a hand grenade strung up with concertina wire? That would probably only get the attention of the sheriff’s department.

And they were still green, still babes on the vine, little green innocents who had never been able to experience adult life. Cannibals! Murderers! Show yourselves!

Back to the birds — They wouldn’t eat that many and they’d leave white poop tracers everywhere. Mice wouldn’t make it past the cat patrols. My neighbors’ chickens aren’t intellectually capable of the multi-tasking required to land a tomato. It’s got to be those reintroduced wolves! Damn liberals – We told them the wolves and tomatoes did not mix.

Someone suggested I trap the culprits, haul them off and leave them to their own devices up on the Uncompahgre Plateau. That could work if I knew the approximate size of the bandits. I guess I could use tomatoes as bait but that would seem counter-productive.

I had about 50 in tight little clusters, still quite green but growing bigger in the Rocky Mountain sunshine. Hot weather had stunted them but they were surviving.

I am not upset by the elk nibbling on my lawn and mosquitoes making their last stand eating me. These ruffians dragged off my mail order scarecrow from last year. On a positive: the few tomatoes I have enjoyed this year are among the best I have ever tasted. Nice, big and juicy. Wait a little longer for the salsa, wait for the stews, and wait for the BLT. Will I be deprived of my crowning harvest come November?

Now I’ve come to find out that my neighbor’s garden has been invaded as well. They got every squash. How dare they put the entire community at risk just for their selfish stomachs. At this altitude it can be taxing to grow anything much besides weeds like cannabis. Have they no empathy? Who would think it? This backstabbing wildlife crime, this vile trespass.

Now the victim has become the hunter. It’s not the coyotes out in their pasture dens. They don’t eat tomatoes. It’s not the Cat Lady’s crew from next door. It’s not the neighbor’s dumb, barking dogs or the meandering cattle that call this place home. It’s not the local mountain lions or even a bear that would make a lot of racket and leave a mess behind.

It’s not my responsibility to see that these little intruders go to bed happy with a full tummy.

I even bought bad boy bacon that I realize will kill me but tastes so good with homegrown tomatoes. Next year peppers, zucchini squash, green onions, cannabis and yes, more tomatoes.

Then on the third night out in the lawn chair something frightening happened. A space ship appeared and several floating, transparent beings exited the craft. I stayed as quiet as I could. They were there for my tomatoes. Could not believe my eyes when…

To be continued