Out fell a gigantic pile of shredded plastic, paper, and leaves. And three squirrel babies. Well, baby isn't quite the term for them - they weren't so little anymore - but obviously still hanging out with mum. To say we were all shocked and appalled would be understating it a bit, because while Richard was shocked and I was appalled, Max was gleeful. Finally a squirrel to chase after with his blowdart! (have I mentioned that Max is going through a phase I've termed fatuum filius?)
The babies, as you can see from the photo, dived into the space between the old hose and the woodpile, and started squeaking as loud as they could. Loud enough to call mum, evidently, because in a second she was there, hanging off the stucco wall (see photo), obviously quite irritated at what we'd done. She checked out her brood, wrapped one around her neck, and took off. Twenty minutes later, she was back for the next one, and then the next.
The only hiccup was when the fellow across the street thought she and her baby were really two fighting squirrels, and started chasing her away. I sent fatuum filius sine his blow-pistolium over to explain that she was really a mother squirrel trying to relocate her family in a hurry, since I felt too guilty to face it myself.
And now I sort of miss hearing her scrambling up the stucco wall outside our bedroom window at 4am...