You know it’s going to be one of those years when even the wildlife seems to have a group chat where they coordinate their plans to move into your property. I swear the animals have discovered Zillow, and I’m 90% sure they’ve been passing around my address with little paw-print emojis saying, “Prime location, no human predators, three dogs for entertainment.”

Let’s start with the foxes. Once upon a time, they roamed the yard like elegant loners in a woodland perfume commercial. Now they’ve shown up in family packs including fox mom, fox dad, fox teen rolling his eyes, fox toddler who hasn’t discovered naps yet. They all trot across the yard like they’re late for brunch reservations. Ever see a fox give side-eye to a dog? Because I have. It’s unsettling. I felt judged.

Then there’s the groundhog. Formerly a solitary crusty gentleman who I assumed was retired and living off a pension. Suddenly, he reemerges with an entire family. Sir, who authorized this? He didn’t even warn us. One day it’s him, then it’s him + partner + groundhog kids + a random cousin who won’tleave the den. They all sit there in the sunshine like they’re posing for a Disney+ poster.

The deer? They show up like a Bridgerton debutante ball. Graceful. Regal. Dramatic. And uninvited. They stroll in slow motion across my lawn, just to torment my dogs, who believe beyond all reason that this land is their land.

The dogs bark like they’re auditioning for a canine metal band, and the deer respond by blinking in slow motion. If deer could roll their eyes, mine absolutely would. My yard has become the hot new hangout spot, and the word is out in the animal underground.

And don’t get me started on the chipmunks, squirrels, and rabbits. They’re the supporting cast of chaos. They zip in and out like caffeinated ninjas, taunting my three dogs who are absolutely convinced they are the sheriffs of this town. The dogs run from window to window like Homeland Security but with fluffier tails. Meanwhile, the wildlife union stands outside holding picket signs that say: “We were here first.”

And here’s the kicker. I recently learned about a 550-pound bear in Altadena, California, who has been house-hopping like a frat boy avoiding commitment.

This bear:

-Moves into a man’s crawlspace
-Gets removed
-Shows up at another house like, “Hey guys, remember me?”
-Is welcomed by the homeowner because apparently people in California embrace their inner Snow White

The bear has a preferred neighborhood and a history of visiting particular homes. It’s basically the world’s largest Airbnb guest with no checkout date.

Now with my luck? Since two of my dogs are originally from California, I fully expect this bear is going to sniff the air, hitchhike across 3,000 miles, and show up at my place like:

“Hey, heard from the squirrels that you’ve got vacancies. Also, I saw on Yelp your yard gets five stars for dog entertainment.”

I swear if a 550-pound bear rings my doorbell, I will simply hand over the title deed and move into my car. I cannot compete against a bear who has excellent taste in crawlspaces.

So yes. It seems the creatures have decided to cohabitate. Foxes with families. Groundhogs with growth plans. Deer with attitude. Squirrels with bravado. Rabbits with speed. And quite possibly one California bear with wanderlust and poor boundaries.

At this point, I’m not living in a house. I’m living in a wildlife transitional housing center with three dog security guards who fail their shift duties because they take personal offense instead of filing professional reports.

And honestly? I kind of love it.
It’s chaos, but it’s nature’s chaos.

And if that bear does show up?
I’ll just tell him rent is due on the 1st and hope he pays in honey.