Mary’s initial reaction was practical: she assumed she was dealing with a clever raccoon, a stray deer, or a flock of migrating birds. Desperate to protect the remainder of her competition crop, she emptied her weekly grocery budget on standard animal deterrents. She installed a plastic scarecrow owl with reflective eyes, hung strips of shimmering Mylar tape that crackled in the wind, and coated the lower trunk in a foul-smelling organic predator spray.
However, as she carefully applied the spray, she stopped to inspect the empty stems. Her eyes narrowed. There were absolutely no claw marks on the bark, no half-eaten scraps on the ground, and no pecked skin on the surrounding crop. The stems weren’t torn or chewed; they were cleanly snapped by an upward, surgical pull. Animals didn’t harvest with such careful precision, nor did they leave the delicate foliage entirely undisturbed. With a chilling certainty, Mary realized she wasn’t dealing with a pest. A human was systematically stealing her prize.