Going Squirrelly
They are sleek and insistent. They take what isn’t theirs, and take and take and take. They have formed gangs, flying their colors in sharp arcs through the trees around the house. No one could call them stealthy, they crash through the fallen leaves making noise enough for invading troops. Despite the aural message that precedes them, when they take to the trees they attempt a stealth that would do the Pink Panther and Inspector Clouseau proud. Now you see them, now you don’t. Jumping sideways from tree to tree they hug the far side of tree trunks. Cue music. Skulking, their shadowy forms approach the target. The bird feeders.
The squirrels emptied feeders in a flash almost on a daily basis. To thwart their efforts, I put a baffle on the feeder pole. The grey gang chortled as they slid to the base of the pole and jumped over the baffle.
Next, I raised to pole up to nose-bleed height. (Fortunately the birds aren’t afraid of heights.) But, I now need a grappling hook to snag and refill the feeders. The smirking gang, however, learned to launch themselves from a wee branch on a sapling onto the top of the feeders. Once there they took up residence for long sessions of eating and dumping seed on the ground. Two squirrels at the feeders and the rest of the gang, a mass of twitching gray tails, pouncing on stray peanut halves and oilseed.
Third attempt to foil the gang. Convenient branches removed. Dang, if they didn’t learn to make a longer jump sideways from the trunk of a sapling. Repeats of the feeder emptying feats of days before.
I threatened “squirrelicide” every time I rushed them off the feeders. They laughed and circled around to feed again.
Finally, I had three saplings removed.
Not a day later, there were squirrels at the feeder! They now walked to the tip of a branch on a gracious, draping viburnum and launched themselves successfully to feeder trays.
The viburnum doesn’t drape quite so gracefully anymore. It’s been judiciously pruned. The birds have been able to reclaim their feeders, and I can imagine being able to afford retirement someday, now that I’m not feeding that gang on their schedule.
The moral of the story? Violence contemplated does not lead to violent action, but, might fuel a necessary persistence.
Note for The Friends of Squirrels: We used to have a dedicated squirrel feeder. The squirrels couldn't figure out how to use it. The raccoons, however, beat a path to our backyard, and then also developed a taste for birdseed.
