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This has been a rough winter for squirrels and an even tougher one for those who
don’t like the bushy-tailed rodents.
“I don’t mind the squirrels,” my spouse informed me. “I just don’t
like what they do.”
“Squirrels need to eat, too,” I said sympathetically.
An decidedly unsympathetic silence followed.
So what’s a squirrel to do?
With snow covering the ground (and a whole winter’s supply of nuts)
the squirrels are forced to turn to other food sources. Primarily, those sources
are bird feeders.
Therein lies the conflict. I think squirrels are cute while the
minder of our bird feeders is ready to shoot. To be honest, I can see his point.
Birdseed isn’t cheap — it’s not, in other words, chicken feed (which squirrels
are also partial to).
The solution seemed logical: a squirrel-proof feeder. I decided to
do some research.
“Do yourself a favor and invest in a decent squirrel-proof feeder,”
an Internet article on “How to Get Rid of Squirrels” advised. “A good
squirrel-proof feeder is weight sensitive. Something as light as a few birds
will have not effect it, but once the weight of a squirrel hits it the feeding
ports close.”
Some squirrel-proof models are even designed to send squirrels
flying or give them a slight electric shock.
My husband nodded his approval of the flying squirrels idea but was
still skeptical about the squirrel-proof concept. Nevertheless, I set out on a
quest to find the right feeder — for birds only, sans squirrels!
I suppose at this point you are probably asking — why the affinity
for squirrels? In a nutshell, the answer is simple: early childhood education.
Every year when I opened my reader on the first day of school the
squirrels were there — squirrels gathering nuts, squirrels perched on fence
posts, squirrels sitting on tree limbs as the school bus lumbered down the lane.
Autumn has always been one of my favorite seasons, and squirrels are just a part
of it.
It may sound nutty in today’s technology-savvy world, but once a
reader always a reader. I was indoctrinated in the first grade to like
squirrels. In every primer at my primary school, the squirrels were hardworking
and industrious — and never touched bird feeders as long as Dick, Jane, and Spot
were around.
Squirrels, I’m convinced, reciprocate in kind. They recognize
squirrel-friendly vibes and are quick to respond. I have no other explanation
for a strange squirrel-related episode that occurred shortly after we moved to
the country.
My story of “the squirrel and the pearl” began shortly after our
barn was occupied by the beginning of our dairy goat herd, a goat named Daisy
who was expecting a visit from the goat stork.
Keeping a watchful eye on Daisy was a full-time job for a novice
goat keeper. During my numerous trips to the barn I began to notice a squirrel
who was perched in a nearby oak. Regarding me with beady black eyes, the
squirrel snapped to attention and fluffed his bushy tail each time I came near.
As the days of summer passed into autumn the squirrel and I
developed a working relationship. He kept a watchful eye on the barn in return
for a handful of grain from time to time.
This squirrel also enjoyed little presents — like the gum wrapper
that fell out of my pocket one day. In a flash he was out of the tree and across
the barn lot. Then he scooped up the shiny wrapper and disappeared behind the
tree.
After my busy-tailed friend had resumed his perch on the limb I
peeped around the tree trunk. Barely protruding from the soil was a corner of
the shiny gum wrapper. Tucked in more securely beneath it was a single acorn.
My squirrel buddy wasn’t just squirreling away for the winter — he
was flagging his finds!
This behavior continued through the fall and into the early winter
months. Scraps of paper, labels, and bits of foil — the shinier the better —
were all fair game for Mr. Squirrel’s version of hide and seek.
One day after giving the barn a thorough cleaning I came back to
the house to discover that I was missing an earring. It was one of my favorites
— a single pearl. I went back to the barn and searched again.
Nothing — no pearl, no squirrel, I noted, as I glanced at his
branch.
I stopped in my tracks. Could he; would he?
I took my search to the ground level, but still no pearl.
For weeks, even months, I looked for my earring without success. Then the
following spring I was planting onions in the garden when my trowel unearthed
something shiny. I pulled the soil back, and there, none the worse for wear, was
my pearl earring! Something else was obstructing the trowel’s path. I dug, and
the buried treasure came to light. Carefully packed into the garden row was a
single acorn.
Sitting in the warm spring sunshine I experienced a flashback to my
childhood when squirrels sat on every limb and all was right with the world.
Maybe there’s a reason “squirrel” rhymes with “pearl.” After all,
squirrels are a part of nature’s plan, and they do have good qualities — my
earring is proof.
I like to call it “squirrel proof.” |
