Of Squirrels and Men
I put up a bird feeder in my back yard. The large population of squirrels living here believe it is a squirrel feeder. Seeing a large fat squirrel sitting smugly inside of it gorging himself on the expensive song bird food I payed for with my hard earned money was too much to take. I declared all out war on these freeloading varmints.
After much profound and deep brain things inside my head, I determined the best way to defeat the enemy was to study their tactics. I stood inside the house, looked out the sun-room picture window facing the yard, and waited patiently to observe their sneaky method of infiltration. My bird feeder was attached to a long rope that was strung over a high branch of a sweet gum tree. Eventually my Jane Goodall like patience payed off, and I watched as a squirrel climbed up the trunk, out on the limb, and then deftly used his claws to climb butt first down the rope to the free feast waiting for him below.
My reaction to these trespassing fur-balls was always the same; I would run wildly out of the house, quickly grab the nearest hard object on the deck, and run with flailing arms towards the perpetrator, screaming obscenities at it and throwing whatever I had grabbed in the squirrel's general direction. The squirrel, upon seeing a raving biped coming its way, would simply leap from the bird feeder to the ground below and climb up to safety in a nearby tree, where it would perch itself, and chatter back down at me in mocking tones. I understand squirrel backtalk. It would say things like (in a distinctly French squirrel accent), "You don't frighten us, Human pig-dog! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Homo sapien. Thpppppt! Thppt! Thppt! I fart in your general direction! Your mother is a Swedish whore and your father smells of sheep poo!"
Determined not to lose this war I made a trip to the local hardware store and purchased 30 feet of light steel cable. I then took down the feeder, cut off the thick cotton rope, and rehung it over the branch using the new thin steel cable. I remember thinking to myself as I sat back on the deck admiring my handiwork, "Add-i-sonie..GENIUS! Let's see how you like them apples, dumbass squirrels...hahaha".
There is no way to tell exactly how many hours I spent watching for squirrel attacks at my observation post over the course of this war. I do know that it got me behind on several work projects, but I always justified it as time well spent protecting my property from those four-legged fanatical critters wishing to do me harm. It was Homeland security and this was my home.
To my great consternation I soon discovered that my new infallible defense plan did not foil the attacks. The steel cable worked, but those wily critters found a way to circumvent this minor obstacle. I was amazed when I first watched how they did it. The squirrel would climb out on the branch, place itself directly above the feeder, hang upside down like a bat holding on to the limb with its back claws, and making adjustments for the wind factor, release itself from the tree and do a 20 foot free fall to land safely on the top of the feeder. Once again I would be forced to run out and chase it off like a madman, always hoping that my neighbors weren't observing this very bizarre behavior (they already wonder about me).
"Loser" is in my tennis playing vocabulary, but not in my dealings with lesser animals on the food chain. I decided it was no more Mr. Nice Guy time. I went back to the hardware store and purchased several one inch nails that were welded to a small square metal base. I then super glued these to the roof of my feeder at strategic places, knowing that once the squirrel landed on these sharp objects it would deter them from ever wanting to repeat that painful experience. Yeah...being the animal loving guy I am I did deal with a bit of a guilty conscience, but that naughty feeling was superseded by my desire to outlast, outsmart, and outplay these devious little devils. I was NOT going to get voted off my island.
I retreated to my observation post once again and waited for the outcome. Once again I was dismayed with the results. The nails I purchased were too short. The squirrels would get to the promised land of nuts and berries just as before, and their long legs kept the nails from doing any damage. Once again I would be forced to run outside, throw whatever I could quickly grab at them, and scream obscenities. Each squirrel would aways find a safe branch to chatter back down at me in demeaning and condescending tones.
For a third time I made the trip back to the hardware store. This time I made sure to buy extra long squirrel piercing nails. Any feelings of guilt were now gone as I carefully glued my new WSDs (weapons of squirrel destruction) to the roof of the feeder. As I watched for my first victim I couldn't help noticing that my bird feeder now resembled some kind of horrible medieval torture device once used in the dark bowels of London Tower.
For the third time I was depressed with the results of my evil ingenuity. The squirrels found a way to do their leap and land on the one tiny part of the roof that wasn't protected by the nails. I have to admit I was truly impressed with their death defying aerial acrobatics.
I was forced to resort once more to my tried and true "mad run technique" to chase the illegal trespasser off. I ran outside half dressed in my soft soled house slippers in a blind rage. Big mistake. I had failed to pick up one of the nails that a squirrel had knocked lose and suddenly felt a very sharp pain on the bottom of my left foot. I hobbled back to the deck, looked at the sole of my bloody slipper and noticed a rusty nail had entered deep into my foot. Later that same day on the drive to the doctor for a pleasant tetanus shot I was hit with the philosophical irony of the situation. The very same nail I had meant to pierce the skin of a squirrel had instead pierced the tender skin of MY foot. "Karma", I remember thinking to myself.
I came to the conclusion that I had been going about this all wrong. It was time to scrap conventional wisdom and think outside the bird feeder box. I made the now familiar trip back to the hardware store and brought a 17X24 inch piece of smooth aluminum plate. I removed all the nails from the roof, drilled two small holes in the metal sheet and ran the cable through each hole, so it rested on top of the feeder perfectly balanced. The plate now acted as a protective umbrella over the feeder. If any squirrel tried to jump down on it they would now land on the aluminum sheet and slide right off. "Brilliant!", I thought.
"You stupid idiot! You didn't buy the sheet big enough!", I later thought as I watched one land on top of my squirrel-proof metal guard and slide right to the edge of the wooden feeder, where it was able to dig in with its claws and easily climb back up to the bounty awaiting.
"God#@*^% F*&#ing Squirrels!!"
I'm not proud of my next decision. It went against all my liberal values, but I felt I had run out of options at that point. I made my fifth and final trip to the hardware store and purchased what I previously told myself I never would...a Daisy Red Rider BB gun. I hated to have to resort to such drastic means, but I concluded those food stealing little demons had left me no choice. I placed a fresh amount of seed in the feeder and went inside to my observation post with the loaded gun at arm's reach. I felt like a WW II sniper waiting for the unsuspecting enemy to take the bait. Sometime later I watched as the overpowering scent of fresh food drew the enemy into sight. I waited till he climbed up the tree, made the jump, and started feasting on the food before I made my move (shooting it on the ground or tree I reasoned just wasn't very sporting of me). I stealthily opened the back door with gun in hand and hid most of my body from view of the little guy. He was eating away with his furry little back facing me, totally oblivious to the harm about to beset him. I raised the gun, got my prey in sight, took the safety off, and placed my finger on the trigger.
Something happened at that point that I can't really explain. Perhaps it was Mother Nature whispering in my ear, or the haunting memory of shooting a robin when I was nine with the very same kind of gun, and feeling horrible for weeks about it...but I couldn't go through with it. I took a deep sigh, put the gun down against the side of the house, and did the only thing I could...
I ran wildly with flailing arms towards the perpetrator, screaming obscenities, and throwing whatever I had grabbed in the squirrel's general direction.
Some of my manly guy friends would accuse me of being a "big pussy" for not shooting them. I guess I can live with that, and so can my damn backyard squirrels.
After much profound and deep brain things inside my head, I determined the best way to defeat the enemy was to study their tactics. I stood inside the house, looked out the sun-room picture window facing the yard, and waited patiently to observe their sneaky method of infiltration. My bird feeder was attached to a long rope that was strung over a high branch of a sweet gum tree. Eventually my Jane Goodall like patience payed off, and I watched as a squirrel climbed up the trunk, out on the limb, and then deftly used his claws to climb butt first down the rope to the free feast waiting for him below.
My reaction to these trespassing fur-balls was always the same; I would run wildly out of the house, quickly grab the nearest hard object on the deck, and run with flailing arms towards the perpetrator, screaming obscenities at it and throwing whatever I had grabbed in the squirrel's general direction. The squirrel, upon seeing a raving biped coming its way, would simply leap from the bird feeder to the ground below and climb up to safety in a nearby tree, where it would perch itself, and chatter back down at me in mocking tones. I understand squirrel backtalk. It would say things like (in a distinctly French squirrel accent), "You don't frighten us, Human pig-dog! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Homo sapien. Thpppppt! Thppt! Thppt! I fart in your general direction! Your mother is a Swedish whore and your father smells of sheep poo!"
Determined not to lose this war I made a trip to the local hardware store and purchased 30 feet of light steel cable. I then took down the feeder, cut off the thick cotton rope, and rehung it over the branch using the new thin steel cable. I remember thinking to myself as I sat back on the deck admiring my handiwork, "Add-i-sonie..GENIUS! Let's see how you like them apples, dumbass squirrels...hahaha".
There is no way to tell exactly how many hours I spent watching for squirrel attacks at my observation post over the course of this war. I do know that it got me behind on several work projects, but I always justified it as time well spent protecting my property from those four-legged fanatical critters wishing to do me harm. It was Homeland security and this was my home.
To my great consternation I soon discovered that my new infallible defense plan did not foil the attacks. The steel cable worked, but those wily critters found a way to circumvent this minor obstacle. I was amazed when I first watched how they did it. The squirrel would climb out on the branch, place itself directly above the feeder, hang upside down like a bat holding on to the limb with its back claws, and making adjustments for the wind factor, release itself from the tree and do a 20 foot free fall to land safely on the top of the feeder. Once again I would be forced to run out and chase it off like a madman, always hoping that my neighbors weren't observing this very bizarre behavior (they already wonder about me).
"Loser" is in my tennis playing vocabulary, but not in my dealings with lesser animals on the food chain. I decided it was no more Mr. Nice Guy time. I went back to the hardware store and purchased several one inch nails that were welded to a small square metal base. I then super glued these to the roof of my feeder at strategic places, knowing that once the squirrel landed on these sharp objects it would deter them from ever wanting to repeat that painful experience. Yeah...being the animal loving guy I am I did deal with a bit of a guilty conscience, but that naughty feeling was superseded by my desire to outlast, outsmart, and outplay these devious little devils. I was NOT going to get voted off my island.
I retreated to my observation post once again and waited for the outcome. Once again I was dismayed with the results. The nails I purchased were too short. The squirrels would get to the promised land of nuts and berries just as before, and their long legs kept the nails from doing any damage. Once again I would be forced to run outside, throw whatever I could quickly grab at them, and scream obscenities. Each squirrel would aways find a safe branch to chatter back down at me in demeaning and condescending tones.
For a third time I made the trip back to the hardware store. This time I made sure to buy extra long squirrel piercing nails. Any feelings of guilt were now gone as I carefully glued my new WSDs (weapons of squirrel destruction) to the roof of the feeder. As I watched for my first victim I couldn't help noticing that my bird feeder now resembled some kind of horrible medieval torture device once used in the dark bowels of London Tower.
For the third time I was depressed with the results of my evil ingenuity. The squirrels found a way to do their leap and land on the one tiny part of the roof that wasn't protected by the nails. I have to admit I was truly impressed with their death defying aerial acrobatics.
I was forced to resort once more to my tried and true "mad run technique" to chase the illegal trespasser off. I ran outside half dressed in my soft soled house slippers in a blind rage. Big mistake. I had failed to pick up one of the nails that a squirrel had knocked lose and suddenly felt a very sharp pain on the bottom of my left foot. I hobbled back to the deck, looked at the sole of my bloody slipper and noticed a rusty nail had entered deep into my foot. Later that same day on the drive to the doctor for a pleasant tetanus shot I was hit with the philosophical irony of the situation. The very same nail I had meant to pierce the skin of a squirrel had instead pierced the tender skin of MY foot. "Karma", I remember thinking to myself.
I came to the conclusion that I had been going about this all wrong. It was time to scrap conventional wisdom and think outside the bird feeder box. I made the now familiar trip back to the hardware store and brought a 17X24 inch piece of smooth aluminum plate. I removed all the nails from the roof, drilled two small holes in the metal sheet and ran the cable through each hole, so it rested on top of the feeder perfectly balanced. The plate now acted as a protective umbrella over the feeder. If any squirrel tried to jump down on it they would now land on the aluminum sheet and slide right off. "Brilliant!", I thought.
"You stupid idiot! You didn't buy the sheet big enough!", I later thought as I watched one land on top of my squirrel-proof metal guard and slide right to the edge of the wooden feeder, where it was able to dig in with its claws and easily climb back up to the bounty awaiting.
"God#@*^% F*&#ing Squirrels!!"
I'm not proud of my next decision. It went against all my liberal values, but I felt I had run out of options at that point. I made my fifth and final trip to the hardware store and purchased what I previously told myself I never would...a Daisy Red Rider BB gun. I hated to have to resort to such drastic means, but I concluded those food stealing little demons had left me no choice. I placed a fresh amount of seed in the feeder and went inside to my observation post with the loaded gun at arm's reach. I felt like a WW II sniper waiting for the unsuspecting enemy to take the bait. Sometime later I watched as the overpowering scent of fresh food drew the enemy into sight. I waited till he climbed up the tree, made the jump, and started feasting on the food before I made my move (shooting it on the ground or tree I reasoned just wasn't very sporting of me). I stealthily opened the back door with gun in hand and hid most of my body from view of the little guy. He was eating away with his furry little back facing me, totally oblivious to the harm about to beset him. I raised the gun, got my prey in sight, took the safety off, and placed my finger on the trigger.
Something happened at that point that I can't really explain. Perhaps it was Mother Nature whispering in my ear, or the haunting memory of shooting a robin when I was nine with the very same kind of gun, and feeling horrible for weeks about it...but I couldn't go through with it. I took a deep sigh, put the gun down against the side of the house, and did the only thing I could...
I ran wildly with flailing arms towards the perpetrator, screaming obscenities, and throwing whatever I had grabbed in the squirrel's general direction.
Some of my manly guy friends would accuse me of being a "big pussy" for not shooting them. I guess I can live with that, and so can my damn backyard squirrels.