TM Gallery

Monday, November 24, 2014

frisky squirrels vs bird feeders

Rosemary's experiences with squirrels

Back yard 87 Northampton Street, Buffalo. July 1943—or so. A perfect day. Me under a large elm tree (long ago killed by Dutch elm disease). A couple of books, a pitcher of homemade lemonade. (There was no other kind.) And peanuts for me and the squirrels. You have to understand my lawn chair. The old-fashioned kind with three intractable positions. You had to get up from the chair to change them. I chose the most stretched-out position, closest to the ground. A squirrel appeared and I gradually enticed him with peanuts to take one from my hand. He ate it and THEN hopped onto ME. He advanced oh...... so............ slowly........ up my supine body. He perched on my chest. HE SNIFFED MY NOSE . He looked RIGHT INTO MY EYES. I did not breathe. After a glorious, ecstatic ten seconds (for me, anyway) he turned and scampered down the way he had come. One of the greatest experiences of my life.

That is the story. Shall I spoil it by explaining why this was such a transcendent unforgettable experience. Yes, I will. Being so close, being TRUSTED by a wild creature. Oh the joy of it, the mystery of it. Why did he fearlessly run up my body and look into my eyes? How many times in the history of the world has this happened?

I saw a video of squirrels outwitting devices designed to prevent them from raiding bird feeders. One cost $140 and administered a non-fatal electric shock. They learned to avoid it by hanging onto another part of the feeder and reaching for the food. Another bird lover observed the squirrels testing the device until the batteries went dead.

The most challenging was a see-saw delicately balanced so that a bird wouldn’t tip it. The weight of a squirrel would unbalance the seesaw, leaving the food out of reach. No problem for two squirrels working together. (How did they communicate the complicated strategy to each other?) They leapt simultaneously onto the two ends of the seesaw, balancing each other while they cleaned out the bird feeder. One baffled bird lover said, “A squirrel has a brain the size of a walnut. We should be able to outwit them.”

Last, a squirrel/cat story. I fed squirrels from my second story bedroom window. In winter, I would put out the food and close the window. My cat jumped up on the sill and glared at the squirrel, who understood what glass is and knew there was no danger, calmly munching away, glancing occasionally (I thought, with amused contempt) at my beloved Georgia cat.

Not a squirrel but a cat story. Ground floor window on Lincoln Pl Brooklyn. Food on sill for neighborhood homeless cats. One day red cat dining and handsome, sleek, well fed all-black jumped on sill and tried to drive red cat off. I banged on the window and yelled. Black cat took off. Red cat resumed lunch. Point of story: red cat knew I wasn’t banging or yelling at him.