I was getting the bird feeders ready to put up for another winter and just for a fleeting moment I thought about ways to keep the squirrels from pirating most of the bird food. I'm by nature a stubborn person and I hate to give up on anything. It's hard for me to admit that a reasonably intelligent, fully grown, college educated adult human is no match for a two pound rodent who lives in a tree and whose main goal in life appears to become roadkill. After years of fighting the good fight however, I have to give the little fur balls the credit they deserve, they're smarter than I am.
The war of wits started years ago, I put up one of those tube feeders with three holes in it. The little birds seemed to enjoy it, flitting about it, hovering and waiting their turn, a sight to warm the heart of any bird watcher--then they appeared, Attila the squirrel and his rowdy bunch. They ran off all the little feathered critters and then like a group of well trained bank robbers, they raided the tube feeder. They popped out the aluminum inserts in the holes as easily as I opened a can of adult beverage and proceeded to chew the holes to a size that allowed the seeds inside to rain down on the brigands waiting below. A good time was had by all and then away they bounded, leaving me holding a useless feeder and trying to fend off a flock of ticked off chickadees. Of course, this meant war had been declared.
I decided that the tube was really too flimsy and that the birds didn't really need to see the seeds anyway so I took a piece of PVC pipe, drilled holes in it, installed short pieces of dowel under the holes, made a tin top and bottom for it out of an old dog food can, tied a rope to the top and hung it in the tree and stood back to enjoy the now quiet chickadees who were chowing down at the feeder. I went into the kitchen to see if I could see the feeder from the window there, looked out and what to my wondering eyes should appear but Attila and the boys riding the feeder like it was a ride at Disneyland. I rushed out into the yard but too late, the feeder hung sideways, the holes gnawed to twice their original size while seeds rained down like a miniature slot machine paying off in Vegas. Squirrels two--human zero!
I decided it was time to get serious, going to my shop where I store useful things and digging around for a while yielded a length of three inch cast iron pipe. Perfect! Let them chew on this baby! I burned out three drill bits but finally got the holes drilled. I welded eight penny nails to the pipe for perches, made another dog food can roof and bottom, drilled holes in the top, stuck a length of nylon rope through the holes, filled it and hung it up. The chickadees happily surrounded it, ate their fil land towards dusk, flew away with little doggie bags to wherever it is that they go for the night. No squirrels, the new twenty pound bird feeder had stymied the horde of tree rats, I won. I did a little victory dance and headed for my recliner.
Morning dawned clear and bright, I bounced out of bed, redid my little victory dance. After a hearty breakfast of coffee, I set about my morning chores. I went out the porch door and was attacked by a flock of famished chickadees. Feeder must be empty so I went to fill it. No feeder hung where one had hung the evening before. Nothing--gone--not a trace. I swear I heard the sound of chuckling coming from the maple tree.
A year later, while walking in the woods in back of my shop, I stepped on something under the leaves. It was my bird feeder, the rascals had chewed through the rope and dragged it into the woods where they could shake the seeds out at their leisure.
All my bird feeders now are flat, easily accessed platforms. I buy bird seed by the ton and spend much of my time shoveling the seed onto the feeders. My yard is filled with thirty pound gray squirrels and five pound chickadees. I admit to being a broken man for a while but lately I've started to smile again and my heart is lighter. I found an old cook book and one of the recipes is for fried squirrel.
Thought for the week--The young know the rules, the old know the exceptions.
Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.
whittle12124@yahoo.com
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