Yankee Drawl

A Slight Over Population

Posted By jayna on August 23, 2011

“Excuse me, ma’am? I’m sorry to trouble you, but I can’t quite reach the doorbell. If I could just come in for a second and help myself to the cupboards, that would be wonderful. It seems that my friends and I have eaten all the birdseed you set out this morning. Licked the feeders quite clean, we have.”

I showed that picture to the husband this afternoon, adding fuel to our already waging war against these furry bastards. The day we moved in, they must have been up in the trees, high-fiving each other over the nature lovers coming to town. Within days, they had broken one of my bird feeders, gnawing the rope in half. Convinced I was outsmarting them, I rigged up a gorgeous looking one made from an old blue mason jar and a chicken feeder.

They unwound the reinforced wire, untying knots and everything, to knock it to the ground by the next morning. A slight modification using metal chain, and it lasted another two days before they bent the freaking metal. Only since we completely redid the entire thing with thicker chain has it outsmarted them. Or perhaps they just haven’t called Hulk the Squirrel back in.

They dismantled a finch feeder, hiding away one of the essential pieces – which happens to be bright red – so I can’t find it and put it back together. Two hummingbird feeders have been lifted up from their hangers and tossed on the ground. And tonight, yet another piece of a regular feeder was dismantled and hauled away.

Apparently these are city squirrels – bold, fearless and in possession of some giant balls – out for whatever they can take. As you sit on the patio, they will creep under your chair, or just inches away from your feet, headed for anything they can eat. As the girls run screaming toward them, they run a yard or so, and then stop, mockingly just out of reach on a tree. Being hit by a well-aimed flip flop only causes the same result, with them hopping back to wherever they were as soon as you’re out of ammunition.

And now . . . now they’re knocking on my front door. Opening it and nearly stepping on them does nothing. Soon, they may actually be sitting on my kitchen counter, snacking from the cupboards. Therefore, much to the husband’s delight, and the horror of animal lovers everywhere, it is officially open season.

Or, at least, as open as one can get within a strict HOA development where it’s even illegal to trap and relocate the bastards . . .