Squirrel's Revenge

Just when I thought I’d outwitted the squirrels, along comes Mother Nature to fight on their side.

I awoke this morning, as did most metropolitan New Yorkers, to a sheet of ice across the landscape. I knew it was bad when Gilda reluctantly opted not to travel into work. She’s more reliable and dedicated than the fiercest postal worker, so it was apparent this storm was a real game changer.

As I peered out the kitchen window I noticed tree limbs sagging under the weight of the ice. The dip in their arc meant the birdseed and suet feeders were dangerously close to ground level. My fears were soon realized. The reddish-grey tailed squirrel, against whom I had installed baffles Monday to thwart his assaults from above, was easily able to leap up onto the bird feeders. He leisurely—actually, that’s not a a good word for a squirrel; squirrels rarely do anything in a leisurely fashion—sampled one feeder after another. If it were just snow on the limbs, I’d have ventured out to knock some off to raise the limbs. But knocking a branch encapsulated in ice could crack it and send it and the birdseed feeders crashing to the ground.

I waited till well into the afternoon thaw, till after I spent 90 minutes clearing the driveway of ice, before trudging out through the ice-capped snow in the yard to replenish the food in the feeders and gingerly poke off some ice from the trees.

Once you’ve become a caterer to the winged world, it’s difficult not to feel a sense of obligation to maintain a constant food supply, especially during times when the ground is covered in snow or ice and birds can’t easily find their normal sources of nourishment. I don’t really mind that the squirrels partake as well. They are cute. But I do expect some decorum—hanging from the feeders, literally pigging out and denying access to the birds is unacceptable behavior.

Mother Nature also must learn to fight fair. But then, I should have anticipated some shenanigans. Today, after all is a semi-squirrel holiday. It’s Groundhog Day.