The Opportunist

Tony Peanut has been arriving later than usual these past few mornings. And Brindle the Opportunist has taken note.

Squirrel society has a well-defined social hierarchy. Squirrels are not social creatures and not very tolerant of each other or any other critters that share their turf. The only time squirrels come together voluntarily is to mate or to share winter dens for warmth.

Among the 30 or so squirrels we know at A House In The Woods, it quickly becomes apparent who stands where on the squirrel social totem pole. Tony is the Big Chief Kahuna at the top. Brindle is farther down this totem pole--way at the bottom.

Brindle spends most of his time lurking in the woods just behind the deck, waiting for his chance. The moment Tony runs off to bury a peanut or to catch a siesta in his favorite tree, Brindle creeps up to the deck for a handout.

Brinny is an especially timid squirrel. Even after months of taking peanuts from my hand, he is skittish and needs time to work up his courage. This invariably is his downfall, because just as Brindle is tucking into his peanut, an enraged Tony shows up. With an infuriated rush and a good many nips, he chases Brinny off the deck and back into the woods, squealing all the way.

The moment Tony leaves, Brindle is back again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Sometimes, in a brazen act of unthinking foolishness, Brindle scampers up for a peanut right under Tony's nose, with predictable results. Brinny gets his pants kicked and is once again sent packing, empty-handed He may not be too bright, but he sure is brave!

Brindle isn't the only offender, but he is the most persistent. And it annoys Tony to no end that Brindle just refuses to learn his place!

It's good to be the king--but it's not easy when someone is trying to steal your nuts!

Life's Good When You're Tony Peanut

It's an impossibly beautiful Sunday with Chicago-blue skies and temps in the upper 70's/lower 80's. I'm going to follow Tony's example and spend an hour or so in the hammock with a good book.

Life is good indeed!

Just Passing Through

This wild turkey hen and her six poults are regular visitors to our lot, passing through at least several times a day. We've watched Mama Turkey successfully raise these babies since they were the size of paddle balls with legs no bigger than toothpicks. Since May, the poults have grown to more than half of Mama's size, and by early fall, they will be indistinguishable from the adult turkeys.

Early Sunday morning I was awakened by a series of clucks and grunts beneath my window that seemed to go on and on. Dragging myself out of bed, I looked outside to find an agitated Mama Turkey strutting back and forth across the front lawn, scolding and trying to round up her errant poults who were scattered throughout the garden. Like most adolescents, the poults are moving toward independence and at the same time testing their mother's patience. She finally brought them into some semblance of order and off they strutted, Partridge Family-style, into the neighboring yard. I went back to bed.

Mama Turkey has gotten so used to me that she no longer clucks the alarm and shoos her poults to safety if I accidentally run into her in the yard--just as long as I don't get too close.

The Peanut Junkie

I ended up taking out both screens. Tony Peanut was right back in the window this morning and since it was another volunteer day, I wasn't taking any chances.

Before I left, I placed an apple outside the back door. When I returned an hour later, the half-eaten apple was perched on the deck railing with Tony sitting nearby. That apple must have made a satisfying meal, because Tony refused to budge no matter how much I tried coaxing him with a peanut. But an hour later he was back, trying to cash in his rain check on that peanut.

So far, all of my postings have been about Tony Peanut. While he is a constant presence here at A House In The Woods, he's by no means the only denizen of our rural backyard habitat (just don't tell him that). So it's time for a new introduction.

The Dutch name for raccoon is wasbeer, or "wash bear," mainly for their habit of washing food before eating it. The cute guy in the photo above is Beertje (Dutch for "little bear"), who began showing up regularly at our back door last winter, although we think we met him before that. One night last summer, Mr. Michigander and I were having dinner in the backyard when a third uninvited guest had decided to join us underneath the picnic table. That fearless raccoon cub, we think, was Bear.

If it's the same raccoon, then Bear is probably a little over a year old. With his small size and dopey (but endearing) behavior, Bear still looks and acts like a baby and obviously was the runt of the litter.

He's a pretty well-behaved little guy and seems to enjoy hanging out with us in the evenings while we putter about in the yard. Once, while I was building a moss path, Bear trundled alongside me imitating my hand gestures and patting down the dirt around each newly laid section. When Mr. Michigander moved the outer door in the studio, Bear ambled in and out of the construction site, politely sniffing and exploring Mr. Michigander's tools and equipment but not getting into things.

He even tried to help us paint the front door one evening by dipping his paw into the can of paint. The red tracks he left can still be seen on our front porch. When we sat down to take a break, Bear sat behind me and gently combed through my hair with his paws!

Bear's almost complete lack of fear and his trust of Mr. Michigander and I both intrigues and worries me. For the price of a peanut or a few stale marshmallows, he'll be anybody's best friend. I don't know how or why Bear lost his instinctive fear of people at such a young age, and I worry that his fearlessness might get him in trouble someday.

Fortunately, Bear seems content to stay close to our property, dropping by nightly for his peanut fix. Sometimes he stops by in the morning for a "nightcap" before waddling off to bed in a hollowed-out tree on the northern edge of our lot.

A Squirrel With 'Tude

Meet Tony Peanut. Tony is a fox squirrel that I've taught to take peanuts from my hand. He's sort of a character--a squirrel with 'tude, you might say.

Since I first came to know him eight months ago, Tony has become a daily fixture in my life. He arrives every morning by 7:30. If it's a weekday morning, I'm already at work on my computer at the dining room table. Tony sits patiently on the deck railing, where there's a good view of me through the dining room window, and patiently waits until I look up and notice him. Then, on cue, he scampers to the door to await his coveted peanut.

Tony isn't the only squirrel who comes to the door for a handout. But he's the only one who shows up every day, consistently on time. Other squirrels come and go. But Tony is here every day, all day--sometimes until 9 p.m.

It can't be just the peanuts. He buries most of them in the woods beyond our backyard. Sometimes Tony just ignores the proffered peanut, preferring instead to stretch out on the deck railing and watch me through the window for hours.

I often wonder why he spends so much time here. Is it possible that he enjoys my company as much as I enjoy his?