He's Ba-ack!

I miss having the windows open while I work, so Mr. Michigander and I decided that if the ventilation pipe were moved, it might deter Tony Peanut from climbing up to the double windows. Then we could put back the screens and once again enjoy the summertime sounds and smells of our wooded backyard.

Last week, the heating and air conditioning men came out and spent most of the day cutting and removing siding, knocking out holes, disassembling, refitting and then reassembling the ventilation pipe roughly three feet away from its original spot--the maximum distance our local building code allows.


Still, the vent pipe no longer provided easy access to the double windows so we happily popped the window screens back into place.

In spite of all the racket, Tony came around once or twice. Much to the workmen's amusement, he sat on the deck railing munching his peanuts and monitoring their progress.

"That should fix his wagon," I told Mr. Michigander, smug in the knowledge that Kamikaze Tony would finally be grounded for good.

I was wrong.

Kickin' It With The Cat

I forgot to mention that Tony Peanut also likes to to hang out with our cat.



You can't see her in these photos, but the cat is sitting behind the screen in the balcony window.



I often find him sunning himself there in the late afternoon. The cat knows Tony and sits in the window mewing and purring when she sees him. She really seems to like his company!

Like most things about Tony Peanut, I am both mystified and intrigued by this behavior. He really is a one-of-a-kind squirrel!

Squirrel Meets Puppy

Once the excitement of bringing a new puppy home had subsided, we wondered what effect this would have on Tony Peanut. Since Milo's crate is next to the back door and close to the peanut bowl, it wouldn't take long for Tony to become aware of the newest family member. When two or three days had gone by with no sign of our resident squirrel, we worried that he'd seen us taking the puppy out on walks and had decided the backyard wasn't big enough for both of them.

But on the fourth day after Milo's homecoming Tony was at his usual post. Happily, I welcomed him back with peanut after peanut handed through the door while Milo watched quietly from his crate.

It wasn't clear if Tony knew about Milo yet. So I opened the door wider, stepped back and waited to see what would happen. Would Tony's natural instinct warn him to steer clear of potential danger? Or would the lure of the peanut bowl override his better judgment?

The peanut bowl won. The historical moment is captured below.

As Tony scoots toward the peanut bowl, he spots the puppy for the first time. Milo calmly gazes out at Tony, as if being sized up by a demented black squirrel is the most natural thing in the world!

Tony grabs a peanut, sits back and leisurely cracks it open as he assesses the situation. He seems to know that he's perfectly safe as long as Milo is in his crate!


A week later, business is still brisk at the peanut bowl, and Milo has become canis non grata as far as Tony is concerned. Judging from the look of things, Milo couldn't care less.

Reaping His Reward

On Sunday, I decided to tag along on a two-day business trip with Mr. Michigander.

As we drove to the job site two states away, both of us wondered how Tony Peanut would react to our absence. It was the first time in months that both of us would be away from home at the same time for more than a day, so we really didn't know what to expect. Would severe peanut withdrawal set in? Would Tony's dreaded other alter ego Squirrelly Brain be unleashed upon our empty house and allow no window screen to remain unmolested ?

When we returned home last night, the house and window screens were just as we'd left them. Feeling a little guilty, I offered Tony unlimited "all-you-can-eat" access to the peanut bowl today. He happily accepted.

Kamikaze Squirrel

Tony Peanut has left for the day and Kamikaze Tony has taken his place!

While I am busy working at my computer, those peanuts aren't coming out the door fast enough. Kamikaze Tony is not pleased about this. Kamikaze Tony doesn't understand that somebody has to pay for those peanuts. Kamikaze Tony lets me know of his displeasure by taking running leaps at the double windows, which are about five feet above the ground.

All morning long and most of the afternoon, my concentration has been broken by the steady thunk! of squirrel meeting glass (or the plop of squirrel meeting dirt when Kamikaze Tony misses). Note that I have not put the screens back in the windows. No problem. Kamikaze Tony just grabs on to the window frame while he peers in to see what's going on. Gradually, he slides down the slippery frame until he reaches the window ledge. Then Kamikaze Tony leaps to the ground and does it all over again!

Waterspouts Over South Haven!

As far back as I can remember, I have been utterly fascinated by weather phenomenon.

Around lunchtime, we went from clear blue skies to a torrential downpour within minutes. The rain fell so hard and so fast that the lower-lying areas of the yard were instantly flooded. Glancing out the window toward the west, I noticed that the sky looked "weird"-- an ominous gray with tinges of green. Having lived in Florida for a couple of years, I knew that could mean only one thing: Tornadic weather.

Then this severe weather alert popped up on my screen:

AT 112 PM...DOPPLER RADAR INDICATED A LINE OF SHOWERS AND
THUNDERSTORMS CAPABLE OF PRODUCING WATERSPOUTS FROM 7 NM SOUTHWEST
OF THE SAUGATUCK PIERHEADS TO THE SOUTH HAVEN LIGHT...MOVING SOUTH
AT 25 KNOTS.

WATERSPOUTS CAN EASILY OVERTURN BOATS AND CREATE LOCALLY HAZARDOUS
SEAS. SEEK SAFE HARBOR IMMEDIATELY.

Several waterspouts had been spotted along the Lake Michigan shore from Grand Haven to St. Joseph, including a couple that were spotted by South Haven beach goers. One of these waterspouts (pictured above) reportedly came on shore but dissipated after a few minutes. So far, no damage or injuries have been reported.

While these tornadoes over water aren't rare on Lake Michigan, they occur infrequently enough to create a stir of excitement in our community!

Just before the storm struck, Tony Peanut, who had always appeared oblivious to the weather, scrambled for cover beneath the deck and didn't emerge until the storm had passed. Is it possible that squirrels can sense when a tornado is approaching?

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!

Backyard Visitors

Here are just some of the visitors who passed through our yard yesterday:



Shy Guy



A fawn


A new friend


Turkey poults


And Tony Peanut of course!

The Sacred Peanut Bowl

This sacred object is more than just a humble plastic bowl I picked up at Walmart ($1.79). With its seemingly exhaustless supply of peanuts, it's the holy grail and siren song that lures squirrels and raccoons to our back door. Even the wild turkeys drop by just to snarf up the piles of discarded shells left behind by the squirrels and raccoons. Behold, the center of our universe here at A House In The Woods!

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!

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 New Trick

Since Mr. Michigander has been on the road a lot lately, I've set up office at the dining room table (actually two dining rooms tables pushed together end-to-end to create a single long one, as we like to entertain). From here I can see the yard, the deck, the hummers that visit the feeder directly over the double dining room windows and Tony Peanut. From his usual spot on the deck rail, Tony can see me too.

It's been a busy week, and peanut handouts have been scarcer than usual. I tend to get hyper-focused on my work, especially when I'm on deadline, and filter out everything, sometimes for hours at a time. Tony doesn't seem to mind and usually whiles away the time between handouts sunning himself on the deck or catching a snooze.

Last week was different. On Tuesday, my concentration was interrupted by a racket just below the dining room window. Looking up, I saw a small black head pop up, then quickly disappear again. Tony had managed to climb up the basement exhaust pipe beneath the dining room window. He'd been eye-balling this pipe for weeks, and though he could easily leap the three feet between the pipe and ground, he seemed to know he'd slip right off the slippery plastic.

I looked out the window but there was no sign of Tony. Then I heard something running across the roof and looked up just in time to see a small black shape launch itself off the roof edge toward the double windows!

Tony missed--and landed with an audible thump in the yard instead. In a flash, he was back on his feet and climbing toward the roof again.

By the time I reached the door, he'd pitched himself at the windows again and missed. Before he could make a third attempt, I managed to coax him down with a peanut. Minutes later, he was back on the roof again.

Worried that my squirrel had finally gone nuts (no pun intended) and fearing he might seriously injure himself, I ran to the basement and dusted off an old exercise trampoline. If I couldn't stop Tony from pitching himself off the roof, I could at least provide a soft landing. The question was, why was he doing this?

The reason became apparent when I saw Tony perched on the exhaust pipe a few minutes later. He had climbed the pipe to reach the narrow window ledge but kept slipping off. Tony wanted to sit in the window and watch me. His squirrelly brain had reasoned that he could circumvent the pipe altogether and jump from the roof instead.

So I quickly removed one of the window screens and closed the window. Problem solved. Now Tony can climb into the window frame and watch me plinking away at my computer to his heart's content.

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?