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.

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.

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?