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!

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!

Home Invader

Since January, I've been volunteering at a local senior citizens' home. Today I offered to host their monthly Ice Cream Social. During the hour that I was gone, Tony Peanut decided to just pop in and help himself.

When I returned home, I found him sitting on the window seat nibbling away as if he owned the place. Discarded shells were scattered in little piles around him on the bench and across the window sill.

Tony had managed to gnaw his way through the remaining window screen while I was gone. The moment he realized I was home, he dropped the peanut and made a half-hearted attempt to leave the same way he'd come in. Then he changed his mind and went right back to his peanut!

Judging from evidence left at the crime scene, Tony had already made numerous trips back and forth to the peanut bowl in the kitchen. One by one, he'd carried peanuts back to the living room to eat. Tony might be a home invader and a thief but at least he's a fastidious one. Both rooms were left surprisingly neat, other than the piles of peanut shells. Even the hole in the screen was neat--and only just big enough for him to squeeze through (you can see it in the second photo).

I opened the back door and out Tony went--that is, once he'd had his fill of peanuts! I quickly put back the missing screen so Tony wouldn't be able to climb into the window again. Five minutes later I looked up from my computer and--surprise!--there he was, sitting on the window bench watching me. He'd managed to reach the window anyway and climb inside again!

I opened the back door and shooed Tony out (he never got near the peanut bowl this time). Then I closed and locked both windows. For now, they'll stay closed until I figure out how to keep Tony from climbing in or until he simply loses interest in them.

Moral of this story? Never underestimate a squirrel's determination to get to that peanut bowl!

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.