Feeder Wars

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . .

Okay, actually this all happened fairly recently in Clifton, which I do know seems to some people like a faraway galaxy, but is actually quite conveniently located (so drop by sometime).  Nevertheless, in the spirit of George Lucas, we are pleased to bring you . . .

Feeder Wars (you’ll have to imagine the music)

Episode I: The Phantom Menace

The attentive reader will recall from the previous post that all my efforts to fix the bird feeder had been, as they say, for naught. So I called in the heavy artillery, which in this case was Eric and his credit card. He took a trip to Lowe’s and returned bearing two large feeders, two bags of seed, and a shepherd’s hook. We left the little feeder in the tree and put the hook with two large feeders outside the kitchen window so we could see the birds (and so we could fill the feeders without major mishap). We filled the feeders, hung them up, and happily observed the little darlings snacking to their heart’s content.

The next morning, the largest feeder, which must hold about 8 pounds of seed, was nearly empty.

            Could our cute little birds be such pigs? We pictured an enormous flock of nocturnal fowl descending on our yard and shamelessly hoovering up all our seed. Also odd, however, was that the second feeder, hanging from the same hook, was virtually untouched. We filled the feeder again, to the same result. The third night, Eric figured out the culprit: Deer. Because the feeder has a large tray at the bottom, the deer had easy access to the seed. And they could bump it with their noses to shake out more seed, quickly cleaning us out.

            We like deer as well as the next suburban homeowner (interpret that as you will). So we moved the vulnerable feeder to the back tree and the little feeder to the front hook.

Episode II: Attack of the Squirrel

            The scene opens on a large feeder, filled with gleaming sunflower seeds, peacefully suspended from a tree branch. Cardinals, purple finch, and chickadees flit about, every now and then swooping down to daintily pluck a seed. But wait, what is this menacing gray figure entering stage left? Birds scatter in dread as a squirrel crouches silhouetted against the black bark. He gages the distance. He leaps. He hangs, spread-eagled against the wildly swinging feeder, gorging himself on someone else’s lunch.

Episode III: Revenge of the Rodent

            The squirrel was jumping from a split in the main trunk of the tree, so we decided that if we scooted the feeder out farther, he wouldn’t be able to make the leap. (Incidentally, I do realize that I am using the masculine pronoun for a squirrel of whose sex I have no clue. I realize that God made girl squirrels. I also realize that “it” is often the preferred first-person singular when referring to animals. I have made an authorial choice to use “he” because “it” is far too impersonal for the battle that the squirrel and I are waging. And, well, he kind of seems like a guy.) So we scooted the feeder farther out on the branch.

            I don’t know if the squirrel could have made the longer leap, but he didn’t have to. Turns out, he could climb right down the rope from which the feeder was hanging. It wasn’t even a challenge.

Episode IV: A New Hope

            It was time to put some greater expertise (and cash) behind this problem. I turned to my computer, and in a flash of keys and a click of buttons, help was on the way.

            It took the squirrel baffle two days to arrive. During that time, I let the squirrel feed in peace, figuring his fun would soon come an end.  When the box came, I eagerly opened it and hung the baffle, which is a clear dome that covers the top of the feeder, blocking rodential access.

Episode V: Return of the Scurry (A “scurry,” by the way, is one name for a group of squirrels. One challenge this blog is presenting is that there are really just not that many synonyms for “squirrel.” I apologize for the repetition.)

            At first, things seemed to be going well. Shortly after I hung the baffle, the squirrel tried to take his usual route down the rope to the feeder. He stepped on the baffle, it tipped, and he went sliding to the ground below. Apparently unhurt, he gave it another try and landed again on his furry little squirrel bottom. Finally, he was experiencing the same kind of frustration I had been feeling for days. All was peaceful as I watched the birds again flock to the seed. A woodpecker even stopped by.

            But my adversary was not to be so easily foiled. Again he appeared at the crook in the tree trunk, eyeing the treats, considering the jump. His tail was jittering back and forth. I have no idea if that was for balance or if that’s what he does when he’s thinking. After a moment, he leapt, flew gracefully through the air, hit his nose on the baffle, and plunged to the earth. I actually experienced a small pang of pity; I was starting to feel a little bit like Mr. McGregor.

            Apparently, though, a fall of five or so feet is not a big deal for a squirrel, and his nose didn’t seem to be bothering him either. His next jump was successful, and it was only my exasperated knocking on the window that scared him away from his prize.

Episode VI: Return of the Baffle

            It was becoming clear to me that nowhere on the tree was going to be safe from this bandit. So with duct tape, a bungee cord, and another shepherd’s hook, I constructed an alternate setup on the back porch. I moved it away from the tree and propped it up an a recycle bin to raise it high enough above the railing that the squirrel couldn’t jump up.

            Or so I thought. It took about an hour for me to discover that the leap from the railing to the feeder was no problem for this gymnastically talented beast. My friend told me, via email, that she and her husband have just given up on feeding birds only and are feeding squirrels, foxes, deer, and whomever else shows up. I, however, was not ready to capitulate. In the basement, I found an old mesh cover for a cheese plate. It actually has never served its intended purpose; I bought it to strain quince for jelly back when we lived in Geneva (there’s a post about that in 2012). Now, it would be Baffle #2. Using Christmas ribbon, I hung it under the feeder, with the idea that it would block the squirrel on his leap up from the railing.

            Things seemed to be going well. The squirrel sat in the tree, tail pumping. He ran along branches, eyes darting. He stood on the railing, nose twitching in eagerness to reach the feeder. But he did not jump.

Episode VII: The Force Awakens

            This blissful state lasted until Eric walked in the door. I drew him eagerly toward the window to show him my brilliant invention. What he saw was my handmade baffle swinging harmlessly below the feeder, which was occupied by a munching squirrel.

            We called a conference. We discussed infra-red perimeter heat sensors, Klieg lights, air horns, force fields, and other security measures. A suggestion of equipping the railing with iron spikes gave Drew an idea.

Episode VIII: The Last Squirrel

            It didn’t work.

Epilogue

I also tried spraying the feeder with apple cider vinegar and lacing the seed with cayenne. The squirrel apparently loves both those natural repellents. At one point, I moved the shepherd’s hook higher on the porch. I didn’t secure it well, though, which led to its falling, breaking the real baffle (my makeshift one is less destructible). I also tried putting the feeder back on the shepherd’s hook in the yard, figuring we could work with the deer. But the squirrel can climb a pole of less than an inch in diameter.

So what have we learned from this adventure?

I think my main takeaway is that Angela Duckworth is missing out on an amazing object lesson in her lectures. I have never seen such innovation, determination, and evidence of a growth mindset as I see in my squirrel. He is grit in a fur coat.

And I probably should have listened to Mr. Rogers: “I like to take my time. I mean that when I want to do a thing, I like to take my time to do it right.” Maybe if my desire to keep the food from the squirrel were as strong as his desire to reach the food, and maybe if I had just used a little more duct tape, one of my creations would have worked.

Or maybe I just need to order the Perky Pet Squirrel Be Gone II Country Feeder.