Squirrel Wars

11220796_1262732343755774_8273517413814260395_nI’m not going to win this one, I know that. I’ve spent beaucoup bucks for raid-proof feeders, attached them to hooks suspended over the railing, making them as uninviting as possible. Nothing works, nothing!

I’ve been backing off the number of available troughs—down to the flat tray the Mourning Doves love and a cylindrical mesh feeder with small holes that appeals to the little guys. I was rewarded with the chittering of a couple house finch younglings their moms were instructing in the finer points of gorging on black oil sunflower seed. It was cute, if a mite noisy, and it set the three parakeets off so the din was in stereo. Gotta love nature, right?

But yesterday, oh gawd, yesterday he tasked me sorely, Mr Squirrel did. Six times I chased him, waving an empty plastic bag, whipping it in the sodden air to produce a crack of sound. The bushy-tailed bandit dove to ground level and, as a bonus, the noise sent the boys into paroxysms of wild bucking, rearing, and slip-sliding in the deep sucky mud. Fun!

Then the minute, THE MINUTE, I sat down at my computer he was back, happily shoving seed into his chubby cheeks, tail arched gracefully over his spine to keep the deluge from ruining his meal. As my patience and the amount of seed left in the dish dwindled, the biggest member of our resident crow family (it’s called a murder of crows, did you know that?) landed on the railing and did a move your fat ass and let me at the feeder dance, which of course Mr Squirrel ignored.

By then I’d given up in favor of watching the spectacle unfold. The crow advanced, ruffled his feathers and loomed menacingly. Mr Squirrel flipped his tail. Back and forth, forth and back… the tableau seemed locked into an endless repeat. I grabbed the iPhone, thinking this would be a cute video to annoy my Face Book friends with, but no sooner had I slid to the edge of the chair than Mr Crow hunkered down and FWAP! he swatted the squirrel right off the deck!

It was effing awesome!

What was even better was the crow standing watch for quite a long time, not eating mind you, just pacing along the railing, probably waiting for the raider to return. When he didn’t, the crow left and I removed the seed tray from the field of battle, setting it (empty) next to the house.

This morning the little devil in the gray fur coat was back, sitting upright on the rail, his wee front paws clutched together, facing the door. Waiting for me to bring the feeder to its proper location, filled with sunflower seed, of course.

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After a while he left so I went to the barn to feed and discovered Czar had taken down a 50 yard section of electric fence in pursuit of the greener grass on the other side.

Oh lordie.

I. Give. Up.

Peace. And black oil sunflower seeds for all.

Oh, and Happy Caturday…

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About Nya Rawlyns

Nya Rawlyns doesn’t write typical romance. She writes emotion as a contact sport, rough and often raw. It need not be pleasant, heart-warming or forever after. What she seeks is what lies beneath—a dance of extremes, the intersect of need and desire, and the compromises we make when pain and pleasure become indistinguishable. ***** She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. ***** When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or three pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
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