By Randall Andrews
They call it birdseed for a reason, but squirrels don’t know that.
For those of us who enjoy feeding birds, squirrels can be crafty, and sometimes costly, adversaries. A hungry fox squirrel can chow down a dollar’s worth of sunflower seeds faster than a small flock of finches, which can be annoying. Or it can be entertaining.
For the most part, I’ve maintained the latter perspective. I do remember grinding my teeth when I spotted a bushy tail at my new “squirrel-proof” feeder, but my frustration faded quickly in the face of the mystery. How had he done it? Could he fly? Repel? Teleport?
Where I live, fox squirrels and red squirrels have been in residence at least as long as I have. It wasn’t until much later that the first gray squirrel appeared. It was exciting in a way, spotting a new critter, but it was also worrisome. Birds aren’t the only ones with pecking orders. I liked the squirrels I had, and I didn’t want some newcomer crowding in on their territory.
It turns out, I needn’t have worried. There was a little jockeying for position, but everyone settled into a new routine, a new normal, and no tails were lost in the transition. To accommodate my newly expanded clientele, I added a little wooden table and chair to the feeder tree, just the right size for an ear of corn and a squirrel.
As time passed, the gray squirrel not only won me over, but rose to the top of my favorites list. Because he was gray, and because I was reading Oscar Wilde at the time, I named him Dorian. Even by squirrel standards, he was extraordinarily acrobatic, a talent that granted him access to any feeder, squirrel-proof or not. Of course, that became a moot point once he started eating from my lap.
Years earlier, after noticing the natural boldness of chickadees, I performed an experiment, the result of which was dozens of birds of several species eating from my hands. I did that on purpose, according to a plan. With Dorian, it was different. I had no intention of training him, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe he trained me. Regardless, he ended up in my lap eating the birdseed that was supposed to be for—you guessed it—the birds!
Instead of shooing him away, I started calling it squirrelseed. There. Problem solved.
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So there I was, enjoying increased biodiversity in my own backyard, as well as the company of my first rodent friend. I should also have been experiencing the satisfaction that comes with insight. After all, my initial reaction to Dorian’s appearance proved to be way off base. Adding him into the mix had only made things more interesting. There were definitely lessons to be learned there. But sometimes I’m a slow learner.
I’m not sure how much time passed before the black squirrel showed up. Maybe a year. Maybe a little less. I do remember that despite the fact that I should have known better, I responded with the same groan as before. I again thought of my regulars, and of Dorian in particular. We were buds by then. As long as I supplied him with corn and squirrelseed, he was more than happy to hear me whine about work or the weather or whatever Detroit sports team was playing then. (He’s an excellent listener.)
I liked the way things were, and I didn’t want them to change. I didn’t want anybody ruining our routine.
Albert Einstein once said, “Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” Smart guy. Wise words.
I’d been looking into nature, but I hadn’t been seeing everything clearly. Fortunately, Dorian was going to give me a second chance to learn the lessons I’d missed the first time around.
It became quickly apparent that Dorian and the black squirrel could get along. There were some spirited games of tree-tag, but they felt more playful than aggressive. In fact, there were times when it seemed almost . . . flirty? The more I watched, the more convinced I became that he really liked her. A lot. Hmmm?
As chance would have it, the answer to my next question was within easy reach. I’d been trying (for the hundredth time) to deal with my book hoarding problem, and knew the exact location of my Peterson Field Guides.
As I’d suspected, black squirrels are, in fact, gray squirrels. This might sound strange, given the obvious difference in their appearance, but it’s true. More familiar to most people would be the case of Labrador Retrievers, found commonly with coats of black, chocolate, or yellow. They look very different, but inside they’re the same. It’s the same with the squirrels.
And with us.
Einstein was right. No surprise.
I realize that accessing nature on a regular basis is not a simple matter for many people. However, I strongly believe that getting grass under your feet and the electric light out of your eyes from time to time is vital to good health. Also, it really is true what Einstein said. Looking deeply into nature can lead to a greater understanding of so many things, including ourselves.
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