Showing posts with label squirrel hunting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label squirrel hunting. Show all posts

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Of Squirrels and Men

Why do men always think they have to fix things?  Lately, squirrels have been overrunning our bird feeder, while hungry little songbirds wait, high in the trees, hoping there will be some small morsel left for them when the gluttony is over.  In his attempt to right the situation, my husband Don, the fixer in question, has been shooting squirrels.

There, it's out.




When Don was young, he hunted squirrels, in part, to assuage his hunger, but they were hard to clean, and nowadays we have better options for meals.  As much as he hates wasting meat, all it takes to send him running for his gun is to see a fat squirrel hogging the bird feeder. I'm not condoning or condemning this behavior, only relating the facts.

Don tells me in his defense that squirrel season is open, he has his hunting license, and there are hundreds of squirrels on our property.  As he puts it, "since they have abundant crops of acorns, hickory nuts, walnuts, and other squirrel menu items, why should they have to eat the bird seed?  I only shoot the bad guys.  They're the ones that don't stop with eating the bird seed; they're not content until they eat the bird feeder, too. "





Don's slaughter of these defenseless animals has had some unintended consequences. Vultures have started camping out behind our house, fighting over the squirrels, messing up the patio, and cleaning out the shell of a recently diseased snapping turtle (let's not get into how that happened).




  

The other afternoon, while I was working downstairs, I heard a peck on the window and went up to investigate.  There, sitting in the bird feeder, was a black vulture, demanding his squirrel for lunch.































And where were all the songbirds?  Well, naturally, those poor little things were high in the trees, waiting, once again, for a place at the feeder.


The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

Robert Burns






Linking with Wild Birds Wednesday
and Your Sunday Best