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

Wimbley

Living out in the country as we do, It's easy to form mental attachments to certain wild creatures.  The latest one to tug at our heartstrings is a young raccoon.  We're calling him Wimbley.  I noticed him Tuesday as I was throwing corn out for the creatures.  It seemed strange that he was out in the full daylight, and even stranger that he didn't run from me.  Instead, he ambled to an old oak tree nearby and climbed slowly, resting frequently, to a crotch in the tree, about 20 feet up. 

 I saw him the next day, briefly, and then, on Thursday, there was a showdown.  While he was eating, a short distance from the same tree, 7 vultures surrounded him.  We seldom see those ugly creatures close to the house, and I wondered, not for the first time, about Wimbley's well being.  But he certainly had spunk.  While a wild turkey provided backup, he tried to intimidate the vultures with his fiercest snarl.  When that didn't deter them, he simply ignored them, and ate his corn.  One by one, they shuffled off.

Wimbley was staying closer to the base of the tree today, and no surprise, we discovered he has an injured front leg.  Most likely, he was abandoned by his family when they moved to a different location, and he couldn't make the trip.  Now, he has a little water, and a little dog food, and a new name.  And of course, a little piece of our hearts.

Longing For Rain

It was hot yesterday, 

in a string of so many hot days it was impossible to remember winter.  

At the pond, the air was alive with dragonflies, 

zipping back and forth like errant kites on a string, seemingly energized by the heat.

  Hummingbirds, too, were active, massing at the feeders morning and evening.

This morning early,

clouds cover the sky and a rare breeze blows from the north,

cooling the air and bringing the vultures out to soar overhead.  

A patch of blue opens in the dark sky,

and I long for heaven.

In the meantime, we long for rain.