Bread is all well and good for the birds as a treat, but with winter coming on, they needed something more substantial. Janet, Riff-Raff, and Han don't leave for the winter anymore.
I don't know if it's because the winters are milder or because they know I'm a soft touch for food.
They aren't the only winged ones hanging out for bread. The crows, mockingbirds, scissortails, sparrows, and grackles compete for the bread at times. But Janet, Riff-Raff, and Han are my regulars.
If they're gonna stay all winter, I need better food for them.
And a bird feeder that will keep Big Sarge and his pilfering crew of squirrels out of the bird food.
I did my research and went out to buy a “squirrel-proof” birdfeeder. It has a sort of wire cage around the tube holding the seed, and when a squirrel gets on it the cage slides down, barring it from getting any noms. (they make better ones now than they did back then - just saying.)
We’ll see how this works out. If all else fails, it should at the very least be hysterically funny, watching Big Sarge and his crew trying to get into it. I kind of dread one of the little rodents getting a paw caught in it or something, though. Because let’s face it, these squirrels would be the ones to do so. Especially Big Sarge. He’s having some bad luck lately.
ANYWAY, while I was purchasing this wondrous object, I also picked up twenty pounds of birdseed. (What? I like to be prepared. It was on sale.) Then I turned around…and saw it.
SQUIRREL FOOD.
Can you believe that?
I’ll say it again.
SQUIRREL FOOD.
People pay money for this.
I stood there in the TLC aisle for at least twenty long-ticking seconds, dumbstruck and staring. Three shelves of squirrel food. I cannot believe people feed these furry little cat-kicking, war-mongering Sinanju-trained rodents. They had everything from actual corncobs to corncob-shaped logs of peanuts and birdseed to sawdusty cornmealy looking things that were probably the squirrel world equivalent of Metamucil.
Hah. Fiber for squirrels.
Ha-ha.
There were tons of bags of squirrel food.
“No way,” I finally breathed.
At this point, I have to admit, I thought about buying some of the pressed seed loaves and hanging them up in the mulberry tree.
Why? Aw, just for the lulz, maybe.
No, not for giggles. I’ll be honest. Pookahs, don’t look at me like that.
AS A BRIBE, OKAY?
As a kickback to the little fuzzy commandos so they won’t break my windows with peanuts or pinecones. But then I thought, you know, you start paying the squirrel mafia off and sooner or later they’ll start squeezing you for more.
As I turned away, my eye was caught by a picture.
Of a squirrel sitting in a chair at a table with a corncob planted in the middle of it, nomming down. They were selling these table and chair sets.
“Oh hell no,” I muttered. Well, maybe not muttered. Maybe sort of said out loud. “No way. I’m not being held hostage by a bunch of rodents.”
I should mention that there was a lady at the other end of the aisle, looking at hummingbird feeders. She gave me a startled look and ducked around to the other aisle maybe a little too quickly.
I left the squirrel food where it was, and that terrifying squirrel table and chair set, shaking my head.
All the way through the store I kept having recurring visions: of nattily-dressed squirrels in Zoot suits, twirling watch chains and telling me with James Cagney sneers “Eh, you, you see here. We don’t like dat boid feedah youse gots. We like da ones dat are real easy-like. But if ya wanna keep dat one, doll-face, all you gotta do is lay some cob on da table. Easy-like. We likes dat, see?”
Yeah, I amuse myself all the time like this. It’s what makes me unfit for a normal life, I guess.
So. The new feeder is hanging up.
The critters are agog, especially sweet dumb Keggers, the club-footed kitty, who crouches inside on the windowsill and keeps warbling his throaty little “ohpleaseohplease” song as Janet leads Riff-Raff and Han to the new dining parlor. Dogmatyx has made himself a nice new bed underneath. He's as hopeful of a bird dinner as Keggers - and far more likely to get his wish. Now and then, he grabs a toad or a turtle and munches them under the bird feeder, with a "You're next" look upwards.
No squirrel has attempted it yet.
But I’m waiting.
And as I stand here, looking out my window onto my back yard, I can see a couple of bushy-tailed bravos frolicking. They stop jumping around every once in a while to shoot me filthy looks through the window.
They know.
I keep the shovel handy by the back door now.
Previous back yard tales are here:
Big Sarge
Bird - 1, Squirrel - 0
Land Wars and Sinanju
Battle of Sweet Gum Gulp
Sugar Wars Day One
Sugar Wars Day Two
Sugar Wars Conclusion
Romance in the Air
Zombie Squirrels
Squirrely Candidates
Dispensing Love Advice to a Blue Jay