What you are about to read is a true story. Names have been disguised to protect the innocent.
Friday, a.m., April 17. The Mr and I have become avid bird watchers of late. We have three hummingbird feeders, a seed tray "hut" that has a wee roof to keep the seed dry, and two hanging suet feeders. Non-stop action all day keeps us entertained and we have added numerous new-to-us bird sightings to our Life List. Nerdy, yes, but this is retirement, and especially during the pandemic.
We had been keeping gallon-sized milk jugs full of bird seed just handy, outside the patio door, on a three-shelved cart -- these containers just fitting snugly on the second shelf. Even a well-educated adult such as myself had to figure out how to maneuver a jug sideways to lift it out. So, it surprised us to see that one had been knocked over and seed spilled all over the patio. We laughed it off — as one does — surely a logical explanation. Probably a squirrel. Maybe we hadn't screwed the cap on properly and the little darling just knocked it over — Oopsy! — probably scaring its cute little self in the process. No harm done. We tightened the top on the toppled seed jug and replaced it back on its shelf.
We went inside, chuckling to ourselves. It could well have been the pair of sweet, pint-sized squirrels that have been regular visitors to our backyard. They amuse us, trying to figure out how to overcome the cone-shaped baffler attached to the feeder pole. And they're baffled, alright. We laugh watching them shimmy up the pole and then slide right on down again like bushy-tailed firemen, never reaching their goal. Juvenile delinquents, maybe. But, surely not hardened criminals.
Saturday, a.m., April 18. Same crime scene. The previously tightened cap once again screwed off, lying on the ground, the jug lying on its side, seed strewn everywhere. Hmm. A Mystery. Could a squirrel actually open a screw cap? Or is this a Copy Cat Crime — AKA Puss Puss, our neighbour's champion mouser? Couldn't be. Not a feline.
I deduce this to be the work of a more clever perp. A light-fingered foe. Prime Suspect: Raccoon. (AKA Masked Bandit. AKA Trash Panda. AKA Master Criminal.) Before it could cause more havoc, we hauled the seed jugs indoors.
Sunday, a.m., April 19. I went out to refill the bird seed tray and noticed that the cheap (cheep?) plastic suet feeder was empty, even though I had inserted a fresh chunk of the good peanut butter stuff the day before. And where is the suet? Nowhere to be found. Now, it takes our resident wild birds at least 10-14 days to finish off a suet refill, so I rule them out as culprits in the case of the suddenly disappearing suet. On closer inspection it seems clear that some critter has cleverly figured out how to snap off the snap-on, wire "cage" that holds the suet refill. Now, even if I had not snapped it on properly, and it had fallen off, no bird is ever going to fly away with an entire peanut butter suet cake in its beak. I suspect the furry felon has struck again. So, we put that feeder away.
Monday, a.m. April 20. I figure that if the little thief wants suet, it will have to contend with the well-constructed, crime-free, Fort Knox of a cedar feeder that is much better designed with its roof, solid wooden sides, and interior slide-in wire suet cake holder that can't be removed by anyone other than an adult human. It hangs by a sturdy cord from a metal "shepherd's crook" pole, which is solidly planted into the ground.
The only weak point in this system might be that cord. If a critter decided to gnaw through the cord, the whole thing would come tumbling down. Surely, that's not going to happen.
The Mr and I were gone for no more than a hour. When we got home -- there was the wooden suet feeder on the ground, the cord broken and the suet cake stolen. We found the suet, not too far away, as though it had been carried off like so much fast-food-take-out. Nibbled and abandoned. This is not a raccoon's MO. A raccoon would have taken it on the lam behind the hedge and snacked on its stolen goods undetected.
Having eliminated raccoons from our investigation, we are now working on the theory that our robbers are squirrels. (AKA Bushy Tails. AKA Tree Rats.)
The frayed cord was all the evidence we needed. The Mr took the feeder to the garage for repair. He replaced the cord with plastic-coated speaker wire and hung it back up again.
Two hours later, the feeder is on the ground. The suet strewn.
Apparently, a splice of plastic-coated speaker wire is a mere piffle for a wily squirrel. Was it chewed? Or do our thin bushy-tailed rodents actually weigh enough to break the cord if they landed on the feeder?
We discussed an entrapment. A sting operation.The Mr tied a knot in the top of the two loose ends of wire and I installed 1/3 of a seed-encrusted peanut butter chunk. I wasn't going to waste a whole one. We made some strong coffee and settled in for a stakeout at our kitchen table. This squirrel, whoever it was, was not going to get away with it.
First up, a petite, sleek little squirrel shimmied up the skinny pole, but lost confidence at the shepherd's crook at the top and slid back down again. Next, it went for the vertical leap, but it didn't have the chops to stick the landing. Back to the pole where it got half way up and somehow managed to brace itself with back toes and launch its front half toward the feeder. Having found its grip, it proceeded to munch seed and peanut butter, straddling between pole and feeder like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat. The speaker wire held.
Next up: a rather hefty squirrel came along. Aha! Have we lured our possible suspect? This guy is Sumo Squirrel. The ground shakes as he walks past. The pole is just a pesky obstruction in its path and it dispenses with that option immediately. His method? A four-foot vertical leap from the ground up onto the feeder and it just hung there, suspended, helping itself to all the seed a fat squirrel could possibly want. Its take-off solves the cord mystery — it has one hell of a powerhouse push-off that torques the feeder into a swirling, bouncing hunk of cedar — which crashes to the ground.
The Mr proceeded to Level 3 squirrel baffle-ication. He came back with it wired with actual wire, and a plastic sink drain to mount on the pole as a baffler -- which I'm convinced the squirrels will laugh at. I'm sure I heard a giggle from a tree branch. We returned to our undercover surveillance.
The wire cord held, in spite of the magnificent torque that Sumo Squirrel exerts, but there he was, caught in the act, deftly landing on the feeder ledge from a four foot vertical jump. The smaller squirrels acted as accomplices, aiding and abetting, shimmying up the pole to springboard off our laughable baffler -- the plastic sink drain providing a nice springy launching pad — strewing seed about for the big bossman. The clincher came when I noticed that one of them had chewed a chunk off the bottom "landing" strip of the feeder -- no doubt tunneling through that wire cage to get at the suet.
Clearly, it was time for squirrel rehab.
Tuesday, April 21. Time to call in the forensics team. The Wild Bird Store, which happily is a short drive from our home, and, in these COVID-19 days, considered an essential service. They were highly sympathetic to our story, and said, "Just bring back the unused portion of your case of peanut butter suet and we'll exchange it for the Hot Pepper variety -- that should slow them down." Their words, "ought to slow them down," made me wonder if that was only a partial guarantee of success. The Hot Pepper suet is, of course, more expensive, but apparently it's a crime deterrent. Never mind -- we'd pay any price if it did the trick. I felt a little mean bringing home a product that I was sure would be painful for the squirrels when they got a nibble of screaming hot suet or it could possibly cause them tummy upset, but I was assured that hot pepper can't hurt them as they won't even come near it. Birds apparently have no taste buds, so the spice is no bother. (Who figured out that birds have no taste buds?) Anyway, we installed the hot pepper cakes, and went back to our stakeout.
No squirrel attempted a robbery. They approached the base of the pole and sniffed, but not one of our three partners in crime tried to steal any suet.
Squirrel gangsters dispatched! Hot pepper saved the day!
But none of the birds are eating it now. A chickadee or two will flutter close, take one whiff, and back away. No Flicker, or Downy Woodpecker, or even a House Finch has come near.
Wednesday, April 22. I dropped in to see the Wild Bird folks again and asked about the suet. Do the birds just need to develop a taste for cajun, I asked? "No," the bird guy said, "they don't actually like it as much as peanut butter." Great. "But," he added, "once you're convinced that the squirrels have lost interest and are throughly rehabbed, you could go back to giving your feathered friends peanut butter suet." "You're kidding, right" I said. I told him how I had returned the case of the peanut butter suet only a few days ago. He said I could bring back the hot pepper for another exchange.
Sunday, July 5. This whole episode took place some weeks ago.
Since then, I am happy to report that the squirrels have been complying with the program, i.e., not bothering with the hot pepper suet. The birds for their part accepted this change in their culinary habits and come to the feeder regularly. They're into spicy food, I guess. We never saw a raccoon. Case closed. But, it remains an unsolved mystery as to who opened the screw cap on the seed jug.
Coming up next on CSI: Nanaimo. What to do about Antler-boy, the deer, (AKA Buckzilla. AKA Buckaroo. AKA Buck Rogers. AKA Buckminster Fuller) chowing down on the "deer resistant" plants in the front yard. Stay tuned.
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