rodent – Life In A Word

My granddaughter has a fancy starter piano with eight colorful keys. A flip of the switch and she can play musical notes, animal sounds, or hear the colors of the rainbow. She’s not even a year old so she pounds more than plays, creating a chorus of owls, frogs, birds, and rabbits. Those four I can handle. But every now and then she throws in a squirrel and the hairs on my neck stand at full attention.

Maybe you agree; it’s a little odd to include a rabbit in keyboard animal sounds (does a rabbit even make a sound?) Admittedly, the little piano trill conjures a furry friend with a twitching nose. On the other hand (paw?) the squirrel sound is a toneless gnawing burst, sounding very similar to the real squirrels who sharpen their teeth on my metal gutters. Whoever created this keyboard is having a good laugh at my expense. “Let’s see; I have the entire animal kingdom at my fingertips and I only need to come up with eight sounds. Let’s go with a squirrel!”

You sense my wrath already (and I’ve only logged a couple of paragraphs). But here’s the thing. I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, typing away, and I can’t claim full concentration because I’m expecting the sound of rodent enamel on metal at any moment. Words fail to describe it. Just imagine the grind of a dull hand saw… back and forth, back and forth on the gutter.

It’s not like the squirrels don’t have other nearby options for hanging out. We have fence lines dividing our pastures; convenient raceways when the squirrels dash to their trees and back. And about those trees: dozens of pines and oaks, with broad branches inviting a squirrel nest or ten. So why is one of them always attracted to the heights of my house?

The battle began last spring. The squirrel scampered happily across the peaks and valleys of my roof, pausing occasionally to gnaw a shingle or a gutter. Eventually he discovered one of my vent pipes tasted pretty good too, and realized with just a bit of mouth work he could open up access to the inside. Now we have a problem. I pictured all kinds of mayhem inside my attic: droppings, nests, stolen insulation, chewed electrical wires. It was time to take action.

My initial defense was a complete failure. The former owner left a full-size plastic owl behind – one of those bobble-head figures that looks remarkably lifelike. So I placed the owl close to the house and watched through the windows. Bobble bobble. The squirrels hesitated from a distance, eventually crawled cautiously closer, then pretty much made friends with my plastic predator. I checked Mr. Hoots recently and noticed his ears had been chewed off.

When yet another squirrel called “dibs” on my roof a few months later I knew it was time to get serious. Looked into my options and dropped a few bucks on a Crosman “American Classic” bolt action pellet pistol, a variable-pump long-barrel that looks more intimidating than it shoots. You drop in the ammo, pump a few times, and the compressed air blasts the pellet to kingdom come.

Now then, here’s why my pellet gun was about as effective as the bobble-head owl. One, my shaky hands have the gun pointing everywhere but directly at an annoying squirrel. Two, I’m old enough to need readers to align the sight at the end of the barrel. And three – and here’s the kicker – the impact of the pellet is nothing more than a gentle nudge. Seriously, these squirrels have so much fur and fat they could probably take a dozen pellets while pawing their little noses at me.

It’s a humble exchange – the squirrels and me. The first time I shot anywhere near one of them, I kid you not – he ducked. He was poised on my roof line staring down at me, wondering what the heck I was about to do, when suddenly BLAM! and my little pellet went whistling harmlessly over his head. Then came the ducking move and the amused stare, as if to say, “Missed me!”

So why do I still fire off a pellet every time a squirrel goes gnawing on my gutter? I think it’s one of those false senses of accomplishment. I take the shot, the shot misses, the squirrel relocates to the other side of the roof, and all goes quiet for another hour or two. Yep, I showed him.

So the battle rages on. There will be future chapters to share in this space, and… and… and right on cue, there goes the hand saw again. Gnaw gnaw gnaw. Time to holster my American Classic and take my best shot again. Oh wait, hold the phone – heh – it’s just my granddaughter playing her little animal sounds over in the living room. I think I’ll go teach her a little something about dentistry and extract a piano key.

My wife and I live on horse property here in Colorado: flat, open acreage with high-desert grass in all directions. When you’re out in the pastures it can feel like you’re alone on top of God’s green earth. But make no mistake; there’s a bustling world just below the surface. Every day it seems, one or more of our eight billion ground squirrels darts out of a hole, stands at attention, and gives me the cold-eyed stare down, as if to say, “you think this is your property, huh?”

Okay, so eight billion ground squirrels is a bit of an exaggeration (let’s go with seven billion). And they’re not really our ground squirrels (although some definitions of real estate would disagree). The fact of the matter is, we’re cohabitating with tons of rodents, and I often wonder which of us is in charge.

To be clear, we’re not talking about prairie dogs (the larger members of the squirrel family) nor chipmunks (the smaller), but rather those gregarious in-between’ers with the bold racing stripes down the back. Ground squirrels have short tails, beady eyes, and perky little ears on top of smallish heads. They forage for nuts and seeds (of which we have precious few) or insects in a pinch, and they can dig holes like champs. Ground squirrels rise up on their hind legs in an instant when they sense danger, standing straight as a board and totally aware (an annoyingly cute habit). They vanish into the earth with an alarming screech when they sense the slightest movement.

But I digress. I’ve seen enough of these little furballs to know who’s responsible for the Swiss cheese look of our land. I saw one of them disappear down a hole once, then pop up fifty yards away mere seconds later. And damn these little critters are bold. One time I was looping the lawn on my John Deere ride-on mower when a squirrel stared me down from right there amongst the blades until I practically ran him over. Picture that famous photo of the Tiananmen Square protestor in China; the one who refused to back down from the approaching tank. That was me and the squirrel.

We have an understanding, the groundies and I (or so I thought). I willingly cede them the pastures while they keep a distance from the lawn and patio. Their holes are too small to cripple the horses, and it’s not like we have a grove of walnut trees just beckoning them to the buffet. But the lawn? Now that’s sacred territory, friends. I used to think my lawn had a force field around the perimeter, keeping the ground squirrels at bay. No longer. I recently discovered two of their holes smack dab in the middle of the green. In an instant I was thinking, “payback time, you, you rodents, you”. I grabbed a big coil of garden hose, thrust the nozzle down one of the holes like a big ol’ snake, and turned on the water full-blast. Then I watched the other hole with a smirk, waiting for my little traitor to come flying out atop a geyser of water.

Alas, Old Faithful never happened, not even like you see in cartoons. Thirty minutes of fill-‘er-up and then I gave up and turned off the water. Not only did I not flush out a ground squirrel, I didn’t even fully flood wherever those holes led to. Which got me to wondering, just how big is this underground Habitrail? Can you picture one of those sand-filled ant farms you used to get as a kid? Is the foundation of our house resting precipitously on a network of squirrel tunnels and my water-dousing only accelerating its collapse? Let’s hope I don’t tumble out of bed one night and wonder what just happened. I will admit to this: a little while after me and the garden hose, I was at the kitchen sink when a groundie popped right up from one of those holes in the lawn. He didn’t even look wet, but boy did he look pissed. He stared right at me through the window with his beady little eyes, as if to say, “YOU. You killed my family”. Nah. More likely he was saying, “nyah, nyah, nyah – you didn’t get me”. Probably stuck out his teeny-tiny tongue while he was at it.

I’m not one to take up arms, but ground squirrels have me thinking about a BB gun. I’m just an average shot but the little critters make easy targets with their stand-and-freeze habits. Maybe I could fashion a coat out of several dozen squirrel pelts and parade around the(ir) pastures. But seriously now, how many BB’s would it take to make a dent in our Chip ‘n Dale population? Ten thousand? Twenty? For crying out loud, that’s less than one-quarter of one percent (of seven billion). The squirrels seem to be winning.

I’m going about this all wrong. I need something stronger. Do they sell nuclear bombs at Wal*Mart?

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Tag: rodent

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