The Damnsquirrel Chronicles

This weekend I have been the Guardian of the Bird Feeder and I have failed in my mission. Utterly. I am depressed, frustrated, and shamed by the experience.  Also, majorly PO’d.

This morning, Beelzebub, the damnsquirrel, saunters down the tree trunk and strolls across the parking pad.  It wouldn’t surprise me to see the little hoodlum wearing a leather jacket one day.  A chipmunk runs out from under a Lenten Rose and falls in behind him, pausing while the damnsquirrel makes his way up the greased (yes, I did!) feeder pole.

Chip just stands there, watching, and I realize the little turd is in cahoots, waiting for the damnsquirrel to scatter seeds during his feeder maneuvering.  No kidding.  (see orangey blob on left of photos.  That’s Chip.)

Chippendale watching Pole Dancer.
The whole famdamily is out there!

One squirrel on the birdfeeder pole, another  on the ground, and a chipmunk standing by.  Good grief!

Hurry up! I'm hungry down here!
STILL waa-a-a-iting, Fatso!

–                                                   –                                   –                         –

Chip bellies up to the buffet after Beelzebub latches on to the feeder in missionary position.   Note Chip’s size.  This is obviously not his first visit.

Definitely not his first trip to the buffet!

I’ve seen enough, so I scream and beat on the deck rail with an empty plastic milk jug.   The chipmunk runs and hides.  Beelzebub scampers down and heads for the oak tree, but on the way, detours to climb up and over the basketball stand, an in-your-face gesture for sure, then begins his ascent up the tree. However, he stops atop the birdhouse and flips me the bird.  I grab the broom and rush down the steps, waving the broom and shrieking wildly, unmindful of the possibility I’m drawing attention from the neighbors.  This is war.

The damnsquirrel shrugs and continues onto the lowest branch of the tree, too high for me to reach, then lights a cigarette and sits back on his haunches to wait me out.

Indignantly, I stomp around the yard, looking for weapons.  I grab the squirrel baffle which won’t fit ON the birdfeeder pole and tie with floral wire TO the pole.  Perhaps the plastic pot atop the finial will fall and hit him on his next visit.

No garden tour here again this year.

It doesn’t.  I shift to PLAN B:

I drag the garden hose up the steps and sit motionless on the deck until the damnsquirrel tries again.  The nozzle leaks and soaks my lap, then drips between my legs, onto the wicker chair and the deck floor.  The damnsquirrel plays a few video games while he waits, cigarette dangling cooly from his skinny lips,  glancing at me occasionally.

Sumbitch watching me.

Finally he stubs out the cigarette and swaggers down the tree.

I don’t move.  He continues over the pavement, not going the basketball stand route this time, and eyes me as he cautiously climbs the pole.  The chipmunk hurries to the buffet line again.  I stay motionless until the damnsquirrel swings into his compromising position with the feeder, then I squeeze the hose nozzle trigger and dislodge him with a jet of water.  Magnificent!  He races up the tree.

My attempt to photograph the surprise attack fails, for I am too excited and end up with six pictures of the deck rail.  Before I can get the memory stick back in the camera, put away the broom, and pick up the various weapons I’ve thrown, the damnsquirrel is sucking on the feeder again.

I head back into the house hoping that the neighbors won’t think the threats I’m screaming are for my husband. Actually Dearly Beloved has been away at the beach, working on his golf game, so I call to tell him of my defeat.  He laughs at the water hose offensive, but sympathizes, too, telling me softly, “My dream is to be sitting out there with the pressure washer when…!”

I feel a tingle of excitement.

Bring it on home, Baby, bring it on home!


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16 thoughts on “The Damnsquirrel Chronicles

  1. I don’t know if I should tell you this or not, you see I did enjoy reading your damnsquirrel story (except for the wetting my pants from laughing so hard part), but I’ll be kind and tell you how I finally solved this problem in my yard last week.

    Like you, the baffle from the hardware store did not fit the pole on my feeder. So I took an aluminum pan (you know the kind you get your leftovers in at some restaurants?) and cut it to the middle, where I then cut a little round hole. I put this around the pole and bent the aluminum back together. Voila! It damn well worked! I laughed my butt off when the squirrels tried to climb the pole. They tried for almost 20 minutes before they gave up.

    I thought the glint of the sun on the aluminum might keep the birds away and planned on painting it if indeed it worked, but the birds don’t mind a bit. I have so many birds coming now that the squirrels don’t take over.

    My friend saw my contraption and told me she put “slinkies” around her poles and that it works and looks better than my thing-a-mah-bobbie.

    Good luck!

  2. Jincey08

    Mar-eeeeeeee, my sides hurt from laughing. The pictures are good, but the mental pictures of your sitting there with the leaky hose . . . and then the exuberance you felt when you swooshed Beelzebub, well, those pictures are hilarious.

  3. I REALLY needed a good laugh this morning and thank goodness I found it here. On a serious note…I think I see the potential for a book here. Would be a best seller among those of us who are also haters of those beady-eyed damnsquirrels.

  4. The curse of all of us bird feeders–squirrels and chipmunks. We have ordinary squirrels–not damnsquirrels. But our chipmunk (appears to be only one) is tireless. He runs back and forth–empty mouth full mouth empty mouth full mouth.
    I just hope he doesn’t have any chipmunk partner.

  5. Hahahahahaha!! I have news for you: no mere garden hose is gonna stop Beelzebub!

    We have a squirrel baffle on one pole (which I know won’t work with your pole) but the other thing that has really worked is a feeder we bought that defeats squirrels. You can adjust it so when a squirrel steps on the perch that encircles the feeder, it closes the feeding ports. This has worked like a charm for us (we had a rat problem on the farm last year and needed to make sure no one was getting seed but the birds!) Ours is now adjusted so that chipmunks can get food (because I love them) but not squirrels!

  6. Jincey08

    Natalie’s suggestion is a good one. We have one of those feeders, too, and it’s fun to watch the squirrels try to figure out how to get into it. So far, we’re winning.

  7. That damn squirrel ought to be afraid of you by now. I know I would 🙂 This post put a smile on my face. I can relate to the squirrel stories too.

  8. Okay, the squirrel just got revenge on ME. The other day we discovered that a red squirrel had chewed through the back of the Rubbermaid heavy-duty outdoor storage box on our deck, and chewed holes in every one of the six patio-chair cushions stored within!!! I told the dogs they have permission to eat the squirrel.

  9. At this point, I hope you realize that these creatures are at your service, characters for the book you’re writing in serial form right here. They accommodate your secret agenda perfectly!

    You win!

    p.s. DB wouldn’t DARE pressure wash an adorable little chipmunk, would he?! Oh, no! (See? This chapter will keep your readers coming back!)

  10. I can see one day you will start writing a successful, beloved children’s books with the main character being an indomitable squirrel. And when the interviewer asks you the inspiration, you are going to have a smile as mysterious as Mona Lisa’s…

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