Squirrels

White Mountain Retreat 2023 Pt.7

Whah da? Squirrels!?! I recently read on the internet that these feisty rambunctious critters “were once the most popular pet in America…Throughout the 1700s and 1800s, they were viewed as ideal pets for children…One even made it to the White House as President Warren G. Harding’s pet. A photograph from 1922 published in the Library of Congress shows the 29th President kissing the squirrel on its cheek as the animal cuddles toward him affectionately….”

“The attraction to them as pets was reserved mostly for the upper class, since they had more time and money to spare. Adorable pictures from the 18th-century show high-class children were posing with their squirrels kept by their sides on gold leashes. Benjamin Franklin is even credited for writing the eulogy of a friend’s squirrel that was bitten by a dog in 1722, saying, ‘Few squirrels were better accomplished, for he had a good education, had traveled far, and seen much of the world. Thou art fallen by the fangs of wanton, cruel Ranger!’”

I’m finding the idea stunning, but ask, https://www.naturalstatewildlife.com.

Arizona Squirrels I have Known:

During other visits to the White Mountains, about a mile away at the spring, we have been harassed by belligerent squirrels. As I walked through the forest, out to enjoy a pleasant barefoot all over spiritual oneness experience, several sat just above me in the trees, chattering, seemingly threatening me. It appeared territorial. A nut fell behind me. After evaluating my position, I didn’t feel threatened, but their tone was amazingly vehement.

Still, all of my life, it has always been a treat to watch squirrels play their games and display their agility.

We don’t see many in Tucson, trees are smaller, I suppose, heat, maybe. DF occasionally has one in her backyard that she calls Mr. Wilson.

They do thrive in the higher Arizonan elevations.

In the foothills desert, I have seen huge squirrels, high up in rocks and cliffs, peering out across their domain.

What is more common are little Harris’ Antelope Squirrels that I once thought were chipmunks, because of their stripes and the cute way that they run, bouncing with their tails in the air.

In my home in Tortolita, I often sat on my couch looking out through a picture window at the granite slope across from the patio entrance. Deer and wildcats might pass by, or stop to inspect their reflections in the glass. It was candid camera. The most frequent visitors, besides the stupid doves, who would knock themselves silly flying at their reflection, were a pair of these Antelope Squirrels.

They would play and feast on the shrubs, particularly the barrel cactus buds. The cacti bloom and then create numerous large fruit in a tuft at the crown. After the sweet moist fruit, these two critters would stop in like a pantry at their leisure. They’d climb the needles, somehow. Then, either munch there, which is a dangerous place in view of predators, or knock the fruit off.

They were a comical pair. I fell in love with these welcomed neighbors, although they wouldn’t interact, running away at the slightest sound of the doorknob. I called them Chip and Dale. I don’t know how they ended up a pair-bond. There was no certainty, possibly married for life, siblings, or a couple of guys out together into the adventure of life.

They came around for a few years together, then one day there was only, Chip. I could only surmise fate. They seemed to live over the ridge, but then Chip stopped coming around, too.

A year, or more, later, an identical pair returned for another year or so. I saw grey around the temples of one, like myself. At the time I was sure I was watching Chip and Dale, again. These two were my neighbors for a total of give or take seven years.

There Goes the Neighborhood!

So, our more recent White Mountain campsite had one, then two then three identified squirrels. They were circling around camp generally, jumping from branch to branch, or scurrying along the freeways of fallen trees.

They kept their distance, but after a week or so, I hung up a clothesline between two trees. There was some chatter about that. The next morning the line had been gnawed in two. Towels, socks and clothespins laid in a pile on the ground.

I retied what was left, but another prank happened in the night. They didn’t take the string, but it seemed that it was considered a trashy blight on the neighborhood sensibilities. I thought, “No, not a neighborhood governing committee!”

Soon the string disappeared completely, an impressive feat for such a small guy. He’d have had to have tugged a long piece of cord through the forest, most likely getting caught on objects along the way. I investigated the chatter this time. Perhaps victory cries, perhaps complaints from whiplash when the cord snagged. Perhaps arguments about the useless clutter around the nut stash. They were living across the way, out by the entrance to our driveway.

Wait and Watch

We had the need for a tarp over the back of the truck, aka chuck-wagon, a simple shelter from sun and rainfall. I figured how I could string it up between four or five trees.

It was an incorrect size, so I spent a couple of hours devising how to weave it together and tighten it up securely.

In a few days I got tired of re-tightening it up.

It often hung a little low for us to stand upright.

I found a new correct sized tarp on a trip to town. It showed a fun delicate pattern of pine tree shadows as the sun shone through.

The other one became the rain cover for the growing pile of firewood.

Yup, the threat of mischievous squirrels, getting bolder and bolder…And then, we came back from a hike one day….

Issues Coming to a Head

The next morning, addressing the warm sun and pine air, I poked my head out of the doorway of our canvas tent. I stepped out and stretched taking a deep nude breath. Our green patio carpet lay before me and at the end corner, the solar light had fallen. It had been tied up in strands of unraveled carpet. Who else? I took scissors to the now further unraveling carpet and placed rocks on top to avoid more destruction.

I resolved to confront these neighbors. This cute nuisance was beginning to feel like a declaration of war by the locals.

THE SHOWDOWN AT THE CHUCKWAGON COMMENCES!

The rains started yesterday. The new rain/shade tarp over the “chuckwagon” is held up by some of that nice soft cord.

Outside of the tent, the wind calms. I hear a familiar chatter and then, well, I just know.

I come rushing out of the zippered tent door, alert, focused and barefoot up to my eyebrows. All is moist and pleasant. The air is filled with those wonderful forest aromas produced by clean air, but my intent is not there. The tarp has fallen on one corner and dumped collected rainwater into our canvas chairs, which were previously safely under it. There he is, the squirrel, the bigger older one with brown back and grey tail. It’s headed down the tree, where remnants of my cord are still wrapped around the trunk.

I smile and take three long strides toward the thin pine as the squirrel changes course, running back up the tree and into the branches. It crosses over into a larger tree and stops on a branch, watching from about 15 feet above.

 I want to scare it away and pick up a piece of wood, which fits well into my hand. I toss it up toward the confident rascal. My surprise and eyebrows shoot higher, as I see my aim is perfect. The wood slaps with a clatter at the branch right next to an equally surprised rodent.

It scurries through the branches and across to another tree about 40 feet south and 20 feet up. I pick up another piece of wood and make my way down the trail, lobbing the missile.

Once again, the toss is perfect. The squirrel and I are both surprised. I begin to think how it is that this inner Dead Eye Dick is emerging. With no better answers, I suspect that it has something to do with the lack of clothing. I remember that also playing nude and barefoot golf, my approach shot’s accuracy and drives improve dramatically.

The frantic critter is circling the campsite to the west now, attempting to make its way to home safety in the northwest. We’ve been watching and listening, getting to know our place and the habits of the locals. I figure that it will probably shoot down two fallen logs, like an elevated freeway.

I find a small rock. The bandit squirrel has stopped, holding up on a thick flat stick about 50 feet away. I lob and nearly catch its tail! I must appear like a magical creature able to be so close and yet so far at the same time. “The ones without the colorful fur use magic!” 

As I poke my head back into the tent, I grin at DF. I’m pleased at my luck, or accuracy. I haven’t been that good since pitching Little League. What’s a squirrel to do? How would it take that? Could it understand that stealing someone’s rope is like stealing someone’s nuts?

Peace on the Mountain

This morning there is chattering again, just outside of the tent. DF opens the zipper quickly in her own pursuit. There at our doorstep, lies a fresh, juicy, still green, pinecone.

We aren’t sure of this message’s meaning. Could it be a gift, a respectful peace offering? Could it be a line not to cross? Perhaps, when we leave, I’ll gift them some of those pieces of soft rope.  

On our last day, I took the loose forest green carpet strand remnants and placed the wad on a stump near their headquarters, as a neighborly parting gift.

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