The past few days have been rather perilous to the local gray squirrel population.
It began last week when I glanced out the window and saw a neighbor's cat proudly parading across the yard with a limp squirrel dangling from its jaws. Various cats are regular visitors here, attracted by birds coming to the feeders I have stationed about. For the most part, they're laughably unsuccessful. The birds keep a sharp lookout, plus there's not a lot of handy cover for concealment in the final critically-close range, and thus the long-distance rush-to-dinner usually ends with all birds making their escape well before the gonzo cats closes in. A bit of frustrated tail-swishing by the empty-clawed cat typically follows, which I find quite amusing.
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| Not the squirrel catcher…just catching a catnap in the wheelbarrow. |
Yes, now and then a cat does manage to pull it off. Not often, however; I'd say the ratio is maybe fifty rushes to one caught bird.
Squirrels seemed practically bulletproof—way too quick of reflexes, too speedy afoot, and too good at sudden direction changes. This is the very first time I've seen a cat catch a squirrel here at the cottage—and to be fair, I didn't actually witness the cat make the kill. For all I know, the squirrel could have met it's demise up on the road by bouncing off the bumper of a Buick.
Of course, the cat was just being a predator. Mouse, bird, squirrel…eats are eats. Everyone has to eat.
I hold the same attitude towards birds of prey. So when I looked out the same window a few days later and saw a redtail hawk land in the yard next to the river, maybe a dozen feet from the cottage door—a gray squirrel clutched in it talons, the only thing that upset me was that I'd left my camera in the pickup. I knew there wasn't a glimmer of hope that I'd be able to sneak out the back door and retrieve it, get back to the window, and make a photo without spooking the big hawk.
The redtail, a juvenile, sat on its kill for nearly fifteen minutes. At first it held its wings out, not fully extended, but sort of wrapped around its prey as if hiding it from view. Later it folded its wings back into place. I didn't see any struggles coming from the squirrel, so possibly the hawk was just being cautious. Every so often the hawk looked down, though it never tried to reposition its grip on the squirrel. But most of the time the bird kept a constant watch all around in every direction, head swiveling this way and that, scrutinizing everything.
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| A different redtail (I think) taken a few days later. |
About midways through this fifteen minute sit, a gray squirrel—one of several which had hunkered in the tree from which the hawk had snatched the hapless squirrel, and under which the bird now sat holding the unfortunate victim—came down the trunk, shaking it bushy tail and squacking loudly at the hawk. The irate squirrel approached to within four or five feet of the hawk. All the redtail could do was glare at the squirrel and take what I'm sure was a good cussing. I thought that was a pretty fearless act on the part of the gray squirrel.
Finally, the redtail flew off, the squirrel hanging like a fuzzy banner below its legs.
Incident three came this morning. Again, I witnessed it—the final milliseconds, anyway—through my deskside window. I was watching several squirrels chasing one another through the tops of the big sycamores along the river. Suddenly a blur caught my eye, which I realized was a falling squirrel. I didn't see the point from which the fall began, or know the reason it occurred…but I saw the final fifty-foot plunge, and heard the whap when the squirrel hit the ground—barely missing the upturned wheelbarrow—thirty feet from where I sat.
It isn't the first falling squirrel I've witnessed by a long shot. I've watched plenty of squirrels fall from power lines, treetops, off building, and bridges, and poles. Once I saw a squirrel attempt to jump from the top of a hundred-foot-tall cottonwood to a rocky cliff outcrop twenty feet away—only to miss completing the leap by several feet. What I've seldom seen, however, including the cottonwood-to-cliff attempt, was such a fall proving fatal. And this morning's plummet was no exception. After a minute or two of stunned immobility, the squirrel hopped over to the box elder near the front door, scampered up to a comfortable limb, and sat for awhile—considering, assessing, recovering? Whatever it is a squirrel does after such a plunge.
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| After the fall… |
Life for a squirrel can truly be…squirrelly.
———————
20 comments:
I quite like squirrels. Of course I love cats and am very fond of hawks and most other creatures. Nature plays out like this constantly - usually hidden from our view. Of course the more we observe, the more we become witness to life as it happens. If we have a camera at hand, that's just bonus.
Love that first shot.. and the feline in the wheelbarrow.
That squirrel head is startling!!!
We discovered a dead squirrel in our pool once and I saw a visiting cat jump about 4ft. high and slap a house finch to the ground, the finch managed to get away though.... another finch wasn't as lucky...I was sitting on my porch, when a Hawk swooped in, not 10ft. from me at eye level and took the finch away on the morning my mother passed 3 years ago. It marks the day for me with a natural event of nature.
Hilary…
I like all three, too—cats, squirrels, hawks. Usually it's a Cooper's hawk raiding my feeder birds; this is the first time I've lost a squirrel. As for the cat, how can I object to it catching a squirrel when I'm willing to give the hawk a pass? And I WANT the cat to catch mice. So…you just have to be fair and honest and understand they're simply animals trying to make a living.
Thank you—I thought the cat in the wheelbarrow was cute.
Wanda…
Up close and personal re. the squirrel, huh?
I'd hate to admit how much time I waste watching squirrels. Of course all I have to do is look up from my desk and there they are. Plus I often have them come up on the window ledge two feet from where I'm sitting and scrabble at the glass, peer in at me, or stand and eat sunflower seeds. Really distracting.
With all the birds around, there's little question that hawks aren't going to home in of a handy meal. You feed the birds, you're going to feed the hawks.
HI GRIZZ-
Great pictures and wonderful share of life on the river. :-) Squirrels are squirrely, indeed. I don't have anywhere near the amazing stories and info you have but a recent memory comes to mind. I had made some popcorn and had a large amount left - it doesn't keep so well so I went over to the woods edge and sprinkled the popcorn around. Watching them eat it, holding each popped kernel in their little paws was fascinating. They looked SO happy :-)
Love to you
Gail
peace.....
Not a fan of cats as they kill for the sport, but love seeing hawks being...well, hawks. :c)
My two cats (which now live exclusively indoors but which once were outdoor strays that I rescued) were highly adept at catching squirrels. We've got so many squirrels around here, and they are so destructive (I've taken my car to my mechanic on numerous occasions to have squirrel-inflicted under-the-hood damage repaired) that I wish there were far more squirrel-catching cats or Red-tailed Hawks around. Coyotes, by the way, have completely cleared my neighborhood of stray cats.
And, with regard to falling squirrels, I've really only seen it happen once. My wife and I were walking in a city park past a very tall tuliptree when--whoomp!--a squirrel plunged onto the pavement in front of us. I was sure it was a "gonner," but like your squirrel, it eventually recovered, dusted itself off, and scampered up the tree again.
Gail…
Those squirrels looked happy because they were! I scatter cracked corn for the ground feeding birds, and sometimes whole corn, too. The squirrels just sit and eat from the crack of dawn until they've either had their fill (not likely) or need to take a break and chase each other around. They chew the "heart" out of each kernel, and toss the rest aside.
My father always fed squirrels, so every autumn we'd go out and collect maybe 25-30 5-gallon buckets of walnuts for his backyard squirrels. The walnuts got hulled, then the nut itself went into a pile in the basement—and somebody (guess who) got to take a hammer and break each nut open and into a few pieces to make it easier for the squirrels. Think about how many walnuts it takes to fill 30 5-gal. buckets. Dad also gleaned fields after they been picked for maybe 30 bushels of eared corn (corn still on the cob.) I got to shuck that—and if we wanted some cracked corn for his 100 or so doves that came to the backyard daily, I was the corn cracker. BTW, the eared corn was simply stuck onto spikes in the feeding trees.
But, I still like to see those old bushytails sit up and gnaw away on corn, sunflower seeds, popcorn, or whatever else gets put out for them to eat.
Jayne…
These cats are hunting, and killing, to eat—it's a matter of survival. From what I've seen, they eat everything they catch. I simply can't hold that against them, though I try and keep my feeders in places where the birds have an advantage.
The redtail was unusual here in the yard. But all last winter I watched a Cooper's hawk make a pass through at least a dozen times per day…and its success on birds was fairly good—maybe one bird every other day. I never saw it manage a squirrel, though it tried.
And I also saw a cat (which I did a post on, I think) try to catch the Cooper's, though after a pretty funny wrestling match hawk and cat called it a draw and retired to their respective corners.
In a way, that completes a sort of loopy circle—cat catches birds, other cat catches squirrel, hawk catches squirrel, other hawk catches birds, cat catches hawk but lets go because hawk is bigger and meaner and might consider catching cat. Of course the squirrels and catchable-size birds are just meal-tickets for whomever gets their fangs or claws into them.
Scott…
I'm pretty flush with squirrels (for now, anyway) and can sustain a few losses. There are days when I see 15 or so squirrels sitting there eating happily and I think how much I like real burgoo, whose chief ingredient is squirrel, and subsequently think…hummm my yard, my corn, my squirrels… (So far, burgoo hasn't graced the menu…but I'm still thinking.)
I once lived in a farmhouse in extreme southwestern Ohio, over near the Indiana line. Corn and soybean country, but with plenty of vast weedfields. I lived there two years. Every single day the neighbor's beagle plunged into those weedfields and an hour or two later, reappeared carrying a rabbit which he carted up the road to his home before eating. According to the dog's owner (who had a couple of other dogs, too, and always kept plenty of food available) the dog had been doing this since puppyhood and just loved hunting and eating rabbits. I'll tell you one thing, though those weedfields were prime cottontail habitat, it was a rare thing to put up a rabbit when your were stomping around—that beagle had them cleaned out.
I'd suppose I've see 40-50 squirrels fall over the years. Most lost a foothold while walking a power or telephone line, but I've seen them miss jumps between trees. Often they fell 30-75 feet—and while it seems impossible, in all but one or two cases, appeared to survive the fall unscathed.
Though I try to love all creatures of nature, squirrels do not rank high on my list, nor to cats. The problem is that I love my birds too much. I have yet to discover the bird feeder that cannot be conquered by squirrels, and I have lost more than a few bluebirds to feral cats.
George…
There's an hour-long British film that usually appears on PBS once or twice a year on that very thing—the notion of trying to design a squirrel-proof bird feeder. It soon turns out to be a film on how close to impossible the design can be—in other words, how convoluted and complicated, though remotely possible a layout an enterprising squirrel can manage. As I remember it ends up with a design incorporating everything from high wires to tunnels to a cart on a clothesline, ropes to climb up and others to climb down, etc.—maybe 25 steps in the puzzle total—which the squirrel had to solve to reach the feeder. Which took it maybe a day or two to accomplish.
I guess you could fasten a feeder atop a 20-ft. greased pole in a clear portion of a yard 75-ft. in any direction from the nearest tree, building, or launch-ramp. But the smart money says a squirrel will still get up there sooner or later.
As to cats…I like cats. I like dogs, too. And hawks and all sorts of small birds. And squirrels—including in the culinary sense. While I'm not going to allow cats to regularly catch either my birds or my squirrels, I'm willing to overlook the occasional predation.
HI AGAIN-
I loved reading of your Autumn nut gathering with your Dad - and ya, that's a lot of nuts to be cracked and made ready for the squirrels. Clearly, a labor of love. phew. :-) And a loving memory. Thanks for sharing it.
Love to you always
Gail
peace.....
I love squirrels and their cheeky nature. they don't mind giving you or a cat or a hawk a good scolding. btw, the cat in the picture is a twin of my cat who terrorizes skinks, lizards, voles, mice and once got her a wren which she brought inside for me to step on in the dark.
Gail…
Didn't seem like a labor of love at the time…but you're right, it was. And even then, I took a fair amount of delight in helping feed those squirrels.
Hope you're up for a good weekend. I've been out shopping and am now baking a ham and making a soup I like with sweet potatoes, pumpkin, carrots, onions, smoked sausage, garlic & ginger. I'm also going to bake oatmeal/raisin cookies if I have time…though that also means I have to make a batch of oatmeal/pecan cookies for Myladylove who doesn't like raisins.
Ellen…
Squirrels are indeed cheeky, and will tell you off in a heartbeat if they think they're safe.
I once had a Siamese cat who was an excellent mouser. I learned this the night I brought her home. At the time I'd just moved into this rambling old rented house on a dairy farm in western Ohio. Sometime after midnight the cat woke me up purring loudly. She was sitting at the head of the bed beyond the far side of my pillow. Every so often she'd make a little mewing sound. At first I thought it was just a bit of insecurity about finding herself in a new home, so I reached over and scratched her behind the ears, rubbed her head a bit, whispered that everything was okay and I was sure she would learn to like the place.
But the cat kept purring like a Cessna getting ready for take-off and mewing every few seconds. I scratched and rubbed and whispered some more.
Then my arm brushed something on the pillow that wasn't pillowcase. Uh-oh. I recoiled slowly, fumbled around behind my back for the flashlight on the bedside table, finally found it—and with major trepidation, pointed it at my pillow and toggled the switch.
There were four dead mice rowed up as neat as you please on the end of the pillow. When the cat saw I'd noticed her handiwork, she stood, arched and stretched herself to about twice her regular height, then looked me straight in the eye: Okay, what do you think of this? Pretty good for a first night's work, eh?
I didn't come unglued, though I'm not sure what would have happened if, half asleep, I'd simply plopped a hand onto those mice carcasses. Instead, I did what any proud new owner of an obviously ace mouse catcher would do—I praised and patted the cat while we jointly admired her trophies, then got out of bed, removed the mice and tossed them into the garden, fed the cat a few treats, changed the sheets and pillowcases, and went back to sleep with the cat curled up on my hip.
For the rest of her 15 years with me, whenever she caught anything, she brought it in straightaway for me to admire. I learned to sleep with my subconscious attuned to the first purred hint that a midnight hunt had just been concluded and there were bodies to admire.
Squirrels can deal with a lot.
An old friend of mine... gay, priest, a titch overweight (to give you a visual)... was sitting naked on his toilet before showering in his two story Victorian when he heard a scrabbling sound.
Coming from below him. In the toilet.
When he investigated, he found a squirrel had come up to the second floor through the plumbing and was trying desperately to claw it's way out of the slippery bowl, with no success.
It was scared and angry and all my friend could think to do was toss the end of a towel into the toilet. Problem was, now my friend had a scared and angry squirrel dangling from the towel in his hand.
The only thing that made since under those circumstances was to open the window and fling everything out, which he did. Towel and immobile squirrel landed on the roof of a downstairs room about a foot below the window ledge.
Later, when he was cleaner, calmer and dressed he wandered into the small town where he had just taken up residence and mentioned it to the old men at the hardware store. Instead of being laughed at, they said it happened quite often and probably when my friend got home the squirrel would be gone... It having been stunned and rendered pretty immobile by being wet.
Sure enough, the only thing outside the bathroom window later that day was the towel.
True story.
~R…
Ha! Great story, and I have no doubt whatsoever of its authenticity. It sounds like something a squirrel and an unsuspecting and rather timid priest might get themselves into. You can't make stuff like this up.
And you're right, squirrels are highly durable creatures. They can be tossed around, bounced off the ground, and flung onto rooftops wet and exhausted, and given a few minutes to rest and catch their wits and breath, off and running again, seemingly no worse for wear.
Great tale…
Ahh, looks like a lovely Maine Coon cat. They are excellent hunters, as rule
Carolyn H
Carolyn…
You're right, it does—but is about half the size. A Maine Miniature?
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