Nuts to you

It’s the series of events that while unlikely to happen—at least in one’s personal view—will certainly circumvent logic and just end up doing the unwanted.

Like changing the light bulb in the fridge: Me, head and elbows in under the shelves and past the frostline. Next comes the spill of the tomato soup that should have been eaten last week. Then the cleanup begins, and while we’re at it why not do a major purge of the things that seek out the darkened alleyways in every fridge. The inventory is generally recognizable, at least in my case, by the flotilla of vessels of every description that seem to be adrift under chrome skies of tinfoil and clear wrap. In the process, I pull out carrots that now sit in my hand like a wedding bouquet, a week after the honeymoon. And Red comes to mind.

You see Red is the polite name offered to a squirrel that for past years has taken up residence in the upper part of my barn/studio. If I’m writing there early in the morning before sunrise, I often receive a visit from Champ, my neighbour’s Australian sheepdog. I’ll get out of my chair to let him in since Champ is of the variety that will not allow you to ignore him. You may recognize the breed. A hard enough paw tap at the door with an energy that reads ‘open up before I begin to whine or shred the door or wake up every neighbour, no kidding’. I mean it would be easier if he wouldn’t insist on taking a path through the creek and then crowd the overly mature burr patches on his way over to visit. And so after a very brief good mornin’ from Champ, the game is on.

With me as bystander trying to stay on topic at my desk on the lower level, Champ shoots up the stairs and begins the re-enactment of the Beep Beep/Road Runner series. Hell breaks loose over my head as Champ and Red play out the real-life drama of Wily Coyote bound to catch his prey. I know you’re in there Red! Brace yourself cuz like it or not, I’m coming in. And so he does. Quickly followed by the imploding of studio contents and a ruckus of high proportions as the two of them pick up the ritual of the chase from where the last episode left off.

But the Champ visits have only been a small part of it. Through recent seasons, work has been underway to make my studio more and more user friendly. Practical things like insulating floors and ceilings.

Now please don’t get me wrong. I think hard and long about our place in nature. I have researched Red’s kind to see if I could entice him to leave. The news is disheartening. Known as the American red squirrel; tamiasciurus hudsonicus, he is also called a pine squirrel, chickoree or a boomer. His personality is to defend a year-round exclusive territory. And that’s where we have a problem. Two boomers under the same roof? Nada. The four legged one stashes a hoard of walnuts all over that takes a front-end loader every spring to clean out. And now I am taking over the upstairs of the barn that was formerly unused except for storage there is a turf war. This is when Red becomes known as that goddamned squirrel from hell. Whatever patch is placed over his entrance holes is scoffed at. Whatever access point or tiniest crevices I block, Red mouths the loudest chatter telling me to brace myself. Cuz I’m coming in anyway. Get used to it! But I can’t. Get used to it that is. To have Red’s determination would solve every earthly problem.

So this to and fro has been going on for awhile now: Until a friend intervened. Why not trap him and prompt him to homestead in someone else’s back yard? As in a new land far, far away. So a cage is set. A very humane one where the catchee enters for some food and triggers the door shut to the satisfaction of the catchor. Now I am Wily Coyote.

But somehow in his worldly experience, Red knows a trap when he sees one; the to and fro goes on for weeks. Then, why not build a box around the cage so he doesn’t recognize it? And ramp up the food enticement to gourmet style? Voila! The combo of the little log cabin offering walnut soufflé finished with a peanut butter sauce at last worked. And Red? He waved the flag of truce: Temporarily conquered.

So now what do we do? At this point it is November, and he can’t be turned lose in some foreign landscape without his stash of nuts. He can’t start over this late in the season and survive the winter.

As I jot down this confession, you’ll be happy to know that Red is most comfortable in my neighbour’s heated basement. In a custom built cage the size of a tennis court, I swear. A comfy nest in one corner, surrounded by wintering plants.

So Red has a smirk on his face whenever you see him these days. Better than some plain ol’ barn he’ll tell you. And, as it turns out, about the carrots from the fridge? My research now allows me to study the diet essentials of tamiasciurus hudsonicus. Bet you’d be surprised to know that in the upper drawer of the filing cabinet where Red’s food is now kept, there is a selection of unsalted nuts, pears, grapes and of course carrots. Only fresh ones, I might ad. The honeymoon’s not over.