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It's because they're evolving, that's why, and we're all doomed.
My boyfriend and I have been beside ourselves enjoying our little patches of lawn ever since spring came to this townhouse we moved into back in September. We planted a flower bed out front on the wee little grassy doormat we can call our own, and we set out a bunch of pots of vegetable plants on the back patio, in addition to enjoying the flowers left behind by the people who lived here before us.
All well and good, right? All very domestic. However, I wanted a bird feeder. I love me some birds, plus my dad, who died last year, also always loved birds. He and my mother had three or four bird feeders in the front yard of their house and I decided I wanted to feed birds and be a little closer to my dad.
We got a bird feeder. We filled the bird feeder. The bird feeder came apart in the first good rain.
We got another bird feeder, this one sturdier. We filled the bird feeder. The seeds started attracting some kind of hideous bug with big, nasty pincers coming out of its ass. However, as far as we could tell, the bird feeder attracted precious few birds. Then, though, we noticed at the level of seeds was dropping very quickly from day to day. This went on for a week or so, and then the other day my boyfriend happened to look out the sliding glass door and saw the culprit.
There's a fence separating our backyard from the neighbor's. A squirrel -- a fat squirrel, I hasten to add -- had stretched its body across the gap from the fence to the bird feeder and was shaking the feeder, causing seeds to rain down on the ground below, where four more squirrels were busily scarfing them down. Once it noticed us, it scurried up to the newel post at the end of the fence and tried to look nonchalant. As soon as it thought we weren't looking, it stretched and started shaking the feeder again.
In short, they're cooperating. They've evolved... And it gets worse. The day after we saw what was eating all our birdseed, we went for a walk on a greenway not far from our house. As usual, it was infested with squirrels, all of whom stopped as we walked by and stared at us with their beady little eyes. Not only are they cooperating, but they know. It was a warning, I'm sure. Take away the feeder, or prevent their bushy-tailed brethren from eating from it, and the cops will find our bodies smothered under a cache of acorns.
So what could we do? We filled the feeder again today, attracted exactly one cardinal, and then the fat squirrel was back with its evil, impish little band. It shook the feeder. They ate. It ate and got fatter.
They've evolved. They know. And that is why squirrels make me nervous now.
My boyfriend and I have been beside ourselves enjoying our little patches of lawn ever since spring came to this townhouse we moved into back in September. We planted a flower bed out front on the wee little grassy doormat we can call our own, and we set out a bunch of pots of vegetable plants on the back patio, in addition to enjoying the flowers left behind by the people who lived here before us.
All well and good, right? All very domestic. However, I wanted a bird feeder. I love me some birds, plus my dad, who died last year, also always loved birds. He and my mother had three or four bird feeders in the front yard of their house and I decided I wanted to feed birds and be a little closer to my dad.
We got a bird feeder. We filled the bird feeder. The bird feeder came apart in the first good rain.
We got another bird feeder, this one sturdier. We filled the bird feeder. The seeds started attracting some kind of hideous bug with big, nasty pincers coming out of its ass. However, as far as we could tell, the bird feeder attracted precious few birds. Then, though, we noticed at the level of seeds was dropping very quickly from day to day. This went on for a week or so, and then the other day my boyfriend happened to look out the sliding glass door and saw the culprit.
There's a fence separating our backyard from the neighbor's. A squirrel -- a fat squirrel, I hasten to add -- had stretched its body across the gap from the fence to the bird feeder and was shaking the feeder, causing seeds to rain down on the ground below, where four more squirrels were busily scarfing them down. Once it noticed us, it scurried up to the newel post at the end of the fence and tried to look nonchalant. As soon as it thought we weren't looking, it stretched and started shaking the feeder again.
In short, they're cooperating. They've evolved... And it gets worse. The day after we saw what was eating all our birdseed, we went for a walk on a greenway not far from our house. As usual, it was infested with squirrels, all of whom stopped as we walked by and stared at us with their beady little eyes. Not only are they cooperating, but they know. It was a warning, I'm sure. Take away the feeder, or prevent their bushy-tailed brethren from eating from it, and the cops will find our bodies smothered under a cache of acorns.
So what could we do? We filled the feeder again today, attracted exactly one cardinal, and then the fat squirrel was back with its evil, impish little band. It shook the feeder. They ate. It ate and got fatter.
They've evolved. They know. And that is why squirrels make me nervous now.
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