The squirrel, the feeder, the window ledge, and me

For the time being, we'll switch our attention on the animal world from the back yard where I have been soundly outfoxed in the twine wars, having neither a photo of the rascal taking my twine or another missing piece. The current focus shall be on the breakfast room window ledge and fence.

Furthermore, if I didn't have a witness, I'd probably not tell this true tale because it does seem a bit calculating on the part of the squirrel. But I do have a witness, so here goes.

We've had so much blowing rain that I haven't restocked the bird feeder which hangs on the fence or the window ledge where I dispense bird food. Keep in mind, we only provide sunflower seed. None of this millet nonsense for my picky birds. And squirrels. But the rain seems gone and as the cardinals get on the fence and chirp bad things about me, I relented this morning and poured seed onto the ledge.

I would have stocked the feeder also, but the cap which keeps water out has gone missing. The squirrels have a very bad habit of knocking it and the funnel off onto the ground. Usually, I find them, dry them out and fill the feeder only to watch the squirrels sit on the fence, take the top off and put their little paws in. I think the cap may have disappeared in the rain, washed away into the street and beyond. That said, after the performance witnessed this morning, I think I'll just get rid of the feeder.

Sunflower seed dispensed, a friend comes over and we remark on flowers, the neighborhood, the squirrel who seems intent on eating the seed. I'll knock on the window, he scurries off, returns about 10 seconds later and we repeat this show. My friend thinks this is quite funny (it's about to get hilarious) and advises that I cannot win. I know this, but I can't give in so easily either.

And then the final straw. I knock on the window, he (it could be she) twitches the tail, slides over on the fence top to the bird feeder and pees in it! Hit the hole! We watch this offering slide down the inside of the feeder. Really? Has it come to this that squirrels make social commentary? He then scampers off the fence, across the street and into the neighbor's yard.

My friend cannot contain her laughter and I must admit it has its moments of ha-ha. And I might still be laughing, but he was back 30 minutes later.

Humph!

Snow-printed

Still covered with snow although the streets are clear and the white is retreating from the yards at the edges. I think the icicles hanging from my roof have dripped away also.

Wildlife shows up in snow. We had a bluejay at the bird feeder. I thought cardinals were large until Mr. Jay hung precipitously on the perch and pecked at the sunflower seed. The squirrels visited too and no amount of thumping on the window glass would dissuade them to leave.

Snow gives us the opportunity to see just who is walking in the yard and to where. I can now trace the paths the outdoor cats take to get next door. Although why they were doing so when I offer food and outside shelter is quite beyond me. The people next door are tolerant; I am welcoming.

And writing of pawprints, our garage is a separate building, foursquare and with a steep roof. Rounding it are squirrel (at least I hope they're squirrel) prints. Up, down, around. Enough to make me smile, but not forgive the feeder raid.

Hail the conquering hero

I must emphasize from the start of this that our cats Tuxedo and Pyewacket have NEVER NEVER NEVER been outside. Their little paws are pristine. They watch the world from perches on the table or the window sill. They are observers, not participants in the kitty antics beyond their door.

Which made what happened this morning really, really strange. Pyewacket presented us with a half-eaten bird.

My husband was walking out of the bathroom into our bedroom. "Uh oh," I heard him say. "I don't have my glasses on, but this doesn't look good."

Well, that'll make me put down the mascara and get a move on.

Sure enough, it didn't look good. Pyewacket had dumped a carcass, feathers and all in front of my vanity. There were more feathers and little-bitty body parts about. And blood. Not a lot, but enough to make me wonder where the decapitation had taken place because there wasn't any head in evidence.

Now the question uppermost in our minds was where did he acquire this? The doors were closed so it wasn't like the outside cats did a delivery and he pushed against the screen and took it. We've not noted any birds flying about the kitchen for him to tackle. I went downstairs to get the proper cleaning things and found the answer.

We have a window bird feeder. Pye has always, like his predecessors, liked to watch the birds dine. The other window beside the feeder is also an observation spot. Except this morning, the temptation was too great and someone swiped his big paw through the edge of the screen and grabbed a bit of brunch. The screen is torn and will have to be replaced.

The mighty hunter has prevailed--and I've closed the window. Now I just want to find the rest of the bird.

Bird feeder delight!

For 20 years or more we've had a bird feeder attached to our breakfast area window. It's been a source of delight as both the cats and the people in the house have honed their observation skills. But over the last few years, the visitors have dwindled to the ho-hum same ol', same ol'. While always welcome, the cardinals, titmice, Carolina chickadees, house finch, and weaver finch (commonly known here as sparrows although they aren't), have become so common that we no longer pay attention. While we've had more glamorous visitors in the past, I feared we'd lost our touch. Only squirrels paid us much more than an glance.

Then, yesterday, something flashed. Something gold. And fast. And small. Could it be a goldfinch? We hadn't seen one in at least 10 years. My friends had flocks of them so I knew they hadn't deserted the area. So, eyes glued to the window (not a pretty picture, but you know what I mean), I set to watching.

Yes, goldfinch. And... someone else. Someone I hadn't seen in a long time and rarely then. I think, a white-throated sparrow. I've yet to get a solid look because he seems to be in the bushes and not on the feeder. And then... one more! A downy woodpecker has graced us. I didn't realize they would frequent feeders, but the books say so. And we know books are never wrong, right?

Just delighted with all the new and old feathered friends. I'm not questioning why they've decided to grace us with their presence, but I'm glad they have.

Dove love?

Twenty years ago (about) we bought a window bird-feeder with 6 stations. It had suction cups on the back, was mirrored so the birds couldn't see our eager faces on the other side, and attached it to the dining area window. We--all of us, me, spouse, kids, cats--learned a lot about fowl, principally that there are many little birds that sneak under our radar when we're busy admiring cardinals and robins.

We learned the seasons of our visitors, eventually went to an all-sunflower-seed-all-the-time diet for them, and beat on the window to scare the squirrels away. The latter didn't work more than a time or two, so we learned to live with them. We even watched a dove (who was not coming to the feeder but was just on the fence) face down a squirrel in a fauna-version of "mine is bigger than yours."

In the spring we watched the parent birds bring their offspring to the feeder. Most notable are the cardinals, who will line their current clutch up on the fence and then proceed to the feeder to crack the seeds and return to the fence to stuff such down their dears' gullets. The babies make a pitiful chirp and flutter their wings in avian-begging. Keep in mind that in the cardinal family by the time they're on the fence, they are as large as the parents and quite capable of feeding themselves, as we've caught them doing.

So it was with interest this afternoon when I saw a parent dove with a baby. The doves have only recently become comfortable enough with the feeder than they will eat from it. They've admired it from afar for many years. I had never seen a baby dove before. Half the size of the parent, its feathers were mottled and its tail short. It huddled on the fence while mom or dad found a seed at the window and flew back.

I expected a full scale assault on the parent as I've witnessed before. Instead the parent almost ignored the chick. Baby barely flapped one wing and ever so cautiously inched toward the parent. Reaching him, he nestled his head against the parent's breast, but no food exchanged.

This was so out of proportion to what I had seen before. I was amazed. Would the parent eventually feed him? I'll never know because after making a few mournful sounds, the parent flew away, hungry chick close behind.

It's a soap opera out there!

We have a suction-cup birdfeeder at one of the kitchen windows. The orignal one hung for nearly 15 years before literally falling apart. All attempts to replace it have been met with zero findings at eBay except one. The original cost $80 and I was prepared to bid $100, but when it went for over $200, I was flabbergasted. The manufacturer needs to take a hint.

But that's not the story.

I replaced it with two fairly pitiful (in comparison) bin-type suction-cup bird feeders. The squirrels have taken them over but as the summer has worn on, the house finches have become bolder. While not succeeding in chasing the squirrel away, they have at least established a detente of sorts: they're on one bin while he is on the other.

This morning however, it was a different story being told. A female house finch perched on the top of the wooden fence. Doing his best to woo her was a most vocal male. His plumage is bright red and he would stretch his neck out and sing a lovely song at the top of his lungs. Not convincing her from her right side, he would take a short hop-flight to her left and pick up the tune. She would occasionally hop toward him, but it was an aggressive move. Undeterred, he'd take up another position and continue.

He was undeterred however, only until baby male cardinal showed up. Baby male cardinals have features only their mothers can love. The red feathers aren't fully in and they look like they need a haircut. He landed not 6 inches from our amorous male finch and didn't leave. Tilting his head as if he was trying to figure out what was going on, he would hop toward the pair who would hop away. He'd edge closer, his head tilting up and down as he contemplated what was going on. In the meantime, the male finch hopped to the other side of the female (no spirit of protection here) and stopped singing. Finally, spying the bird feeder, the cardinal changed his mind on which was more important, a birds-and-bees lesson or food, and went for the sunflower seed. The finches left in disgust and my entertainment was over.

And you thought cleaning up the kitchen was dull!