What critter had caused such damage? The only local animal
that seems to fit the circumstantial evidence is a bear. Nothing else around
here is that big, has such fierce teeth, and
goes for those kinds of prizes. We have had neighbors tell us from time to time
about seeing bears and other creatures such as cougars, coyotes, wolves,
wolverines, and a lion or two. (Where’s the elephant?) We’ve been rather
suspect of their accounts—never having spotted anything more fearsome than that
old coon. But after 28 quiet years, I guess it may have been our turn. I
repeat: there is no proof that a bear swept through in the black of night, but
it seems to be the most likely scenario. Not being positive of its identity and
reluctant to jump to conclusions, I’ll call it Brutus.
Brutus did not get much sustenance. I hadn’t added seeds to
the bird feeder in a few days, so it was nearly empty. A couple of hungry doves
could have finished off what was left in a few minutes. Not much of a meal for
big Brutus there. Our trash barrel contains only non-recyclable refuse. We
compost any tough or inedible vegetable pieces and let the dog clean any food
particles from most other items. Brutus at best had an old butter wrapper to
lick clean. Pretty lean pickings there. The beehive had been empty for a decade
or so—after the last colony was killed off by disease of some kind. Maybe all the
destruction was due to a pissed-off Brutus discovering too few goodies to have
been worth the work?
Yes, there was one more piece of evidence of Brutus’s spree: Cecil
the cat was gone. Although the dogs stay in the house overnight (to prevent
them from barking at apparitions in the night and disturbing my light sleeping
pattern), the cat patrols nocturnally, hopefully putting fear into the hearts
of local rodents. (He stays in during the day, so the birds can flutter around
safely.)
And the cat was really
gone. A day and a half later, he skittishly reappeared, taking mincing steps
and glancing warily about. He’s an easily spooked feline. I can imagine him
spotting Brutus and not stopping for breath until he was a county or two away.
It probably required a day and a half for him to renegotiate the same route
he’d covered in 10 minutes in the dark of night—imagining Brutus hot on his
trail the whole flight time.
So what do we do now? I have little interest in offering
Brutus any other tidbits, should he return. He got precious little the first
round. If he thinks the larder is empty (a bare bear cupboard?), maybe he’ll
move on to more rewarding territory… maybe to some of our more imaginative
neighbors’ trash. Thankfully it’s spring, so the birds can find sustenance in
the burgeoning insect population for a few days, before I try to resurrect the
feeder.
A little research on the internet suggested suspending the
bird feeder some 9-10 feet above the ground, which should be above the reach of
Brutus (if he’s a bear, of course).
We moved the trash can into an outbuilding. That ought to keep it safe, behind
a sturdy door. Since the beehive offered nothing more interesting than an old
mouse nest, Brutus shouldn’t be pondering a return for the long-gone honey.
The best response, I think, is just to wait for a few days,
to see if our friend Brutus was making a one-time raid. It’s been 28 years with
no such assault, until now. With luck, it may be another 28 years before he (or
his offspring) returns. If so, that’d be somewhere near my 110th
birthday, so I’m far less likely to have a problem with it.
[Update: I rehung the bird feeder, 10 feet up. Brutus
returned several days later, but found nothing more than a bag of sawdust to
disturb—leaving an impressively large paw print with claw holes behind. The cat
disappeared for only half a day this time.]
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