Birdfeeder Brigands—Part 2

The squirrel seems to have given up trying to climb aboard the feeder—although I saw him a couple of days later, mulling around on the ground, picking up seeds the birds had dropped. That’s OK, as long as he doesn’t hog the feeder and push out the birds. Have I won the squirrel arms race? I’m not at all sanguine about my triumph enduring. I wonder if he’s crouching back in the trees, pondering his next assault. I’ll stay vigilant.

The second round of feeder attacks continued, in yet another new challenge. A couple of mornings ago, as I stepped out the door, I heard a few fussing birds off to my left. I turned too see what appeared to be a hawk coming from the direction of the birds. It flashed by less than ten feet from me, and sailed on down the drive. I had apparently startled him, as he was diving towards the songbirds, and he hastily vacated the scene of his hoped-for meal.

We’ve never seen a hawk within several hundred feet of the house. Uh-oh! A new and different kind of test has arrived: a second raider of birdfeeders—not just stealing food, but lives. A hawk can look upon a feeder as a wonderful magnet to attract their meals. And I’ve helped him by recently placing the feeder out in the open, where he can take aim and attack!

I headed for one of my bird books. I needed to know more. The bird had flown by so fast that I was unable to tell which species it might be—or even to be positive it was a hawk. The book showed me that it indeed was a sharp-shinned hawk (by its coloring and size). It is a small hawk: about half the size of our other raptors. The book tells me that sharp-shinned hawks like to “hunt around houses and birdfeeders.” They hunt from a concealed perch, capturing “small birds by surprise in lightning-quick strikes.” My fears were confirmed!

So is the hawk my and the birds’ next ordeal? Will he return and begin picking off our cute songbirds? As I kept a close eye on the feeder after he left, I noticed that the birds had abandoned it for a half hour or so, but then slowly began to return.

I don’t like interfering with Mother Nature’s predator-prey duals—especially by projecting my emotions onto the situation. All creatures have to eat, and some eat each other. That’s how it goes. It’s one thing to happen upon a predator attacking its prey in the woods, where they are playing out their natural roles, and not get caught up in inappropriate feelings of sympathy. It’s quite another to have introduced a feeding station into the environment—one that attracts both cute little critters and their hungry foes. I’ve altered the natural dynamics by introducing an artificial source of food. So what is my responsibility when my actions lead to the harm of innocent creatures? It’s very complicated.

I guess I’d best remain vigilant—as I plan to be with the squirrelly invader—and see if the hawk returns. If I’m lucky, it won’t, and I won’t have to decide what to do next. On the other hand, it’s possible that it’s made a wonderful discovery, and will inevitably return. Or did I maybe scare it enough that it will seek meals in other places? How will I respond if it returns and kills one of those adorable chickadees? A hawk has to eat to survive, and cute little critters like songbirds are one of its crucial food items. Like a hawk, I will keep a sharp eye on the situation and see what comes and what it teaches me.

Birdfeeder Brigands—Part 1

For many years now we’ve kept a birdfeeder in the side yard, and stocked it with sunflower seeds. It’s attracted a wonderful collection of birds year round, and we’ve wiled away many hours watching the antics of chickadees, titmice, finches, cardinals, juncos, sparrows, woodpeckers, blue jays, nuthatches, wrens, and towhees. In the last year mourning doves have also begun to come. They are shy birds who usually stay out of sight, but once they discovered the abundant cache of free food, they’ve become regulars. (In fact, I’ve had to increase the sunflower seed offering, because the doves can stuff an amazing quantity of seed in their crop and then fly off, to digest the treasure later.)

The majority of people who feed birds are often bedeviled by pests—the principle one being that fat-tailed tree rodent, the squirrel. Urban squirrels are especially pernicious and persistent. Living amongst all those city cats and automobiles, squirrels have adapted to become extremely clever at dodging cars and robbing birdfeeders. I’ve read many a tale of the constant battles between urban bird-feeding humans and squirrels. My bird magazines are chock-full of ads for exotic and expensive “squirrel-proof” feeders. (I don’t believe there is such a thing.) It’s a type of arms race: a continuing battle of wits between the furry invaders and their human foes—one in which we’re confident we have the cognitive advantage, but repeatedly find that we’re facing a foe who is very determined and inventive.

For a couple of decades now, we’ve had no squirrels come near our feeder. It’s not clear to me why, but we have few of them in the woods and the cat does a pretty good job of keeping them confined to the forest (or overhead, bombing him with acorns). A few weeks ago, however, I glanced out and saw what appeared to be a very fat and fluffy dove on the feeder. Wait, it’s a squirrel! I flew out the door and chased him off—hoping that I’d scared him enough that he’d keep to the trees. Hah! Once a squirrel samples that easy a treat, he’ll return, and this guy did the next day.

I sensed we’d entered a new epoch at the feeder. Squirrels will remain contenders and he’d have to be dealt with. I thought briefly about letting him make his periodic visits and sharing the larder with him, but within a couple of days he was hogging the platform. I was envisioning him filling its fat cheeks—emptying the feeder again and again—and carrying the seeds off to his lair and stashing several winters’ supply there.

Counteraction was required. I considered a few alternative anti-squirrel schemes (one of them was not an expensive high-tech feeder that would see me join the arms race). The main vulnerability of the existing setup was having the feeder too close to a tree. Squirrels can leap amazing gaps, so I needed to move the feeder out in the open. Once again, the Internet came to the rescue. After considering numerous low-tech ideas described there, I strung a thin, strong wire between the tree and an outbuilding and suspended the feeder from the middle of the span. Later that day I saw the squirrel on the ground beneath the feeder, longingly looking up and realizing that it was beyond his leaping ability. Egad, foiled again!

More on the assaults of brigands next time…