This Side of the Pond

I suspect my pups will be downright distraught when we reach the end of this summer of long walks on green grass – but I can tell you for sure who won’t be. There’s a herd of squirrels in my back yard that is quickly evolving into an angry mob, and I’m worried about their nuts.

I should probably start from the beginning. As we all know, I have a storied history with bushy-tailed varmints, both here and back in the homeland. I have loved them since I was a teenager in chocolate-brown trousers, perched on the back of a park bench (because it wouldn’t have been cool to sit on the seat) as a grey squirrel mistook my leg for a tree.

I loved the squirrels that filled the woods surrounding my high school, I loved the ones that hopped around campus at university, I loved the ones who allowed me to study their behavior for my final dissertation. I particularly appreciated the squirrel who figured out there was a bag of nuts left over from a photoshoot in my London office and only failed to infiltrate because he accidentally stepped on a speakerphone button.

It makes me happy to see an equally abundant squirrel population up in the canyon by our home. I have enjoyed encountering them throughout the summer, but the appreciation has not been mutual.

The ill feeling occurred a few weeks ago during an early evening border patrol. As the dogs sniffed their way across the back yard, checking that no new threats had arrived in the two hours since they last sniffed, I noticed we had a new neighbor. We spotted a tree near the apartment with a hollow that stretched for at least three vertical feet, providing one lucky squirrel with a multi-story home.

As the husband and I peeked carefully into the tree, hoping to admire the squirrel’s handiwork, a face popped out just above us. Our new friend informed us that he does not take kindly to unexpected guests through the medium of extremely noisy chattering.

It was sort of a squawk, kind of a scream, almost a bark. Whatever you want to call that dreadful sound, it was nothing I had ever heard from a squirrel before.

I stared at the face in shock and dismay, and the face stared right back at me. He was not going to back down before he chased us off his lawn, but he hadn’t quite reckoned on the dogs.

The younger (and dafter) of our pups, you see, has come to the conclusion that she should probably be trying to protect me. She doesn’t really know how, and she’s not sure what I would need defending from, but she’s prepared to give it a go to make sure I’m around for her daily border patrols.

She mostly protects me from unexpected noises, which surprise her to such a degree that she feels sure I must be terrified too. Occasionally she will protect me from the husband if he happens to startle her while she’s sleeping near my feet.

Her idea of protecting me is simple: bark once, then forget what she was meant to be doing. Complete exercise by standing very still while attempting to figure out what comes next. Fail complex calculation, resume sniffing/sleeping.

It’s not particularly effective…unless you’re a squirrel. When you’re halfway up a tree, yelling at the neighbors, you haven’t necessarily reckoned on there being someone behind you.

My protective pup stopped the screaming with a single woof. Unfortunately, she also earned the lifelong ire of most irritable squirrel in Wyoming.

I can only conclude that our new neighbor thought we were attempting to evict him. I can understand why he’d be cross, but he need only have asked – I’d have told him right away that I am pleased to have squirrels living next door (though not in the roof space, thank you very much).

The next time we wandered by, he yelled at us again, this time from the top of the tree. He was also now accompanied by the voice of a second squirrel.

The pattern continued. By the end of the week, there were at least four squirrels and an unidentified bird screaming obscenities at us every time we walked past.

A week later and I noticed the hollow in the tree was now empty – the nest he so painstakingly installed was somehow gone. I guess he didn’t feel the spacious location and proximity to a great school district was worth the torment of terrible neighbors.

But he didn’t go far. I can state that for a fact because I hear his dulcet tones at least once per day. It doesn’t seem to bother the dog, who simply stands still and stares at the trees, waiting to see if there’s something she ought to be protecting me from.

But it does bother me, and not just because I want all squirrels to be my friend. Her squirrel nemesis doesn’t come closer, which is a blessing, but he does keep building up his gang – I’m expecting there to be a score or more of the angry critters by the end of fall.

The dogs might be saddened when the snow arrives and we lose our path back through the trees, but I’ll be feeling relieved. After all, it’s surely only a matter of time until they figure out that nut stashes make perfect missiles.