Sports fans, are ya ready for some Furball?

Oh, the fur's going to be flying in Dallas, Texas tomorrow.

Never before has there been such gridiron animosity. And never before such gridiron animal-osity. The Green Bay Snackers are about to square off against the Pittsburgh Squealers.

All eyes are on the opening moves: Just how long will the acorn have to be in play before someone scores the first Munchdown - or buries the acorn deep in the opposing team's side of the field?

Will there be penalties for biting the opponent on the back of the neck? What if a player is supposed to pass the acorn to a teammate, but cracks and eats it instead?

And how 'bout that glitzy halftime show: The Squirrel Nut Zippers, newly reunited, playing a compendium of their classics!

And don't forget those notorious, eye-popping commercials: Nutella, Skippy Peanut Butter, Walnut Acres Natural Foods, Audubon Bird Seed and Starbucks Hazelnut Coffee. Plenty of money's been paid to hawk (OK, poor choice of words here) these wares.

So let the game begin and may the better team bask in the victory of the National Furball League. Their NFL trophy, in this case, will necessarily be short-lived. In less than 24 hours, the sun will come up once more and the skirmishes will begin anew on the gridiron we call our backyards.

The toothsome truth

As the late rocker Jim Croce's lyrics advises us, you should always pick your battles wisely: Don't tug on Superman's cape. Don't spit into the wind. Don't pull that mask off that ol' Lone Ranger and ... don't mess around with squirrels' teeth.

Those ever-growing, razor-sharp incisors - the apotheosis of calcium gone wild - always win in any skirmish. These are teeth that can crack nuts and split bone and you don't want to cross their path enroute to dental disaster.

In Huntington, N.Y., at least one group of human dental practitioners has harnessed this simple scientific fact for commercial purposes. We hereby introduce Flossie the dentally conscientious squirrel - she appears to be a 13-lined ground squirrel, not a New York native - and Flossie is the spokesmodel not just for keeping your teeth sparkling and nutcracker-healthy between dental visits but for keeping your scheduled appointments.

She graces a postal card inscribed on the reverse with the following reminder: "We have reserved this time for your for your next dental checkup."

The card is downright cute, a word one doesn't normally associate with the dreaded dentist's chair. Combining dentistry with Rodentistry clearly has its perks and being cute is one of them. Indeed, I suspect those Huntington dentists may enjoy a greater-than-average compliance from even the most drill-shy patients who read the card and understand the ominous message hidden behind that engaging visage and those impeccably clean, well-flossed incisors:

Don't tug on the squirrel's temper. Be sure to spit into the sink after you get your semi-annual cleaning. And you don't mess around with Flossie.

Squirrels go posh

Who buried all those acorns around New York's Grand Central Terminal?

This time, you can't blame (or credit) some street-smart squirrel. Try the 18th century American shipping and railroad magnate, Cornelius Vanderbilt. Vanderbilt wasn't looking to cache away nutritious foods for the winter when he worked the acorn and oak leaf motif into the stonework of the Manhattan rail station's main concourse: The Vanderbilt patriarch was creating a family crest for his emerging dynasty - the very visual signature it lacked, even as its fortunes grew over the years.

What better symbol than the acorn, known for hundreds, if not millions of years, to squirrels as the repository of a bountiful, leafy and sturdy future? It simply took humans a little longer to catch on to the idea.

The Vanderbilt-Acorn connection continues to this day, as the Jean and Alexander Heard Library at his eponymous university in Nashville, Tenn., is known to publish a magazine known as the Acorn Chronicle. You can just bet the campus squirrels couldn't be happier.

It remains to be seen whether Vanderbilt was a secret sciurophile, or just had a fancy for the same things preferred by our bushytailed pals. Nonetheless, to have a member of the nation's elite class share a sweetness for the same things as squirrels is a wonderful thing indeed. It's downright egalitarian.

Cornelius - or is that ACORN-elius?? - we thank you.

Almost

In an animal's world of life and death, there is a fine line between almost and certain. I nearly crossed that line this morning.

My eyes caught a flash of gray too near to my tires on a rainy sidestreet and the good graces of German-made brakes, and my own still-responsive reflexes, kept me on the merciful side of that fine line. There was no impact. A life spared.

Still, I pulled over. I had to be sure by seeing the squirrel's face. I had to look into the eyes that, seconds ago, had been as terrified as mine still were.

I would see reassurance there. And I did. Briefly. All I saw after that was a scampering, spark-like, the flame of life still lit.

All I saw was the quickening of small feet followed by a tail, up the side of a stockade fence. I had not crossed that fine line, at least not in the rainy world of life and death this morning.

I exhaled and wiped my palms on my jeans, shifting back into drive. I went forward, following the squirrel's example.

Six more weeks of ....

Judging from what's fallen outside our door this morning, Punxsutawney Phil also has a great career ahead of him picking winning Lottery numbers.

But we've gotten more than a mere flurry of flakes - we have a storm of more footprints than I can count: Little exclamation points dotting the path, punctuation marks that serve to complete this sentence: "FEED ME, YOU FOOLS!"

And so, we obey. Happily. Yes, master.

A groundhog does what a groundhog does, and likewise the eastern gray.

Punxsy Phil has predicted six more weeks of ravenous squirrels.

No complaints here.

Nothing lost in translation

Do squirrels speak Spanish?
Or, perhaps more importantly, do the people of Colombia, South America, speak Squirrel?
The answer, most assuredly, is "Si."
During a monthlong visit to that country, my friends Rich and Luis traveled, visited Luis' family, and took pictures of everything - squirrels included. Apparently, the South American nation that practically deifies the humble java bean also apparently gives an admiring nod to the bushytailed denizens of their trees.
Squirrels get their name, or at least their profile, in lights during the Christmas season, and Rich was thoughtful enough to capture this image of a Christmas squirrel before the glowing rodent clambered up a holiday lightpole where, no doubt, he was building a nest made entirely of incandescent lights and LEDs strung together.

Then, on a visit to a place outside Medellin, they found a restaurant known as Pescadero Trucha Arco Iris (or "fishing place" for a type of rainbow fish) which was furnished with tables and chairs hand-painted by local artists. The chair pictured here would obviously be a place of honor for the squirrel-lovers among us. (It's not clear, however, whether that would obligate one to order something from the menu featuring acorns, nuts or berries.)

Squirrel decor, both indoor and out, can be downright chic. Imagine if the modern furniture designers, Charles and Ray Eames, had been rhapsodic over rodentia. Imagine if the evolving designs of Frank Lloyd Wright had gone through a "Chipmunk Phase."
It is encouraging to think that while some people view squirrels as pests, annoyances and even vermin, others see them as inspiration.
No matter what you call them - and in whatever language you speak their name - they can leave an image buried in your imagination long after you have seen one scamper across your path.
But then, they're good at burying things, aren't they?

He's inclined toward progress

Mr. Tilty is doing fine. This should set the record straight for anyone who has been worried about him (and that includes me).

He was seen out and about during the last snowfall a few days ago and today, I am happy to report, he was back atop his regular nestbox. Weaker squirrels often get picked on and I'd feared he might have been evicted. But no, he has not been thrown out by some cruel rodent landlord or by a contentious roommate wanting to crack nuts privately, late into the night; rather, Mr. Tilty has been sharing his living quarters, as squirrels - even warring ones - often do in the winter because friendship is the greatest warmth that acorns can buy when the temps drop to single digits.

I admire him for the one habit he has displayed, which I find particularly endearing - sitting atop his nestbox, even in these frigid temps, basking in the sun. He takes it all in, crooked angle notwithstanding. Sitting up there, he is full-bodied and apparently happy, his nose sticking almost straight up in the air.

Tilted or not, he seems to be sitting on top of the world.

Tilting toward trouble?

Meet "Mr. Tilty."

I first wrote about him in November. We realized then he has not just been a welcome resident in our yard, but he was making his home in a wooden nestbox high in our tall sycamore. We love him for many reasons. He is a symbol of courage and also of determination, living out a difficult winter with varying degrees of disability.

At times he runs and moves in a troublesome fashion, seeing the world at an angle because he lists to one side, like a slowly sinking ship.

In these photos, taken a week and a half ago, that tilt was not so evident. But today, when we saw him, the slight tipping had become a toppling. Once or twice he lost his balance altogether and was lying in the snow, however briefly. He also has an injury to one digit on the left front paw, which appears to be healing - but it is the tilting that is of concern to us now. He can run, he can climb and he can gather food.

But we are worried.

Wish him well. We are monitoring his progress, and his decline, if it continues.

If he cannot continue to make his way in the world and needs us to step in and help him, I hope he will let us. This is a tough winter for everyone - especially Mr. Tilty.

Happy Gnaw Year, 2009!

The giant acorn has dropped in Times Square, teeth are chattering, tails are flicking and feet are stomping! That makes 2009 a whole Gnaw Year for squirrels (and the rest of us).

Here are a few resolutions you aren't likely to see squirrels making anytime soon:

1. To let the birds have the best of the pickings at the feeder.
2. To enroll in carpentry school so as to replace, in a workmanlike fashion, any and all wooden parts of decks, roofs, doors and siding that mysteriously got chewed beyond recognition.
3. To never aim for anyone's head when dropping tree nuts, acorns or other large objects (including corncobs), and to apologize profusely if a moving target is hit anyway.
4. To replace any and all expensive, imported and heirloom plantings such as tulip, daffodil and other bulbs that provide a sumptuous buffet al fresco lunch.
5. To be less cute, less disarming, less clever and less endearing and to immediately cease and desist in the brazen stealing of our hearts.

As a species, squirrels have had tens of millions of New Year's Eves and New Year's Days.

Resolutions, like nut shells, were made to be broken.

Squirrel philosophy

I've begun wishing people a Happy New Year already, even with the turn of the calender still a few days away. This has never been my favorite holiday and, for the most part, that humbug attitude has been a well-kept secret. I love December, with all its well-lit glory and pageantry and I dread January because it ends the festive season and begins the long haul of another year, all over again.

Today someone returned my well-intentioned wishes with that very sentiment - as clear as if I'd spoken it myself. "I don't know how I feel about the new year, since it means so much time has already passed," she said, "but what is the alternative?"

True. And I confessed to her I was feeling the very same thing. Suddenly the prospect of a new year didn't seem even remotely happy. Then I came home to watch the squirrels frantically burying nuts on our property - and then digging them up and reburying them elsewhere - and I started to reconsider my position.

Squirrels don't know it is December. And they don't know January is coming. They only know they have today and, even during the course of this day, they plan for tomorrow. They bury nuts because of deep instinct that tells them to hope and to plan. Worry, fear and anxiety has no place on their agenda, it is counterproductive and, frankly, foreign to the squirrels' gameplan. And so December's nuts are the same as January's nuts and the burying goes forward with each waking hour, and it goes forward with the same industrious ethic in the morning as it does at dusk.

And so this is how squirrels make for their own happy new year without even knowing that this is what they are in fact doing. It is what all squirrels have been doing since the beginning of time, since new years first came into being (and perhaps since before we humans came on the scene).

I think I will bury my old bad attitude with the intention of NOT digging it up again in 2009, and concentrate instead on cacheing away the very best of attitude and hope that I can for the challenges in the year ahead.

Happy New Year, squirrels!

Home for the holidays

He is a fat squirrel, but that's nothing new for our yard.

He is also "the tilted squirrel," which is what we call him when we see him - which is quite often - because he is the only one who walks in a kind of sideways fashion, with his head pressing up against an imaginary wall.

His balance is fine, however, and he can scrap with the best and the rest of them when it comes to claiming our tossed pecans and almonds as his own. He runs, he buries, he chatters and he is as able-bodied as he can be under the circumstances. I admire his grace and his spirit.

So it was particularly gratifying to discover, on Thanksgiving Day, where he is living: He has made his home nest in the tallest tree in our yard, the sycamore tree, which hosts one of several wooden nestboxes we have installed on our property. I have seen him sitting atop it, sunning himself, at times, and once or twice have spied his face peering out in inclement weather, as if he were waiting for the green light from some unseen squirrel meteorologist.

I love that he is there, that he has a home, and that he does not have to go far (except to the base of the tree and, of course, our deck) to get what he needs in life. We will happily provide for him during this tough season when "plenty" is hard to come by.

The Tilted Squirrel is home for the holidays - and the home in this case happens to be our home.

What a privilege that is.

Leaving their mark

There is a small scar on the left side of my upper lip that I've had for the past year and a half. It's not something to laugh at but I suppose the way I got it is somewhat comical, mainly because it's the worst injury I sustained in an incident that could have ended more seriously.

I was rushing to the back door to hand a nut to a squirrel who was standing there, staring in.

Let me repeat that: I was rushing to the back door to feed a squirrel.

And I do mean rushing. Rushing so fast and so carelessly that I hooked my leg on the leg of our dining room table and went crashing down, face first, on our ceramic tile floor. I did not even have time to try to break my fall with either of my arms - and perhaps that is a good thing. I at least must have turned my head to the right, somehow doing the right thing, before I hit the floor which soon became splattered with blood, as if a crime scene had occurred.

Yes, even with a Jackson Pollock style outpouring of vital fluids on our beautiful tile, I continued to crawl to the door, nut in hand, and yes, I fed the squirrel (who, by the way, was still waiting there, quite unsympathetically.)

Crazy? Perhaps. But nothing more horrible had happened - and after a trip to the ER to get my seriously split lip stitched back together by a plastic surgeon, I was on my way.

That squirrel, by the way, had been a personal favorite of mine for two years at least. He was a sassy male, a very in-your-face kind of guy, and when he migrated to another territory three months later, I missed him terribly.

I still do.

These animals come and go in all our lives, don't they? When I see the scar on my lip, I think of him. But most of the marks they have left on my life are less visible (I'm grateful for that).

But they are there. Most definitely, they do remain.

3 squirrels, 3 wishes

It turned dark around 5 p.m. today and a light rain had already begun to fall, growing more steady with the minutes.

They're out there now, and survival is up to them.

Three little sisters, young orphaned squirrels, who were brought to us in September, have grown so increasingly wild over time I knew it would be unwise to try and overwinter them. We weren't just racing the clock now but the seasons: today was the day they had to be set free.

Ideally you want a day with moderate temperatures, which we had, but a forecast of dry weather is usually best. We released early - got them into the woods by 9 a.m. - because anything less than 7 or 8 hours of daylight for nest-building and checking out the surroundings is simply not sufficient.

Last night they were warm in a nestbox and they could have been kept safe forever, if only I had the time and the space, and if only they were not the wild creatures that nature intended them to be.

So we went forward into the woods this morning together, and their departure was swift and joyful. My wishes for them, then, are for a swift acclimation to their new and natural home, a joyful existence there, and all the safety that nature and their own wits can grant them.

Double the luck

The good news out of Texas, as reported by the Dallas Morning News, is that the University of North Texas is doubly blessed this week. Since 2002 the campus has been graced by at least one albino squirrel, a fact of life the students take as seriously as their final exams.

But this week they discovered a second one - perhaps an offspring of the first? And campus denizens couldn't be any happier as if the football team had scored a shutout in the homecoming game.

No, for sure, this kind of event is an even more joyous one because, in the paws of a rare squirrel such as these two, every single acorn is guaranteed to score a touchdown!

Here's the story:

For the first time in the history of the University of North Texas, two albino squirrels have taken residence near the intersection of Avenue A and Eagle Drive.
UNT faculty and students alike have honored the albino squirrel since the first was discovered on campus in 2002. Some students believe they will receive a passing grade if they see one of the white creatures on their way to a midterm or final exam.
It’s unusual for UNT to have two albino squirrels together, said Melody Kelly, associate dean of the UNT Libraries and an albino squirrel enthusiast.
The discovery of Baby’s Baby and his unnamed white-haired juvenile friend was confirmed earlier this month when the two were photographed by K.T. Shiue, a computer support specialist and webmaster at the university.
The university is taking suggestions for the new squirrel’s name

What's the big idea, Squirrel?

I confess. I love the Dilbert comic strip. Everything about it, from Dilbert himself to Ratbert and all the other little creatures that show the sad but funny truth behind modern corporate existence.

Today's strip, however, gets a bit squirrelly. The Idea Squirrel shows his furry head, and Scott Adams, the strip's creator, demonizes the Idea Squirrel as a villain:

The Idea Squirrel, he notes, steals your ideas and makes you feel like a nut for claiming the idea as your own.

Ah but Mr. Adams, squirrels have enough ingenious ideas. They don't need to be stealing a thing from us humans except, of course, the nuts we spend our hard-earned money on so we can then toss them at the squirrels in our yard and smugly think this is all OUR idea.

Of course it's not - not by a long-shot. The squirrels have simply manipulated us into thinking the idea was ours.

Differences of opinion aside, Mr. Adams, let me commend you on a gently funny strip anyway. It was, I must say, one of the best ideas I've seen lately.

Only one question: What squirrel did you steal it from?

Sometimes they just die

There isn't much to say, or much to write just yet, except to report that one of my most favorite and cared for outdoor squirrels, a wild female who has been coming since the spring, is dead. I will miss her more than I can even convey here.

The arrival of "Snaggletooth," as we had come to call her, was chronicled in this blog because of our concern for the incisor growing directly out of the front of her face. We worried that this would cause her to starve at some point, or develop into an infection that might compromise her health. We thought we would have to trap her and get the incisor clipped - temporary remedy at best, since incisors are ever-growing.

Fortunately that never had to be an option. She came regularly, at least since April, raised a spring litter and an autumn litter (as evidenced by her teats), and was able to crack and eat nuts. She went about her business, scrapped with the toughest and the biggest of the squirrels for her rightful place at the front of the nut line - both at our front door and back door - as recently as two days ago. I watched for her every day, often making myself late for work until she showed up past her customary time. I sometimes rearranged my day so I could be here at her customary visiting times, just because she was such a delight - and always met my gaze directly with hers.

Less than an hour ago, our landscaper found her dead in the yard of the neighbor across the street. There was no mistaking who this was. There is not a mark on her body. No animal attack evident, no trauma, no fatal injury by car. It is as if she just closed her eyes, and that was that. She was, to all appearances, a healthy, full grown adult with what was obviously a minor inconvenience: her incisor which, as it turns out, was more of a problem for us than for her.

With animals, as with people, sometimes they just die. Sometimes they just die.

Good "neighbours" to the North

My friends Rich and Luis have left the States for a new life in Canada - specificially Vancouver in British Columbia. I have been reading their blog and, with each new post, have been falling in love with many things Canadian, from the verdant wilderness they camped in, to the elegant newly built luxury highrise in which they've rented an apartment with glorious views of mountains, parks and the coast.

But nothing can top the squirrels. The squirrels of Canada, the ones they met and photographed, have prompted me to consider dual citizenship. This post in particular won my heart. Who can resist the little red squirrel, and the golden mantled ground squirrel?

Perhaps we need to consider a Squirrel Exchange program between our two nations. Something called NASTA - North American Squirrel Trade Agreement.

It's something to think about, anyway.

One Corn-Founded Squirrel!

We all have a right to be mad, but this irate chipmunk takes the cake (or at least the cornbread). He doesn't seem self-possessed - rather he seems completely possessed. Could he have just finished reading Stephen King's "Children of the Corn" perhaps (or seeing the movie)?

Thanks to my friend Chet in Pennsylvania, who captured this image of the cutest and grumpiest chipmunk on Planet Earth, we now know that squirrels have their bad days too.

Even in his apparent anger, he seems somewhat regal though, as if seated upon the cob as his throne. I can just hear him declaring, throughout the kingdom, "Off with their ears!" (This is corn, remember, not lettuce, so there's no need for any beheadings.)

Anytime I am having a bad day (and I've had a few this week that came close) I will think of this fellow. Even when the chips are down, this chip is definitely up.

Long live the King of Corn!

High fives for squirrels!

A friend just forwarded me this photograph. I'm not sure where it was taken or where it is from, but once I laid my eyes on it, I knew exactly where it was going - RIGHT ONTO THIS BLOG.

Admit it: You want to High-Five him right back, don't you? (Actually it looks more like a HIGH-FOUR with a vestigal thumb but let's not nit-pick here, ok?)

Now what could he be high-fiving about? My guess is, THE ECONOMY.
While the rest of us struggle and worry about taxes, property values, our pensions and the future of our respective industries in which we have built careers, this fellow has spent his life dutifully squirreling away his assets for the future. I think I want to hire him as my financial planner. Don't you?

High-five, little fellow!!

Sunday Squirrels, in a big way!

Readers of The Sunday Herald in India, got an eyeful today in the paper's Travel section:

http://www.deccanherald.com/Content/Jul202008/sundayherald2008071879562.asp

My friend Arul, who is on fellowship in India, sent me this link, and it gently escorted me to a story about tourism at the Dandeli Wildlife Sanctuary in India, a reasonable train ride's distance from Bangalore. Follow it and see what greets you on the screen.

It is a Giant Malabar Squirrel! Handsome, no? Here is an artist's rendering of this 4-pound creature, courtesy of the Bombay Natural History society:



When this guy asks you for nuts, you better have your shirt pockets and pants pockets - and jacket pockets - full of a stash!

I think it is particularly encouraging that the newspaper chose a photo of a squirrel, out of all the animal images it surely could have used, to draw attention to Dandeli's wonders. Newspapers (and I know this to be true because I work for one!) are always in the business of trying to put eye-catching headlines and images out there, things that will draw the readers in.

Those of us who know squirrels, however, know that they are wonders of the world in their own right. It's about time they get their "share of ink," as we say in the publishing business.

That's a Giant Step for the Giant Malabar Squirrel - and a giant leap for all squirrels, in fact!