Squirrel Wars: Long ago, in a woodlot not far away …

Less than six months ago, at the behest of my bleeding heart sister next door, I was convinced to swear off a lifelong feud with the family, Sciuridae. It was appropriate I should be the one to declare an end to hostilities. I had been the one to fire the first shot.

As I remember, that initial skirmish had taken place in a woodlot not far from my home in the fall of my ninth year. And while it is undeniable my first shot was a clear miss, some subsequent volley had resulted in the pinning of a squirrel tail to the back of my ball cap for the rest of the hunting season. The war had begun.

For those who aren’t particular fans of such sport, please note that not only did I use the tail of my prey as a poorly considered fashion statement, I also learned to make from the rest of the critter a delightful gravy dish that went well with everything from noodles to rice. Interestingly, all of my future culinary experimentations were inspired by that very first squirrel — and my mother’s refusal to cook it.

The squirrels have learned to fight back, and while my efforts have been duly restricted by state game laws, the squirrels’ countermeasures have been constrained only by the size of their tiny brains. The squirrels bring their battle forward 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, and their theater of operations is constantly shifting. One day it’s the chimney of my house, the next it’s my patch of Indian corn in the garden out back. Still the next it’s under the hood of my vehicles at work. I’ll explain.

My workplace, an earthy brown installation thrown from brick and glass, is surrounded on all sides by carefully selected and expertly attended oak trees. Squirrels enjoy nothing more than a solid network of prolific acorn droppers, and while the feast is there for the taking, an oak tree does not necessarily make for an excellent place to sleep, what with the likes of Cooper’s hawks and great horned owls.

Most species, save for the pin oak in our area, drop every leaf in the fall and remain naked to the world until the following spring. Better for a squirrel to seek a less conspicuous abode as near the source of plenty as possible. If, for instance, a Ford Explorer is parked consistently at the base of a generous white oak and exhibits a tendency to spend every night and most weekends parked in the very same spot, it may be a perfect spot to consider building a nest. Throw in a warm engine block and a sheet of steel insulated with a fibrous weave perfect to tease into nest fluff and it’s a slam dunk!

Some may call it mere coincidence that two of the three vehicles in my charge, each fully necessary to get the job done, were found to be functionally inoperable on a recent Monday morning. I call it terrorism. The squirrels call it revenge.

Obviously, there’s more to this story than can be adequately communicated in this meager space. Join me next week for another episode in one man’s struggle against an entire species: Squirrel Wars Chapter 2, “Things Get Nuts.”

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.