Pandemonium at the Bird Feeder

 

There’s a rumble happening. It’s mean and nasty and you can cut the tension with a knife. It doesn’t help that our Yorkie terrier is the instigator, getting everyone riled up and on edge. According to Libby there are too many birds on our back deck and even worse, they’re joined by the biggest freeloaders of all—the squirrels.

Every winter my mother sets up several feeders right outside our kitchen window. The sight of these avian visitors is lovely and uplifting. Especially in these hard, tense times, the beauty of nature never ceases to sooth and amaze. Sometimes it feels like winter brings out more birds than summer. Red cardinals, black and white downy woodpeckers, brown sparrows, and blue jays abound.

We all love looking at them, this wonderful showcase of nature. Mom’s happy. I’m happy. Almost everyone in the house is happy, except one.

The other day I caught Libby barking and growling at a chickadee. I’ve never known a dog so territorial, so rigid in her world view, but Libby’s unlike any other canine. She believes all these animals—from the smallest finch to the burliest squirrel—are on her property. Chaos breaks out with Libby barking from inside, confused birds flying around, and squirrels running amok.

Interestingly, the squirrels seem to have no fear of Libby. They stand there on the other side of our sliding glass doors, calmly noshing while she goes out of her mind. My mother has tried everything to keep the squirrels out of the feeder, which can deplete a bag of feed in one day, but they’re resourceful and agile. Greasing the pole holding the feeder helps and there’s also special “Squirrel-resistant” bird feed you can buy.

The other day I was trying to work, and Libby wouldn’t stop yapping. It’s gotten so bad, I have to close our drapes so she can’t see what’s going on. Still, she squirms under the fabric like she’s sneaking into a rock concert.

I’ve taught her (sort of) the word “Quiet!” which she selectively understands. If she chooses not to be quiet, there’s another word for her called “Out!” She’s exiled from the kitchen. Of course, she whines on the other side of the door because she doesn’t understand. Libby believes she’s protecting us from the local marauding gangs of juncos, doves, and nuthatches.

Once in a while, something wonderful happens. The birds outside flutter prettily to and from their various feeders. The squirrels are well-behaved, gobbling up the stray stuff that’s fallen on the wood. Even Libby’s quiet, no doubt spent from all this security detail.

That’s when I breathe a sigh of relief and go back to work. The rumble’s over—at least for now.

 

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