Oakland Squirrels

      I used to think they were cute.  I still do, actually, but now I’m more apt to view them as Hitlers in a teddy bear suit.  They seem to have no sense of aesthetics or boundaries.  They act like they own the place.  And while that’s true in a sense, it’s an out of date and unpopular opinion.

       A few years ago I tried growing a tomato plant on my patio.  I babied that plant, checking the soil in the pot every day to make sure it was not too dry, not too wet.  I fed it food pellets.  I talked to it in a gentle voice, telling it how beautiful it was.  And it rewarded me.  It bloomed, sprouting sweet little yellow flowers.  Then tiny green tomatoes appeared.  And they got bigger.  And bigger.  And the color began to change from green to red.  First just a tinge, a blush, a promise of what the plant was striving for.  I watched that tomato blossom, grow and ripen until it was nearly ready to pick.  “A few more days,” I told myself every day for several days.  Finally I decided, “Tomorrow, tomorrow is the day of harvest,” and my mouth began to water.

       The next day I looked through the glass patio door to see a heartbreaking and infuriating sight.  There was a squirrel with my tomato in his cute little paws, gnawing away at it.  Like it belonged to him.  Like he was the one who had nurtured and midwifed it into being.  He looked at me and continued gnawing.  And then he a totally unforgiveable thing – he dropped the half-eaten tomato on the patio and ran off.

       For me that was an act of war and I have used every means at my disposal to get rid of the enemy army.  Because, although the tomato plants are in another part of the yard now and are covered with netting, the squirrels continue to come to my patio to bury the peanuts someone in the neighborhood gives them.

       If I knew which neighbor it was, I’d tell them how foolish and counterproductive it is to feed these semi-wild animals.  Not only are they carriers of bubonic plague, when that person who is feeding them leaves, the squirrels won’t have any experiencee at foraging on their own.  Because, of course, the mama squirrel brings her babies to the food source.   And the food supplier encourages her. “Oh, aren’t they cute?”  “Come here, sweetie and I’ll give you a peanut.”  And what they learn is to come to humans for their food.  We are surrounded by natural food sources for squirrels, but the easier path, the one of less resistance and energy depletion, is to go to the never ending handout.

       Cute as they are, if you’re a squirrel feeder, please stop.  Do not feed the squirrels.  It’s better for them and it’s better for all the rest of us who have to live with the results of your short-sighted actions.