Autumn to Winter

The 2008 election marks the end of one era and the beginning of another. So it is with the life of the chipmunks and grey squirrels. The chipmunks have been gone now for several weeks. They've been replaced by an entire family of squirrels now sporting their winter overcoats. The squirrels, perhaps by necessity, have become incredibly tame. I can call to them, and they'll come right up to me--as long as I show them a handful of peanuts. Bribery. Squirrels. Politics. Somehow it all ties together. Good bye for now. Sine die.

Change in Activity Levels

On the chipmunk front, Chip Chip is still around and still collecting peanuts. He does, however, have a tendency to go into hiding for a day or two before re-emerging. Surprisingly, a young chipmunk--like a juvenile or slightly younger--showed up one day. But that was it. I haven't seen it since then.

Another surprise: The grey squirrels are getting tamer. They will approach me and practically beg for food. They also eat off the table. Bad manners, yes. Grey squirrels are still a bit rough around the edges--like a lot of people, no doubt.

I'm also in the process of training the bluejays. (We may be training each other.) First, the birds will shrilly announce their presence and then land in the juniper tree. As soon as they do, I throw a peanut out on the patio bricks. The sound alerts them, and they will swoop down for it in less than a chipmunk's patience for grey squirrels. That didn't make a lot of sense, but to say that it's pretty quick. The next step is luring the bluejays closer and closer to get a peanut. The final step will be to train the grey squirrels to arm wrestle the bluejays for a peanut. Okay, now this is getting silly . . .

Fall Days

Chip Chip has spent his days on the back deck, poking out of the knothole, checking out the area, before jumping out and scurrying about. He's tame, even aggressive, unless it's windy or there's construction noise. Then he's a nervous wreck. (Forget what I said earlier about chipmunks having strong constitutions.)

The grey squirrels have also changed. Whereas maybe one would approach the deck to solicit a peanut, now three or four not only approach me but will peak through the back door to determine my whereabouts.

It's all about peanuts.

Even the bluejays will get perilously close to me, diving below the picnic table, in pursuit of peanuts. Which leads me to a financial question: Am I now bound to supply these critters their rations throughout the grim days of winter?

Everybody wants my money. And the stock market isn't doing its job in replenishing my funds. Quite the contrary.

Down to One

The storms and possible flooding may have marked the end of Rose. Chip-Chip, if he's still around, remains out of sight. Only one chipmunk returns to eat peanuts--Junior, possibly the son of Rose. So from five or six, now there is one.

Such is the short, uncertain life of a chipmunk . . . .

Summer Days Shorten

The bad news is that just about all the chipmunks have disappeared, even Rose, whose willingness to jump into my lap and whose fussiness meant that several peanuts simply wouldn't pass muster, no longer perches on my knee. I miss her.

Only one chipmunk seems to make very brief appearances. I don't know who it is, and that's the way it seems to want our relationship to remain. In short, either the chipmunks have gotten more wild, hide far more often, or have dispersed. They are loners by nature, so it's possible there were simply too many for comfort in a relatively small piece of real estate.

If there's any good news, the bluejay population, in all its raucous behavior and sounds, has ballooned, along with that of the grey squirrels. I enjoy the bluejays. Though somewhat abrasive to the ears, they are a beautiful and intelligent bird.

And they're fun to watch . . . but not as fun as the chipmunks.

Whatever happened to Rose, and Chip-Chip, and Chipper, and the 3 youngsters,

I will miss them all.

A Possible Answer as to Why the Chipmunks have become Scarce

Here is my current working theory, based on the assumption that a population explosion of critters leads to a corrective population reduction response by other critters: In other words, just as the squirrels have stalked the chipmunks for their peanuts, and just as the chipmunks have stalked me--to see what I'm watching on TV--and just as just about everything is stalking the 13-lined ground squirrels and the plethora of bunnies, the stray cat population--now up to two--has begun stalking any of the critters unfortunate enough to get caught unwary.

I chase them away, but sometimes too late, when they already have a critter casualty in their bloodthirsty mouths.

Which leads to this small request on my part: KEEP YOUR DAMN CATS IN YOUR OWN DAMN YARD!!!! (See previous posts about how much damage cats can wreak on wildlife.)

Thank you.

It's 9:55 pm. Do you know where your cat is? YOU DAMN WELL BETTER!

Mid-Summer Mystery

All's quiet on the chipmunk manor. Chip-Chip has not been taking his food, either on the front step or in the garage. Chipper has been absent now for weeks. And Rose has not made an appearance since shortly after the Fourth of July. Junior, Scooter, and June are nowhere to be seen. What's going on?

On the more hopeful side, the red squirrel still makes an occasional appearance, the grey squirrels are getting friendier, now coming up to the deck to beg for food, the gopher population is taking a hit from the neighborhood cat, the red headed woodpecker is now a regular visitor at the feeder, and the blue jays return to the juniper tree daily to beg for peanuts.

Still, what happened to the chipmunks? Just weeks ago there were five or six.

Has tragedy visited the chipmunks?

Summer Update

One of the three baby chipmunk stays close to the security of the woodpile.

One of the more adventurous baby chipmunks tries a little tree climbing.

As it turns out, there are not two but three new chipmunks: Their names are Junior, June, and Scooter. Since they're all so small and indistinguishable from each other, I simply refer to them all as Chippy. One, so far, is willing to sniff a person's toes, but won't jump up into a lap.

Rose is the one to do that. She'll actually try running up my (bare) leg if I don't drop a peanut fast enough for her. She'll also sit in my lap, eat on the table, and turn away any peanut not to her liking. Apparently, before stuffing as many as three peanuts into her cheeks, she chews off the rough edges to make sure that they don't irritate her. If a peanut is cracked--or is open on one end--she quickly drops it and asks for something of better quality.

I said chipmunks were demanding. Now it's clear just how demanding.

Other news: Yesterday, I noticed five different kinds of ground squirrels in the back yard: (1) the chipmunks, (2) a half-grown rabbit, (3) several grey squirrels, (4) the notorious thirteen-lined ground squirrel, and (the most recent guest) (5) the red squirrel. (See picture.) The red squirrel is somewhere between the chipmunk and the grey squirrel in size and is probably the most agile tree climber of any of its ground squirrel cousins. Whether it makes any sounds is yet to be discovered.

Meanwhile Chip-Chip still resides behind the front step and routinely visits the garage for food. One day he stuffed so many peanuts and sunflower seeds into the car's engine that they blew out all over the floor when I turned on the heater. What a mess!

On a related note, a mouse built a nest inside the riding lawn mower, right next to the battery case. After I stopped the mower on the driveway to fill up with gas, I noticed that the mouse came out of the bottom of the mower, no worse for its ride, and it was holding a baby mouse in its mouth. Well, I pushed the mower back, and the mouse kept running underneath it. Finally, it raced for the open garage, with the baby still in tow. Something didn't feel quite right, so I investigated the riding lawn mower and found a nest inside--with two more babies in it. I scooped out the nest, put it in a bucket, and laid the bucket on its side toward the rear of the garage. In just a few minutes, the babies were gone. The mother had fetched them. So they all survived a ride across the lawn on the riding lawn mower, were reunited, and are probably stuffing sunflower seeds somewhere in my car.

Moral: No good deed goes unpunished.

Almost Summer

Summer Notes

Chip-Chip, the character who motivated this blog, continues to live behind the front step, suns himself in the afternoon, and has grown somewhat shy—perhaps from recent visits by stray cats or by the population explosion of grey squirrels that swipe the food and water left out for him.

Chipper seems to have disappeared altogether. He or she lived in the burrow along the foundation of the neighbor’s garage. Since a strong storm and heavy rains flooded the burrow, I worried that any babies would be drowned. But I didn't worry about Chipper. Given chipmunks’ ability to create multiple escape routes, it was unlikely that Chipper was drowned out.

Rose, to a large degree, has stolen the story line. She is now so tame that she practically jumps in my lap when I’m sitting on the deck; she will follow me around in the garden and jump up on my running shoes if I don’t offer her a peanut quickly enough; and, as already mentioned, she will invite herself into the house. She has gotten so aggressive and so tame that at feeding time she jumped into the basket on the grill trying to solicit peanuts from me—and the grill was full of white-hot coals. Covering the lid and warning Rose of the dangers of getting to close to an oven, I imagined for a moment the possibility of roast chipmunk.

Rose also chases off Junior if they get too close to each other on the deck. Junior will usually approach Rose and sniff noses; she rebuffs the affection and shoes away the adolescent. Nothing violent. But Junior knows enough not to bother her. Junior is also not the only half-pint chipmunk, as earlier and erroneously reported. Junior in fact has a sibling. Scooter. The back yard now has two chipmunks from Generation Next.

Finally, just as Rose chases off the junior generation, the catbirds have been more than a little aggressive in keeping the chipmunks away from their nest. For shy birds, the catbirds chase away the chipmunks any chance they get, and, in one instance, a catbird attacked Rose just as I was handing her a peanut, right in front of me. I was caught off guard and said something intelligent like, “Hey!” And Rose scampered off until the catbird settled in the nearby juniper tree. Undeterred by the catbird, Rose returned and continued to beg from me.

The catbird meowed from the branch, keeping a close eye on me as well. It didn’t seem too happy that I was an ally of its archenemy.

That’s some chutzpah from the notoriously shy bird. Apparently, where their young are concerned, catbirds are capable of surprising boldness.

Another New Neighbor

From the entrance of her burrow, Chipper checks to see whether the coast is clear . . .

. . . pauses to give me the once-over . . .

. . . races toward the strategically placed peanut . . .

. . . and enjoys a snack . . . and a break from Junior.

Chipper saves a peanut for later . . . or for Junior, who has yet to be photographed.

June Updates:

Rose invited herself into the house. She is one curious little chipmunk, sniffing around on the floor and checking out the furniture. I had to encourage her to return to her more appropriate accommodations . . . outside. Next time she will probably want a chocolate chip cookie and a cool glass of lemonade.

I have also been referring to Chipper with the wrong pronoun. Chipper, it appears, is another female chipmunk. A little pup appeared from her burrow along the neighbor's garage. Although it was skittish at first, it's now getting used to fetching peanuts from me. The little guy--or girl--is approximately two-thirds the size of Chipper.

Chip-Chip has been scarce today. But yesterday, he peeked in the front door, eavesdropping on my conversations, no doubt. He's also been known to climb the birdfeeder pole outside the living room window, perch on top the birdfeeder, and peer into the house. He's something of a little window peeker. So now what the grey squirrel was doing to Chipper, Chip-Chip is doing to me: In other words, I have a chipmunk stalker.

Who'd've thunk it.

A Noisy Neighborhood

A cousin of the chipmunk, the 13-lined ground squirrel has a few similar features, especially around the head area. It also lets out a warning call when threatened, just as the chipmunk does.

Everybody seems to be in a frenzy these days.

The grackles are busy feeding their squawking fledglings, both sounding disagreeable in the process. Grackles, by the way, are among the earliest nest builders, the earliest to lay eggs, and the earliest to fill up the neighborhood with a population increase-induced chatter. That they're among the earliest makes them also among the most successful. The young have a long period of decent weather to mature and prepare for winter, and, if tragic events should visit them--say, a storm destroys their nest--grackles have more than enough time to hatch another brood. Sparrows and finches come in a close second, followed by robins. The meat eaters, unfortunately, tend to build their nests late, have fewer chicks, and, as a result, their numbers hardly compare to those of the grackles. The swallows, wrens, and bluebirds are good examples.

The chipmunks are also chattering away. Sometimes, they will just sit still and chirp, probably calling to their buddies across the yard. To the inexperienced ear, the regular chirp of the chipmunk could easily be mistaken for the song of a finch or sparrow. It's fairly consistent and regular. If you watch a chipmunk calling another one, you'll see it pause, as if waiting for a reply. After awhile you'll notice when a "conversation" is taking place. And you have to hand it to the cross-talk of Rose, Chipper, and Chip-Chip: They can keep in touch with each other without text messaging or cell phones or outrageous carrier fees. Wi-fi and broadband don't improve the quality of their lives one little bit.

Myth buster Alert: You'll not have to look far to find some nit wit discussion about how chipmunks are solitary animals. Although it's true that they need their space--and they will chase off competitors for food, just as other critters and birds will do--chipmunks prefer company to isolation. Whether it's staying in touch through chirps or by lounging on the deck with a cool drink, chipmunks are social animals. At times, they seem to prefer scampering around the shoes of humans, sniffing them, and looking up curiously as if to find out who belongs to that particular scent. At other times, they seem to shun their human companions for a time and focus on each other. But the conclusion is clear: Just like most humans, chipmunks seek out contact with members of their own species or members of other species--us. (Another minor myth buster: A critic of my argument might suggest that chipmunks are merely exploiting their relationship with humans for food. That is in part true. But they will also ignore peanuts or sunflower seeds, preferring instead to just sit quietly and look at or listen to the ramblings of their human companion. They indeed show enduring patience for the long-winded rambler.)

Then there's the other kind of chipmunk communication.

If you want to hear a chipmunk throw a hissy fit, introduce a cat into the area. Chipmunks will act as if they're personally offended that such a nasty creature has encroached upon their territory and threatened their daily routines. Chip-Chip is no different. He seemed completely inconsolable for a good ten minutes when a cat decided to lounge on his front step.

Advice: If you hear chipmunks getting all worked up--which means that birds may be doing likewise--take a moment to step outside and check out the usual hiding places. A critter is probably lurking in their comfort zone. Get out the broom and redirect the critter into your neighbor's yard. Your neighbor won't mind.

An upset chipmunk will appreciate your attempts at comforting him.

A few peanuts couldn't hurt, either.

Approaching Summer

From her perch on the railing, Rose usually sees me before I see her. In either event, she does not mind the constant click of my camera.

During quiet moments--or after she's done eating peanuts or digging in the pots--Rose relaxes and cleans herself on the railing of the deck.

While the baby squirrels are busy joining their relatives in stealing seeds from the birdfeeder, they have yet to learn how to dangle upside down, as this veteran squirrel adroitly demonstrates.
The last day of May feels like the first day of summer. The heat and humidity have suddenly been turned on like a faucet. Along with them, the chipmunks are visible during longer periods throughout the day.

A routine is slowly developing: Chip-Chip now guards his territory around the front step, excavates around the foundation, and makes the occasional dangerous trip across the road to the neighbor's garage. Chipper lounges atop the wren house when he's not exploring the wood pile or being stalked by squirrels. And Rose remains nearby on the deck, chirping at times as if to remind me of my obligation to drop a few peanuts and at other times to scold the squirrels or birds for chasing her away from her food. She also explores the pots, digs in the plants, rubs her belly on the cool dirt, runs up to me, seemingly begging for a peanut, only to ignore it, and scampers off, playing the tease.

Rose is clearly the most vocal of the three chipmunks--and also the tamest. I wonder why.

Stray Cat: The Enemy of Critters

A stray cat wandering into a neighborhood raises more ruckus than a hole-pocked muffler on a surly teenager's car.

Yesterday, an evil-eyed calico cat, one that I had never seen before, attacked Chip-Chip on the front step. Fortunately, because Chip-Chip has an escape entry on the backside of the step, and lightning quick reflexes, the cat never had a chance to catch him. As he let out his high-pitched warning to other critters in the immediate vicinity that a trouble maker was on the loose, the nefarious cat pawed fruitlessly at the step before skulking off to find more trouble.

Side note: Did you ever notice that different species will help each other out? Birds will warn each other if a hawk or cat is in the area, even if under normal circumstances they don't give a hoot about each other. Squirrels will bark and growl with the same effect, and 13-lined ground squirrels and chipmunks will release a similar warning that alerts anyone else who cares to listen. Their warnings perhaps also have the unintended consequence of calling out the nearest Good Samaritan, willing to chase off the enemy with a stick.

I knew that Chip-Chip would be safe. But there was also a robin's nest directly above the step, so doing what I tend to do--interfering with the nature order of things--I went outside and chased the cat away. The elderly neighborhood whose garage is the second home to Chipper also lean out her front door and scolded the cat.

Here's a helpful tip about chasing cats away: They don't always leave at the first suggestion. In other words, they don't take the hint that they're unwelcome, especially when juicy little fledglings and baby squirrels and nervous chipmunks are in abundant supply. So keep looking for the cat, chase it once, chase it again, scavenge around in the ferns where it may be hiding, listen to the robins and catbirds (who, despite their name, really detest cats; if you hear a catbird mimicking a cat, that probably means that the cat is still around searching for a meal), and carry a stick, not that I advocate hitting cats, but as a way to poke around in the daylilies and shrubs where the cuddly killer may be lurking.

When the birds have finally settled down, the stray cat is probably out of the vicinity.

One other point: I don't dislike cats. Cats are some of my favorite people. I blame their owners, the ones too irresponsible to keep their cats under control. Please remember--and this is one of my occasionally serious points--domestic cats kill a lot of critters . . . a lot of critters. Don't let your cat be one of the guilty ones. Songbirds alone this year have died off from a lack of bugs--from a lack of warm weather. Let's help get their numbers back in shape. Remember from my other blog entry: Suet will help songbirds.

Conclusion: Stray cats, bad. Intervention, sometimes necessary, especially when fledglings can barely fly. Helpful neighbor lady, good. And fat, good. Again, share your fat. The songbirds will thank you. As we already know, Chip-Chip, Chipper, and Rose all enjoy the chorus of songbirds as well. The more, the better.

Spring Storm

A storm struck Sunday, with wind and rain and hail that pounded everything in sight.

The baby robins on the west side of the house received the full brunt of the storm. I thought that if the wind hadn't blown them out of their nest then the hail would pummel them senseless--that they'd be the first front yard casualties of spring. But much to my surprise, they survived, along with their parents. (Note to robin couple: Do what the smarter robins do and build your nest under an awning, use a roost, build under a pergola, use the south or east side of a building, and better yet, rent an apartment.)

Some random notes:

(1) Chip-Chip is getting into his wanderlust mood again, racing across the street and into the neighbor's garage. If he lasts the summer, he can thank higher fuel prices and reduced driving by minimum wage, surly teenagers who would love to run him down for sport.

(2) Rose is getting tamer by the day. She now practically sits with me on the back deck and reads the Sunday paper with me. Her favorite section is the comics, Dilbert in particular. Like many other chipmunks, she also jumps up on pots, digs holes in them, and even rolls around on top the cool, dry composted soil. Yesterday, she chirped like a bird, and I wondered whether she was chirping for her peanuts or for a boyfriend. Maybe both.

(3) Beyond his current stalker--who's still creeping around menacingly--Chipper may anticipate more struggles with squirrels. Yesterday, a frisky baby grey squirrel tussled with its mother as she gathered dead grass for their nest. That hyperactive little critter wouldn't give its mother a break, even insisting on a (short-lived) piggyback ride. I wonder who would win in a tussle between a full-grown chipmunk and a baby grey squirrel. It probably would end up in a disqualification: The mother and twenty-seven relatives would jump the chipmunk at the slightest sign of distress for the baby squirrel.

(4) The catbird couple is also getting tamer by the day. The notoriously shy birds will land on the miniature birdbath on the floor of the deck and have a leisurely drink of water. They're getting so tame in fact that I almost walked up to them before they flew off. Suet may be the key. With the cold weather and the scarcity of insects, the grey catbirds may out of necessity get used to me in order to get what little fat they can find. Perhaps there's a lesson in that for the other songbirds that have died in Minnesota: Share your fat with a starving bird. (Especially when the temperature is still flirting with the thirties . . . )

(5) More critters have passed through: Mourning doves, rose-breasted grosbeak, indigo bunting, Baltimore oriole, cardinal, one nervous mole, one scruffy looking rabbit, two ruby-throated hummingbirds, and one plump 13-lined ground squirrel. More pictures will follow to document my claims because, no doubt, my readers are skeptical about some of my claims. No doubt.

A Reluctant Spring

Spring has been a reluctant visitor here in Minnesota. In past weeks, robins have had to clear snowdrifts from their nests and treat their featherless young for frostbite.

Already toward the end of May, temperatures are finally approaching the seventies; the apple trees are blooming, and the flowering crabs and lilacs are releasing their perfume. The garden has been planted, and the grey squirrels are busy digging up the garden. It’s no wonder they’re known as t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

Spring is also showing on the critters. A fat rabbit that lingers under the bird feeder looks like it contains about twenty bunnies. A bloated grey squirrel seems glued to the bird feeder, shoveling in the sunflower seeds one by one, reluctant to give up its perch, even when I show up to whisk it away. It will look at me, squint, glower, and, deciding how serious a threat I pose, perhaps scamper off for a moment or two, only to return to its unshelled supply. Rose or Chip-Chip may be expecting as well. The daily food supply left in the garage has recently been cleaned up completely. In the past sunflower seeds or peanuts have been left behind. Eating for three or four or six, it seems, demands a lot more food.

More pressure on me.

Expectant mothers need their nutrition.

Since I’ve already interfered in the natural order of things, I feel obligated to continue, despite the added pressures on my grocery budget. (Even the catbirds are rapidly working their way through the fatty suet blocks in part because the cold weather has limited the availability of insects for their diets. Unfortunately, many songbirds have died this year because the cold weather has killed off the insects upon which they depend—so the next time you see a mosquito, remember that it is a good thing, at least for bluebirds and the rest.)

On the downside, if I’d discontinue feeding these local critters, they’d probably turn on me—chewing through my car tires or the nearest electrical wiring, starting a blaze, and, well, if that didn’t work perhaps starting rumors about me. Who knows where all that would end up? My name and an unflattering photo in the local newspaper? A nasty blog? A viral campaign? An insurgency? An uprising? A rebellion? Would UN peacekeepers need to intervene? Or Google?

A conspiracy of critters could be a dangerous thing.

The Stalker

Getting a peanut handed to him would seem an easy meal for Chipper . . . until the uninvited you know who shows up to create t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

From atop the wren house, Chipper keeps an eye out for another plunder by the grey squirrel.

The back yard is full of grey squirrels, lots of grey squirrels, ratty looking grey squirrels, chattering grey squirrels, aggressive, bullying, irritable, rambunctious grey squirrels, bird food stealing by the pound grey squirrels, hole digging in the garden grey squirrels, hole digging in the geranium pots and the begonia pots and petunia pots grey squirrels, and plump, oversized grey squirrels, bursting with what will undoubtedly be more and more hungry little grey squirrels.

In other words, feeding birds and chipmunks has led to an unintended consequence: grey squirrel population explosion. (If you ask me, they should all be deported. Canada would be a good destination--Monitoba or Saskatchewan or even the Northwest Territories for the biggest trouble makers--even if the grey squirrels were all born here and are legal residents or satisfy residency requirements. All you have to do is . . . ask for their papers.)

Politics aside, the explosion of grey squirrels has led to even more competition for food.

. . . And to a new problem for Chipper.

A stalker.

After feeding Chipper the usual allotment of peanuts, I noticed off in the distance that a grey squirrel was surveilling my activities. As Chipper plunked a peanut in his mouth and scurried around the woodpile looking for a place to hide his prized possession, the grey squirrel came even closer, cautiously at first, but with an evil glint in its eyes. Then, when Chipper wasn’t looking, the grey squirrel started rooting around between the logs and bark and rotting leaves, attempting to steal the peanut. It succeeded.

That wasn’t all.

Remember that in a confrontation with other critters the chipmunk sadly ends up the loser in just about all cases. That unfortunate fact of life proved again true as the grey squirrel chased him off his own territory. Poor Chipper retreated to his burrow along the neighbor’s garage and probably despaired over the loss of the peanut and the bullying he had rudely received.

So I did what I usually do—namely to interfere in the natural order of things. I took a couple peanuts and shoved them by hand into the entrance of Chipper’s burrow, far enough to extend beyond the reach of the grey squirrel. Then I gave the squirrel the evil eye and demanded that it “hit the road.” Reluctantly, it retreated to the nearby aspen, its tail waving furiously, as if to taunt me for interfering in the natural order of things.

Of all the things for chipmunks to worry about: Who would’ve thought it would also include stalkers?

More Spring Activity, More Return Visitors

Rose stays close to the back deck, with its many escape routes and easy access to water and to me. She will stare me down until I offer her a snack. Then she will demand more. Then she will disappear. Not even a thank you. Chipmunks don't always have the best manners.

A male goldfinch stops by the juniper tree to show off. His much drabber mate waits on a nearby branch, fully resigned to the fact that you have to give show-offs their moment or they will sulk for hours.

Yesterday, when I came home, Chip-Chip raced down the sidewalk and nearly tackled me, demanding some fresh peanuts.

Then Rose showed her aggressive side, chirping for attention, as I baited her to come ever nearer before giving up my supply of peanuts. By the end of summer, these chipmunks may be so tame that they will be lounging on a chair with me as I watch Boston Legal. And they will probably be demanding snacks by the bowlful. If, however, they demand that I change the channel to Meerkat Manor, well, that's pushing things a bit too far.

Chipmunks can be demanding, but you have to know where to draw the line.

* * *

Still no sign of Chipper. It's been a few days now, and I'm not certain what's going on with him. Let's hope he's just nursing a cold or a stomach ache--maybe from too many peanuts.

There have been signs of other critters, though. I found another robin's nest in the arborvitae next to the front steps, coincidentally just above Chip-Chip's home. The robin's nest is so low that I'll be able to photograph it by just standing on the top step. (Stay tuned for more photos.)

Other birds have returned as well. A brilliant goldfinch stopped by the back feeder, along with his paler female partner.

Most exciting, a pair of grey catbirds returned this year and began building their nest in the kiwi vines. Last year, a storm pretty much destroyed their nest. I'm hoping they do better this year.

A sort of mockingbird, the catbird possesses the most exotic, lyrical song of any bird I've ever heard.

I'll bet even Chip-Chip enjoys listening to it.

Waiting on the Front Step

Now that the weather has finally warmed here in Minnesota--knock on wood--Chip-Chip commonly waits on the front step for me to come home.

Rolling down my car window, I called out "Chip-Chip," and he seemed to get excited, standing up on his hind haunches to get a better look. I parked in the garage and reached for the peanuts. Approaching the front step, now less cautiously than in the past, I reassured Chip-Chip of who I was by talking to him. I'm not sure, but chipmunks are either familiar with my voice or just curious about the strange noise coming from a dorky looking human being.

At any rate, I dropped a few peanuts. After evaluating my intentions, he crawled down the step and stuffed one in his pouch and then, as a treat, ate the second one. Having fed my little critter friend, I began walking back down the sidewalk toward the side door. Much to my surprise, Chip-Chip followed--or at least he ran parallel to my path. What more did he expect?

So I stopped and chatted with him a bit more, checking the neighborhood to make sure neighbors or passersby didn't think I was losing touch with reality. Chip-Chip maybe wonders that himself.

A few moments later I went into the house.

Then a thought occurred to me: Chip-Chip may now be expecting his late afternoon meal every time he sees my car pull into the driveway.

And that led to another thought: Chipmunks can put a lot of pressure on a person.

More Chipmunk Factoids

Chip-Chip can beat Chipper in a sprint, but Chipper has better maneuverability around the woodpile.

Keen veteran aficionados of the critter world may find nothing new in my listed observations, but they may come as something of a surprise for the novice critter observers, to wit:

Did you know that chipmunks can chew through cement foundation blocks?

They don’t just burrow beneath foundations or alongside them. They can actually exploit a crack or a gap and tunnel right on through it. You’d think they’d wear their teeth out, or at least need crowns at some point. Apparently not. And this dental achievement is just one of the reasons people may not look so kindly upon chipmunks. (Now that I think of it, if chipmunks were vindictive, spiteful, or malicious, they could easily flatten the tires on my car or chew through the hoses or belts. I had best stay on their good side.)

Did you also know that chipmunks share a common and dangerous trait with rabbits?

It’s that, once committed, they’ll both race across a street, regardless of oncoming traffic, whereas grey squirrels are indecisive with or without traffic.

Did you know that chipmunks are actually so quick that on occasion they can zip by you practically invisible?

Okay, I made that last one up, but it’s almost true.

And did you know that chipmunks like a drop of lemon in their water?

Well, it could be true. Give them fresh water daily, even if the experts say otherwise. Chipmunks do like a drink of cool water, especially after gnawing through the shells of salted peanuts.

More factoids to come . . .

Chip-Chip, Chipper, and Rose

Chipper, the Potential Adversary.

Yesterday, as I was about to get in the truck and run out for some Chinese take-out, Chip-Chip jumped up into the wheel well and disappeared into the bowels of the engine. Worried that he’d get in the fan belt or diced by the radiator fan, I popped the hood and searched for his whereabouts. I didn’t find Chip-Chip, but I did find a half-eaten peanut and some old sunflower seed shells scattered on the engine mounts and on top the air filter cover.

Somewhat satisfied that he’d returned to the garage or garden, I slowly backed out of the driveway. A lingering anxiety made me uncomfortable, however, as I wondered whether a litter critter stowaway was accompanying me down the street to the Chinese take-out place. (If he made it all the way there, I thought he’d deserve a serving of Moo Goo Gai Pan or Chicken with Cashew Nuts—if nothing else, he should have liked the cashews.)

After my supper of about 30 mixed vegetables and an ounce or so of meats, I relaxed on the back deck and soon discovered that Chip-Chip was alive and well—and that he had a new friend. Yes, the total chipmunk population has now increased to three, and the new one, though a little skinny and something of a runt, is probably the tamest one so far. When I called to it, the little critter popped out of a hole, looked at me for a while, and then sat up on a chunk of wood. I dropped a peanut in front of my new acquaintance; it stuffed the peanut whole into its mouth and disappeared again.

This might be a good time for some factoids about chipmunks: Unlike most other wild critters, chipmunks are actually drawn by the human voice. I don’t know why, but they are. Though they are semi-tame, chipmunks are also extremely skitterish. If you turn your head too fast or cough or say “dang” too loudly, they can go from zero to sixty in approximately a quarter of a second. On hard surfaces, in fact, they can spin out like a NASCAR driver, showing off for the crowd in the stands. They can escape most situations, having the uncanny ability to disappear into an opening no larger than a Kennedy half dollar. Chipmunks are also hard to predict. Sometimes, they’re around most of the day. Then they’re not around at all. Sometimes, their routine varies. You practically have to request a schedule to know when they’re going to show up next. Which leads to the last factoid: Chipmunks don’t provide schedules.

The third chipmunk appeared again, perching on the edge of a cedar pot that held a newly planted rose. As I watched it root around in the peat moss, I noticed that it had a white patch on its hind leg. This chipmunk, this third chipmunk, was easy to identify, and as I continued to watch it, I started to wonder what to call it. Patches came to mind. But then again it had only one patch. I dismissed the idea, not wanting to be factually incorrect. Patches, I mean the third chipmunk, wouldn’t like that. So what about Patch? No, I didn’t like that name, either.

As good names eluded my imagination, the third chipmunk stretched to reach a thorn on the rose cane and promptly bit it off and ate it. Strange, I thought, a chipmunk that likes to eat thorns. Then it stretched up high and nibbled at a bud, its stomach clearly showing. I now knew that the third chipmunk was a girl and that its name would be tied to its somewhat odd cravings.

I named it Rose.

Meanwhile, Chip-Chip, maybe sensing my focus on my newfound chippy friend, had wandered off in the day lilies and didn’t return. Or maybe he wanted a break from Rose. Breaks are good, even where chipmunks are concerned.

Later, Chipper finally came out from under the neighbor’s garage and collected the peanuts I had left for him. And that made me wonder about something else: Would Chipper meet Rose? Would Chip-Chip become jealous? Was there a brawl in the making? Would Rose’s loyalties be strong and steadfast? Or would she prove to be, let’s say, as fickle as her cravings for . . . well . . . for rose thorns?

As for Chip-Chip, I hoped that he wasn’t sleeping in the truck.

Chip-Chip's Possible Relative, Friend, Foe, or Casual Acquaintance

Chipper atop the woodpile in the evening sun.

Last night at around 8:00 p.m., I started to get acquainted with the second chipmunk, the one that lives under the neighbor's garage to the north.

I noticed almost immediately that he has a few traits in common with Chip-Chip. First, he is wary but curious, hunkering down close to his burrow hole in case a quick escape is called for; yet his curiosity compels him to stay above ground, watching me and trying to figure out my intentions. Second, he can be persuaded to be more friendly by the placement of a few fresh peanuts. Third, he's a cute little fella, especially when propped up on his hind legs to get a better view over the new iris and daylily blades.

He is a bit larger, and his stripes are more pronounced. My guess is that he could be older than Chip-Chip. Maybe an older cousin, twice removed, on his mother's side. Maybe an uncle. Or an aunt. It's difficult to say without documentation.

There's also a big difference between the two chipmunks. The second one likes to stay out late at night. I watched him until twilight, or roughly 9:00 p.m., which is not supposed to happen with chipmunks. They're supposed to take care of the day's business early in the morning and finish up by early afternoon. This one, however, likes the night life. What a nonconformist. But such activities are also consistent with what I've said earlier about chipmunks: They're dare devils.

Finally, since it's awkward to refer to the second chipmunk as the second chipmunk, I've decided to call him Chipper. A woodpile is nearby, so the name sort of makes sense. Anyway, it's better than calling him Bark or Log or Woody or Woodpile or Floyd . . .

. . . I hope an owl doesn't get him.

A Mystery Piled on Top another Mystery

The entrance with rocks covering Chip-Chip's burrow. After they were removed the first time, they were piled even higher, totally hiding any evidence of the entrance.

In April, before and between the snowstorms, Chip-Chip was a regular fixture in the front yard, on the sidewalk, and in the garage. Now he seems scarce. But I know he's still around. The peanuts continue to disappear from the lid of the sunflower seed container. My guess is that's the work of Chip-Chip (or, as mentioned, the theft of steroid-crazed mice).

I also know that he's still around because of another mysterious event. His burrow opening has been covered by rocks. At first, I thought squirrels may be trying to seal him in as just another one of their efforts to say "Welcome to the Neighborhood!" So I removed the rocks. Wouldn't you know it, the next day the rocks were piled even higher over his burrow opening. What was happening?

After a few moments of clear thinking, I dismissed the squirrels as the culprits. They may be mean, but they are essentially lazy layabouts. Bullies, yes, but ones with short attention spans. (I wouldn't be surprised to learn that most grey squirrels suffer from a severe form of attention deficit disorder.) Not only wouldn't they return to cover the opening, but they certainly wouldn't put in the effort to block it with even more rocks. That's just not in squirrels' characters--not their modus operandi. Most of the time, squirrels dig holes around in the garden, just deep enough to disrupt emerging string beans, and then leave them unattended. Why, they don't even have the gumption to cover up their holes--and in my book, that makes them lazy and irresponsible, and really, really annoying to gardeners who would prefer to eat their string beans in a nice sauce than to have to keep planting them.

Squirrels are like visiting grandchildren. Cute at first. Amusing. Lots of energy. Full of antics. Then lunch time and dirty faces and crying and runny noses and tantrums loud enough to destroy neural connections in your prefrontal lobe, the part that inhibits tearing your own hair out, and then you look at your watch--every twelve to fifteen seconds--and wonder why their parents are already three hours late in picking them up. Or does it only feel like three hours?

Still, I don't know who has been covering the chipmunk burrow opening. Knowing the who would help explain the why. But I can guess. It's now early May, the time of rebirth and rejuvenation. The trees are budding, the birds are nesting, the crocus and tulips are blooming, and the Prom is consuming the minds of glandular-driven teenagers. Maybe, just maybe, the burrow covering is extra, temporary protection from unfriendly critters, a barrier for those littler critters hidden within and unable to defend themselves. Chip-Chip no longer crosses the street or races against the falling garage door. He no longer poses for pictures or hangs out on the front steps. Other than becoming more conservative and reclusive, Chip-Chip has also shown a dramatic change in eating habits. A serious daily craving for peanuts now is depleting my supplies, and yet the sunflower seeds remain untouched. And all this means?

Chip-Chip may be having babies.

If I'm right, to be polite, I'll have to quit referring to Chip-Chip as a he.

The Mystery Continues

The stockpile of peanuts is daily renewed after Chip-Chip (or some other critter) dismantles the pile and hauls off the entire stash within an hour or less.

Well, I’ve been routinely putting peanuts on top the sunflower seed bin, and they disappear usually within the same day, despite no Chip-Chip spotting.

Yesterday was a false alarm. I heard scratching and tumbling, and, thinking it was Chip-Chip rearranging the garage, with any luck, straightening it out, I slowly opened the garage door and discovered some movement in the recycle bin in the back corner. As the vegetable cans rattled and the plastic Coke bottles bounced around, I was hopeful that finally I’d get a chance to say hi to Chip-Chip.

No such luck. The little critter dived under the recyclables. A mouse maybe? I started to remove the plastic pop bottles and glass beer bottles, and tin corn cans until only one half-crushed can remained. The little critter, whatever it was, must have taken refuge inside the can. Gently, I picked up the can, tipping the open end up for the critter’s safety, and then set it down outside along the foundation of the garage. Slowly, a nose poked out. Then whiskers. Then, slowly, a head. Squinty little eyes. It sniffed the air, rather blindly, and cautiously squeezed out of the can. The little mole then began burrowing into the leaves and soon disappeared.

I wonder whether the little critter had realized that I rescued it from slowly and miserably starving to death inside the recycle bin, its sides just too slippery, too high, and too insurmountable for the little critter to scale.

The mole thusly relocated, I went back to the peanut mystery and soon discovered that some line from a fishing line spool had been unrolled and stashed down inside a foundation cinder block behind the sunflower seed bin. I pulled at the line. Stuck. So stuck that it snapped before I could free it. Then, later that afternoon, more line had been taken. What was going on? Could it be that the chipmunk had extended its petty larceny to my fishing equipment? Not likely, I thought. It was more likely the work of mice, evil mice, who were probably plotting some sort of painful ambush for me.

I imagined that they would conspire to attach the line from the cinder block across the garage, under my car, and to a ladder rather flimsily mounted on the opposite wall. Then, when I’d go out into the garage—in low light, I might add—I’d trip and hurt myself on the line, get into the car, back out, yanking the ladder down and smashing it on the hood of the car. Estimated damage: potentially in the thousands. My injuries: probably a contused knee, fractured wrist, and a concussion. If I were lucky.

Mice can be vindictive.

Admittedly, the mice had the motive. I had “evicted with extreme prejudice” several of their kin—22 to date—from the house. Now, I don’t have anything against mice, as long as they stay outside with the moles and the squirrels and the chipmunks and the rabbits, and, well, you get the idea. But they had the audacity to come indoors. Their audacity continued to grow to an intolerable level one night. Here’s what happened. As I was watching Family Guy, two mice scampered into the living room. They promptly, scooped up some of my snacks, sat down on my blanket, and started watching TV. Quickly becoming impatient, one said, “Hey, you got anything better to eat?” And the other one said, “Preferably what you’re eating—Cheetos look good. The chips we stole from your bag last week were a little stale.” Well, what chutzpah! Then the first one said, “Anything better on TV? I don’t like your show.” That was it. Nobody deprives me of Stewie! After that night, my campaign against uninvited mice began in earnest.

At first, I felt a little guilty about bringing the little mice to an unceremonious end. My consolation was that mouse traps seem to be about as effective as the guillotine, which made short work of many miscreants of the human persuasion. Guilt soon evolved, however, into righteous justification, especially after one late night, when several mice were partying inside my bedroom wall, playing loud mouse music (which is very high pitched and generally unpleasant (though occasionally pretty good)), scratching and pounding on the inside of the wall, and, to top it off, using bad language. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Foul-mouthed mice.

Such creatures were undoubtedly capable of sabotaging my daily trips to the garage.

The Peanut Mystery

Since I haven't seen Chip-Chip now for a few days, perhaps due to the squirrel plague, I decided to dump a little extra food in the garage. I placed about a cupful of sunflower seeds on top a plastic case in which the vast reserves of sunflowers seeds are kept.

Word of advice: If you buy a 50-pound bag of sunflower seeds (which is the only way to buy it because the smaller quantities can be several times the cost per pound than the 50-pound bag--seriously, I'm not joking), make sure you store it in a container that seals out moisture and little critters.

If you see a little hole in the corner of a bag, you've probably got a mouse problem. And where you have one mouse problem, you've probably got two mice problems, and where you have two mice problems, you've probably got twenty mice problems, until, eventually, you're overrun by mice. That won't be good for anyone. Can you imagine several hundred mice all lined up with a little cup in their paws demanding food? And if you didn't feed them? Well, could you imagine mice by the hundreds, organized like a rodent union, picketing your house? The size of postage stamps, their pickets might say, "Mice Have Rights, Too!" or "Small But Proud!" or "No Food, No Squeaks!" or "Free the Fleas!" (because a few mice are bound to be confused or get off task) or "These People Throw Away More Food Than We Could Eat in a Week!" or "And They Don't even Recycle!" It will be difficult to know which would be more embarrassing--having your neighbors know that you have several hundred mice or that you have several hundred disgruntled mice ticked off enough to expose your personal secrets. It's the stuff of nightmares.

At any rate, when I put the seeds on top the case, I added about 3 or 4 peanuts, thinking that mice probably wouldn't take the peanuts and hoping that Chip-Chip was still around. So I checked. The peanuts were gone. Not even a sign of the shells. (Mice would eat the peanuts and leave the shells behind; they're messy like that.) Yet the sunflower seeds were untouched. I added more peanuts. Again, they disappeared. Now, I'm reasonably sure that Chip-Chip is still around. He may just be in hiding until the grey squirrel population thins out a bit.

Or I may be wrong about Chip-Chip and the mice, in which case I've got mice on steroids capable of stealing off with peanuts. Such critters would pose yet another threat to Chip-Chip's well being.

Again, more evidence that life is not easy for chipmunks.

Something tells me I may be making things worse. If that's the case, I hope Chip-Chip is forgiving. Something also tells me chipmunks--of all the likely critters in the world--are a forgiving sort. Unlike the mice, it would be hard to imagine Chip-Chip carrying a picket sign.

Maybe it's all the free food.

The Law of Unintended Consequences

Squirrel, spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

I've been rethinking my approach to feeding Chip-Chip. Those rascally squirrels have been finding his food and possibly intimidating Chip-Chip in the process. I imagine he's feeling a bit oppressed by his change in fortune.

Just as the chipmunk population exploded in 2006, a parallel population explosion is taking place among the grey squirrels. Last week, I counted at least 8. They could easily vacuum Chip-Chip's reserves, chase him around the yard to push him out of their territory, or, worse, hold him hostage until I dump a 50-pound bag of premium sunflower seeds in their favorite chowing-down spots.

The conventional wisdom has been that as food becomes more abundant for chipmunks their populations will grow as a result. Then their predators will swoop down and eliminate the excess, the old, the weak, or the near-sighted chipmunks.

But now I have a new theory: As the food supply increases, competitors--bigger, meaner, less charming competitors--will do their best to take the chipmunk's food and run him out of town. If the predators don't get the squirrels--because, let's face it, not too many hawks or owls hang around a residential neighborhood, and stray cats don't always prove tough enough or fast enough to take on squirrels--then the grey squirrel population explodes, at the expense of Chip-Chip and his buddies.

Conclusion: In good times or bad, chipmunks just can't catch a break.

A Sunday Afternoon Visitor

Yesterday, Chip-Chip had an unannounced visitor. Since it was Sunday and all, I imagine critters drop in on each other in much the same way as the occasional unwelcome distant relative, looking for a fresh cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll, or passing judgment on a home in disarray, unprepared for the uninvited. (Why do drop-ins never bring anything to share with the drop-in-ee, in other words, the dropped-in-upon?)

The visitor in Chip-Chip's case turned out to be a 13-lined ground squirrel (a.k.a. Mr. Gopher). The 13-lined ground squirrel shimmied behind the front steps and in a few moments exited the south end and wandered off. Since his fur was still unruffled—and no major wounds were apparent—one of three things probably happened: First, the 13-lined ground squirrel found Chip-Chip asleep, since the temperature was rather cold in the mid-thirties, and didn’t have the heart to wake him. Second, the 13-lined ground squirrel stopped in for a moment, exchanged pleasantries, and then, having run out of conversation or snacks, decided to be on his way. Or, third, the 13-lined ground squirrel stopped by, found no Chip-Chip, helped himself briefly to Chip-Chip’s stockpile of sunflower seeds—an unavoidable instinct of little critters and of more than a few people (see my first post)—and scampered off before getting caught.

There may be other possibilities, but, quite frankly, I’m growing annoyed writing 13-lined ground squirrel. What an inelegant and clumsy way to describe a little critter. What’s the point of saying 13-lined? Is a zebra called the 257-striped zebra? Is the leopard called the 799-spotted leopard? Furthermore, is the chipmunk called the 5-lined (or striped) chipmunk? Or worse, the 5-black-lined (or striped), 2-white-lined (or striped) chipmunk? That’s a name that would weigh down and cripple any little critter. And where’s the art in the name? The naming of the chipmunk, by contrast, at least has the twin virtues of (1) being easy to say and (2) being drawn in part on its behavior, not just superficial features.

I propose that the 13-lined ground squirrel’s name be changed to the garden squirrel, the yard squirrel, the holy squirrel (as in one that makes holes), the sneaky squirrel, or, if nothing else, Earl. Now, I'll be the first to admit that Earl could cause confusion if you have a relative or dog named Earl, if you refer to your rake as Earl, or if you like to talk to your neighbor about the TV show My Name is Earl. So you can easily see that my proposals possess limited merit. My overall point is larger: namely, that people of unbelievably little imagination (the 7-penned pocket-protected nerdius-maximus?) have been authorized to hang the noose of 13-lined ground squirrel around a little critter that had no say in the matter.

If there is any consolation, most people refer to it as a gopher anyway. Out of ignorance most likely. But I’d like to think it's out of respect for the little critter or out of rebellion against THE MAN.

P.S. When is a stripe not a stripe but a line? Is there an international standard for determining the official designation of lines and stripes? Who's on that international board? How were they elected? And who's following the money? I smell the dirty rat of politics . . . the stripelessed-linelessed bald tail of corruption.

Cancelled Due to Snow

Which way is south?

Another snow storm has hit Minnesota this April. That's two in about as many weeks. Rain fell first, freezing the tops on the bird feeders. Tulips have turned a kind of sickly dark green, and the budding shrubs are coated with a crystalline shell. It would all be sort of pretty if it weren't so miserable outside.

Chip-Chip is nowhere to be seen, and the robin above probably regrets returning here from a warmer, friendlier migratory home.

Under these conditions, Chip-Chip is probably curled up and snoozing in his burrow while the wind above howls away. I'll stay inside and read the newspaper. Then after that, I might be tempted to dig my own burrow.

Much of the world is not a happy place for chipmunks. I think I'll stock up on sunflower seeds--when it stops snowing.

In Defense of Not Taking Baths

Chip-Chip may be your best argument against taking a traditional bath.

For a ground-dwelling little critter--who rummages through the leaves, retreats to an underground burrow, and roots around in the dirt for tasty tidbits--Chip-Chip is amazingly clean and well-groomed, no doubt part of his good breeding, mentioned earlier.

Note the close-up photos. His whiskers are immaculate. His fur is smooth and shiny. His toenails are cleaner than mine. And he smells--well, at least not objectionable--as far as I can tell from a distance of a few feet away. And he doesn't even have the option of deodorant.

So all in all, if you're nagged to take a bath, just point to Chip-Chip. Be cautioned, however: The only downside is that you'll have to spend a lot time out of your day licking yourself.

The Daily Routine

After retreating to his burrow,

Chip-Chip pokes his head out . . .

. . . and poses for a few photos. (Notice the pleasant smile.)

Since it's fair to infer from my earlier entries that I may on occasion inappropriately impose myself on the life of Chip-Chip and his cohorts, I thought I might as well reveal my daily support of the neighborhood critters. Then you can make of me what you'd like.

To begin, I routinely place small amounts of black sunflower seeds in several places near Chip-Chip's homes. Yes, he has several. The front step, which he has excavated into his main retreat, one with a side door and another side door, seems to be his home base. He has within five yards what I assume to be his winter burrow, dug into the rocks between the juniper bushes. It is, unfortunately, right out in the open--a major blunder for chipmunk burrows and, I hope, not a reflection on his overall intelligence. Chip-Chip also has homes behind another set of steps, inside the garage, and under the back deck, where he occasionally pokes out from a knot hole and proceeds to get his drink of water (see photo with first entry). (These many homes might be considered the reason a few disgruntled people find chipmunks to be pests and nuisances and vermin, or worse, and definitely worthy of the worst possible ends.)

Because I like to see Chip-Chip stretch his legs, I place small amounts of sunflower seeds in these other locations as well. The second reason I do this is that birds or squirrels will raid a pile or two, leaving little more than shells for Chip-Chip. I don't mind feeding the other critters. In fact, I also toss out peanuts for the squirrels or the blue jays--whichever can get to them first--and put out suet blocks for the nut hatches, downy woodpeckers, hairy woodpeckers, and even the blue jays.

How much does all this cost me? None of your business. But it does get to be expensive. Chip-Chip and his fellow critters are worth the expense. Among other things, they teach you to nurture a quiet soul, to breathe in the tiny details of seemingly inperceptible movements, and to discover the semi-invisible world of often ignored creatures. You can't really appreciate the subtleties, the sounds, the shapes embedded in their backgrounds, the largely overlooked, the seemingly obvious, unless you're willing to explore a world just outside the kitchen door.

At any rate, watching Chip-Chip is easily more entertaining and worthwhile than listening to prattling political speeches. (The more you watch a squirrel or a gopher or a chipmunk, the more you wish you could; the more you watch Hillary Clinton, you more you wish you hadn't.) I would also definitely prefer spending time outside photographing dramas playing themselves out in a maple tree to destroying my brain watching American Idol--the number 1 TV show, which only goes to show that people need to be involved in creating their own entertainment, not have it dumped on them like so many pails of moldy compost. One person's opinion. One person's second person: Folks should set aside the piffle in their lives and spend at least one day watching a chipmunk or a robin or a grey squirrel or a catbird or a swallowtail butterfly or a millipede or a box elder bug or a spider in the midst of silky construction.

One day will soon turn into two . . .

Another Near Miss

If daily life doesn't raise their blood pressure and cause acid reflux, watching chipmunks, from the human perspective, can be an awfully nerve-wracking experience. Just yesterday I had to stop a car because Chip-Chip was crossing the street. (No, I’m not in law enforcement or animal control.) Well, he froze and returned to the neighbor's driveway, where he hid under an SUV until all was clear. Then he crawled through its wheel, checked out the situation--traffic-wise--and scurried across the street.

It's worth noting that chipmunks don't cross streets the way grey squirrels do. If you've ever noticed a grey squirrel, it seems wrought with indecision, starting, then stopping, turning around, then no, going forward, no, forget that, let's just stop in the middle of the street, then wait for cars to get closer, then head back toward the curb, then no, wait, stop, no, turn around, and, as cars get closer, turn around and race across the street almost all the way, then stop, still giving the cars a chance, then, assuming all goes well--which is not always the case-- continuing safely to the nearest maple tree. A grey squirrel crossing the street is indecision personified. This explains why squirrels litter streets and highways across America.

But not so with the chipmunk. Once the commitment is made, it's off to the races from the starting gun to the finish line--even if a car or some other three ton vehicle is rumbling toward it. The result may not always be salutary, but you have to admire that kind of commitment in chipmunks in general and in Chip-Chip in particular. Such commitment on occasion has me racing for the antacids and Xanax. And it explains in part why chipmunks don't live more than a year or two, maybe three at the longest. It also explains why they need to keep a continue supply of new chipmunks on the market. Chipmunks and grey squirrels pretty much have that much in common with each other and with most other little critters unregulated by local ordinances. My guess is that this state of affairs crosses most national boundaries and time zones. No matter their country of origin, little critters' reserve of good luck begins running a deficit from birth.

So I temporarily stopped the car (itself belonging to a driver long on patience.) Some observers may be annoyed by an overly sentimental intrusion upon the natural order of life and death of wild life, even that which lives in a relatively domesticated and regulated environment of a quiet neighborhood littered with "Slow: Children at Play" signs. Well, stop is not really the correct word. I flailed my arms and pointed down to what probably looked like a leaf drifting across the street, like one of several somewhat disturbed people squatting in the group home two blocks to the south and one to the east. (I couldn’t blame the driver for the erroneous conclusion.)

Chip-Chip scooted for cover under a geranium planter box, waited a bit longer, and then scampered up the driveway, more relaxed now, and then disappeared into the garden—as if a near-death experience were a daily event. Another thing about chipmunks is that they generally avoid running out in open spaces, such as avenues and boulevards and double-wide driveways, and for obvious reasons: They become easy targets. While they may be quick, their top end speed falters against that of a hawk or a cat, or, for that matter, the resident terror with the homemade sling shot two houses to the left after a left turn at the end of the street. Chip-Chip, I'm learning, is no ordinary chipmunk. In expanding his territory, he's willing to take increasingly large risks, which reveals the dare devil in him; in fact, if he would just stay home, he would always have more than enough food necessary to ever have to cross the street. Is he an explorer, a Christopher Columbus of Chipmunks? Does he have wanderlust? Or is he cruising for Ms. Chipmunk? Adventurous little soul--I hope he doesn't have a death wish.

The life of a chipmunk is precarious enough as it is. Having a death wish, for a chipmunk, is redundant.

Spring Cleaning

Today witnessed two developments in the neighborhood of chipmunks.

First, the current population seems to have exploded, doubling from earlier in the week as Chip-Chip now has a neighbor to the north. I wonder whether they've met, which could mean chipmunk conflict (chipmunks have to fight with each other because chipmunks are about the only thing other chipmunks can beat up). It could also mean an even bigger impending spike in the chipmunk population later this spring. The conflict part may still come later as they bicker about cleaning out the den and raising the pups, duties, according to research, left entirely up to the mother. (What is a baby chipmunk called anyway? I'll get back to that. I hope it's not called a chip off the old block.) In either event, I'll have to figure out a name for the northside interloper. One thing is for sure. He's a sneaky little fella, surveilling me from a hole dug along the neighbor's garage foundation well before I had the opportunity to surveil him, or her, as the case may be. Which brings up another question: Is there a way to tell the difference between a male and a female chipmunk without causing offense? (The answer is no. Male and female chipmunks look alike. But they know the difference.)

The second development helps explain why last year's population took a severe turn for the worse. Already known for their incessant curiosity, chipmunks--at least Chip-Chip--apparently come equipped with a bit of the dare devil in them. To wit: While I was closing the garage door, Chip-Chip scurried in (not out) and made it with just a moment to spare. He flew in, his little legs barely touching the ground--as if racing with the several hundred pound aluminum door as it rattled down the rails to settle on the concrete floor. It sort of makes you wonder whether storing sunflower seeds all day gets so tedious, even to a chipmunk, that they have to test themselves, seek thrills, so to speak, to get the old juices flowing--sort of like teenagers who have to race their dads' cars or get into fights or knock themselves loopy with a charged beverage, although I suspect in their cases it's more a matter of showing off. Chipmunks, I suspect, seek thrills because it's built into their DNA. Otherwise, given their lives, chipmunks would be nervous wrecks. They'd need therapy, and that gets expensive.

And what does any of that have to do with spring cleaning? You might say I couldn't think of a better title . . .

Now that the controversy has subsided

Let's review.

Chipmunks are not necessarily chipmunks. Gophers are not necessarily gophers. And both are squirrels. So I suppose you could say that they are all kissing cousins, although it would be more accurate to say that they're like feuding family members. Grey squirrels belong on top. They will chase away most birds, except for hawks, which would have a squirrel for lunch, and except for crows and grackles, which pretty much hold their own against squirrels.

Occasionally, they help each other. For instance, when the squirrel is hanging upside down from a bird feeder, it inevitably gets the thing to swing every which way, causing a substantial portion of the feed--black sunflower seeds, preferably--to scatter on the ground below. Well, the grackles, which are a bit too big to be comfortable on a lot of bird feeders, and the mourning doves and sparrows and finches and, well, you name it, feed on the loose seed nestled in the blades of grass. Mourning doves are particularly crabby about flying up and perching at feeders; they prefer to do the chicken dance on the ground. Even rabbits, which are not so good at climbing trees, will mosey along and help themselves to a stray seed or two (but, competition-wise, squirrels usually, but not always, roust rabbits away from their favorite feeding spots--even when the rabbits seem to barely notice).

But let's get back to the feuding and the fighting part. If you were a gambling person, put your money on the squirrel every time. It will easily chase off gophers, unless it's in a good mood; then it might tolerate a gopher or two--unless they enter its zone of no-gophers-allowed, which is about two feet, give or take. And the squirrel doesn't even have to bother with Chip-Chip and his kin (who have largely died off; more about that later) because the tough little gopher--I mean 13-lined ground squirrel (which is really a squirrel, just not the grey squirrel, rendering my previous comments sort of incorrect and correct at the same time)--will chase off the chipmunk. This pecking order never deviates. Chip-Chip is always at the bottom.

So if you were to bet, don't bet on the chipmunk. And before you bet, make sure it's legal in your state. I'm not advocating outlaw behavior by any means. And if you consistently lose at betting, despite what I've said, perhaps you should avoid the enterprise altogether. Put your money in CD's or Google or annuities.

Dramatic Changes Expected

Now that the storm has passed--and I actually saw Chip-Chip scampering out on the fresh snow, which means the crusty surface was strong enough to resist his prints, or he's so light that he's never had to invest in snowshoes. At any rate, today the snow will be melting soon as the temperatures rise into the sultry 50-degree range. Hey, it's Minnesota. Warmth is a matter of perspective.

The snow has also had an unintended effect on the chipmunk. Since they have nowhere else to find food, the local birds have been raiding Chip-Chip stashes. They're not shy about it either. Though birds generally compete with each other for available food, they won't hesitate to conspire against Chip-Chip to swipe his food supply. (One will fuss at him while the other sneaks up from behind to steal a single sunflower seed--which means that it's sort of a theft in slow motion.)

Being a loner doesn't always serve the best interests of a chipmunk. And the competition will only grow in numbers and species; Chip-Chip will soon find himself up against grey squirrels, surly rabbits, crabby moles, creepy mice, the occasional raccoon (although they tend not to share the same work shift), and the odd (literally) oppossum; then there are the birds, the grackles and sparrows and blue jays and crows, to name a few--but the worst ones are not competition at all. They are the predators, the neighborhood hawks and the cuddly cats with razor-like claws and prehistoric fangs--not to mention the runny-nosed toe-head with the freshly filled BB gun.

And as always, there are the speeding cars driven by surly teens, some of whom get some sort of perverse pleasure out of running down critters--and dogs and cats. You know who you are. Get some help.

Sensing the Weather

A dark-eyed junco with a look that can frighten off even the most steely nerved chipmunk

Chip-Chip must have sensed the approaching storm. I haven't seen him for two days now. But I think he's around. The food I've been dropping has been disappearing--although that's not proof that Chip-Chip has been taking it since the grey squirrels will badger and buffalo chipmunks into giving up their food quite easily.

Even the little dark-eyed juncos will square off against a chipmunk. When it comes right down to it, chipmunks aren't known for their toughness. Just about all the other little critters--with fur or feathers--have the built-in capacity to bully chipmunks.

To give Chip-Chip a fighting chance, I leave food inside the garage, where he has only the mice as competition. That's pretty much a stalemate.