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.