April | 2013 | Buzzard Bites

I know what you are thinking. Buzzard vs Squirrel? Large, carnivorous bird vs small, woodland herbivore? Not much of a contest. Context means everything. And in this context, Buzzard does not mean bird. Large? Yes. Not the best looking in the phylum? Sure. Carnivorous? Most assuredly. But not a bird. Hey, I don’t call this haunt Buzzard Bites for no reason. And so, with context, suddenly Buzzard vs Squirrel takes on new meaning.

A little over a year ago (ok, it’s probably been a lot over. Who are we trying to kid?!) I found a hole in the exterior of my storage shed. Upon further inspection, I also found a beady pair of eyes peering out through said hole. After some acute sleuthing and a bit of a stake out, it became evident the beady eyes belonged to one of the afore-mentioned small woodland creatures. He chewed right through the wall. Given it was the dead of winter, or at least getting close to it, or at least within the same calendar year, I decided I’d try to make a quick, albeit temporary fix to evict said woodland creature. The hole was up at the top of my shed, in a loft area I built. So I shoved a wooden box that held some cast iron cookware up against the hole, shook the dust off my hands, and called it a hard day’s work. I’m good like that.

Fast forward to this past Saturday. After attending a couple of my daughter’s soccer games, my wife and I found ourselves with a fairly significant amount of daylight remaining, and a distinct lack of excuses for putting off some long overdue work around the house. She set to work cleaning the garage, and I headed for the lawn mower. I had been having some growing suspicion that my previous anti-squirrel measures may not have been adequate. Those suspicions involved a lot of watching said squirrel going in and out of the hole in my shed like a kid having his first experience with a revolving door. Thus, after the lawn work, and cleaning out my garden boxes, I set about to organizing the contents of my shed so I could move a couple more items out from the garage. Shoring up the anti-squirrel defense seemed like a prudent measure.

I should mention that I have a pretty tall shed. I built it myself. It has a pretty steep roof, so as to allow for a nice loft area for even more storage. I’m dangerously handy like that. One of the items I store in the shed is an extension ladder, which, as it turns out, is important when trying to access the loft area, due to the height. So, up the ladder I go to the loft. I’m not sure what that squirrel has been doing up there, but I’m beginning to think he was part of some squirrel fraternity, and my shed loft was squirrel frat party central. I expect squirrel police were involved at some point, though I can’t prove it. It may explain some of the strange noises my dog barks at in the middle of the night.

Given this was a sort of impromptu cleaning endeavor, I was not prepared for a full on repair job, but I set about making another temporary fix. I shoved the box back up against the hole. Thinking maybe I should do a little more this time around, I decided I’d move the duffel bag out of the way to get the best wooden-box-to-hole-in-shed-wall coverage. That’s when he came at me. Meh, you say, it’s just a squirrel. To paraphrase one of the greatest movies of all time, “That’s no orrrrrrdinary squirrrrrrrel!” This is a super-woodland-creature, raised on acorns that have been bombarded by gamma radiation or something. I mean, come on! He got back in the hole by moving a large wood box containing a few pieces of cast iron cookware, for crying out loud. So when he came at me, I did what any self-respecting, slightly-above-average-weight, middle-aged man would do. I jumped and maintained just enough focus to not scream like a little girl.

That’s when it hit me. When one is standing at the top of the extension ladder, and one jumps, one finds oneself hovering, ever so briefly, in mid-air. This realization is quickly replaced by the realization that slightly-above-average-weight middle-aged men don’t hover very well. This led to the realization that I’m a pretty good builder of sheds, because that floor held together really well when I hit it.

After a brief but dignified cry, and a not-inconsiderable amount of moaning, I’m pleased to report that my wife did not respond by laughing uncontrollably, at least not immediately and not to my face. What she does behind my back I’m happy to remain blissfully ignorant about. I can also report that I climbed back on that ladder. And I didn’t jump the second time I moved the duffel bag (albeit this time with a garden rake) and super-squirrel jumped out again. This time he popped out of the hole that had become, once again, unblocked due to my previous…. unexpected…. exit of the loft area. I shoved the box up against the hole, and work completed, decided that it was time to call it a day. He’s probably sitting there right now, relaxing in his squirrel-o-lounger and munching on some pistachios.

Squirrel 1 – Buzzard 0