We had a little visitor today, an uninvited guest, on the deck. An unusual occurrence, just when I happened to have my camera handy.
The Douglas Squirrel (Tamiasciurus douglasii).
John Muir wrote of these native guys:
A King’s River Indian told me that they call him “Pillillooeet,” which, rapidly pronounced with the first syllable heavily accented, is not unlike the lusty exclamation he utters on his way up a tree when excited.
I wish I could report that I heard a “lusty exclamation.”
Who wouldn’t, right? From a squirrel or anyone else…
He paused to scratch an itch. Don’t tell Becca, but this guest didn’t
give a tail’s flip seem too concerned about the wirehaired pointing griffon who presides over this household.
I was concerned that the new herb garden the Hubs installed this weekend
(and what do I do with five varieties of sage??) was about to get devoured. But once again, I was wrong.
This guy was all about the seeds. And yes, that would be the very post chewed on by our fierce protector when aggravated by birds on her deck.
Once realizing the Cirque du Soleil-like requirement to get to these particular seeds, he gave up.
And left as fast as he came.
And where was our fierce protector all this time, you ask?
Here, in the office, thinking
about licking her butt really important thoughts.
Did you know you can “like” Let the dog in! on Facebook? You can!
But since when do squirrels have a right to privacy? Especially when they do this right in front of your window?
I was hoping for a few “squirrel dangles off tree branch” shots but then he went in a different direction. It’s not my fault. He pretty much flashed me, that trampy furball.
Or maybe he‘s a she. We could call her “Britney,” for example. He/she has too much fur, so I can’t tell if we’re dealing with a girl or boy. Can you?
(btw, if you can’t distinguish gender due to too much fur, you might want to consider those Valentine’s day specials at the Waxing Moon, an actual business.)
Maybe I need a bigger zoom lens…you know, for
the next ho squirrel scientific research.
By the way, it’s exactly this kind of taunting that makes Becca love biting into her Christmas squirrel. She got so riled up, she almost let herself out again.
Most advertising is too exaggerated to believe–”a taste you’ll find irresistible” “melts in your mouth, not in your hand,”
“hours of sexual pleasure” you know what I mean.
But now, we find a product living up to its claims: the squirrel-proof bird feeder.
See Mr. Squirrel, hungry, curious.
Hm. Kinda slippery.
Nice Britney shot, eh?
If I could only get a better angle…
Rats. Maybe if that dog would quit barking, I could think of a plan!