The last laugh

Two days ago I took the bold step of discouraging our resident red squirrel from his single-track connection between his house under the writing studio to the fallout area beneath the bird feeder.

Lois and I had tried several different combinations to divert young Harrison and encourage alternate routes to prevent the highway in the lawn. He was not persuaded and remained laser-like in his quest to stock the winter larder with maybe a hundred or more trips a day.

Yesterday I staked his pathway with bright yellow caution tape. He kept an eye on the whole operation from the nearby oak. Once I’d completed the rudimentary barrier, he bounced across the grass and inspected the new barrier to food. I sighed that smile of victory when I saw him take the long route, across a couple of gardens, patio stones and back again. He sure is busy. And all day long.

Digressing a second here, the blocked highway was the same one Henrietta (his mother, I presume) used over the past five years. Henrietta is not with us this year. I assume Harrison is male simply because there is no visible sign of motherhood — yet. I must say that our experience with these critters is for the most part positive. They aggressively banish the twice-the-size black and grey squirrels who dare to stop by for a free feed.

Back to my story. Imagine our surprise this afternoon as we note the faint beginnings of a parallel track forming one foot south from the caution tape.

Oh well.