Perseverance, squirrel-style

I have a pole with hanging bird-feeders outside my kitchen window. My mother and sister are far more knowledgeable about birds than I am, but since I first had my own garden I’ve enjoyed putting food out for our feathered friends and seeing who comes along.

Given I’ve got a large garden here, with plenty of mature trees, there is quite a population of birds. The most obvious are the flock of a dozen or so pigeons, who womble about the lawn, pecking away, slightly too vulnerable to the neighbourhood cats (except for Jemma, who is not quite subtle enough to catch them unawares). There are also resident crows and magpies; the crow babies are very cute in their ungainly size as they learn to walk and hop and fly. Jemma is kept firmly indoors for their first few days at ground level, just in case! At night, I can hear owls hooting, though I’ve never seen them. Last year, a pheasant was hanging around a lot, even though I am in the middle of a town, and I was once visited by a peahen (thankfully, she didn't stay long, as she was seriously loud). And of course, there are any number of small birds – blackbirds, bluetits, coaltits, a wren, a family of robins. Occasionally I see thrushes too, which I love, except that their babies seem more than usually prone to flying into windows; and once I spotted a treecreeper, but only the once.

So when I moved in, I sorted out the bird feeders and watched to see who arrived. Birds, yes. And squirrels too. The problem is that I struggle to see the squirrels as vermin, because I generally like furry things; and also, I’ve had to accommodate to wildlife in my garden, whether I wanted to or not. That’s because of the muntjac deer. Muntjac are regular visitors here, coming in from the wasteland behind my garden. They seem unstoppable, and help themselves to any growing thing they fancy. I gave up trying to shoo them away, gave up trying to grow anything they tried to eat, and finally gave up calling them Venison Stew 1, Venison Stew 2, and so on! They are now known more affectionately as Munty (yes, all of them) and I’ve had to give in and welcome them, allowing the Hermitage’s garden to become something of a nature reserve. So I’ve also stopped seeing the squirrels as a problem, because once you’ve accepted muntjac, squirrels definitely get included as part of the clan as well.

For several years, then, the squirrels have had free rein at the bird feeders, alongside birds small and large. One feeder was squirrel-proof, so only small birds could get the sunflower seeds. But it was open season as far as the fat balls and peanuts in their feeders were concerned, and scraps left out on the mesh tray. Even the pigeons would come and balance on the tray to peck at the fat balls, and the squirrels’ gymnastics to get the peanuts were my daily entertainment.

But this year, the squirrels have dominated the feeders more than ever, and the birds were barely getting a look-in. With a bit more time on my hands, I decided that Something Must Be Done. Thanks to the wonders of online shopping, I have acquired a squirrel-proof suet block feeder; and thanks to my predecessor, I have unearthed a squirrel-proof peanut feeder from the old brick shed. The pole now offers to the small birds a feast of peanuts, sunflower seeds and suet, unavailable to larger furry or feathered residents. And out of guilt, I half-filled the old non-squirrel-proof peanut feeder, and hung it on the dead birch tree that the squirrels play on, further down the garden: their very own peanut supply.

Dear squirrels. They are nothing if not persistent. They demolished their own supply of nuts in a flash, and one came looking for more. A lithe shimmy up the pole, nose twitching towards the promised feast, and little sharp-clawed paws reaching out – only to find a wire cage keeping her back from the banquet. But a squirrel learns to be determined, and that most things are possible. So every angle of this new feeder was examined, every part of the frame bitten and tested, and the squirrel’s athleticism displayed as she climbed right round it.

Unsuccessful and disappointed, nose still twitching, the squirrel gave up. But only temporarily; she (or he, or another of the family!) was back later in the day, ever hopeful and ready to try again.

Happily for the small birds, though, the fact that the squirrels are at least less present means they, the birds, now have prime place at the feeders, and so I’m seeing much more of them: newly fledged bluetits, revelling in their wings and freedom; the robins, who have learnt to get at the feeders too, even though it means a lot of flapping to keep their balance; and the occasional finch, venturing forth.

But perseverance should be rewarded, shouldn’t it? So yes, I’ll keep refilling the squirrels’ own feeder on the old birch tree too, I expect. The Hermitage Nature Reserve welcomes all comers, after all!