My dad took on the squirrels as if they were they were the mortal villains of his life. He kept track of the number of squirrels he trapped in his Havahart and ferried a mile or two away.
He would write, ‘I captured numbers 45 and 46 this week,’ and I am sure he would have continued his battle with the squirrels if he were alive today. The struggle even continued after a squirrel catastrophe.
One morning he trapped a squirrel scarfing up bird seed he had placed on the deck railing as usual. He and my mom planned to do some grocery shopping and go out to lunch, so he put the squirrel in the Havahart in the car’s trunk and off they went.
They apparently had a good time shopping and enjoyed their usual delicious lunch out and returned home.
They forgot about the squirrel now getting restless in the car trunk.
The next morning my mom was off to the hairdresser. She opened the car door and out jumped a very angry squirrel. That squirrel had miraculously escaped the Havahart, eaten his way through the back seat separating that seat from the trunk and had been getting more and more irritated when my mom opened her car door.
Despite this, my dad continued to almost the end of his life in his endless competition with what seemed to be a never ending supply of the tree climbing rodents.
Where did they all come from?
Did they find their way back from their exile by the transfer station? Was there always a squirrel or two waiting in the wings to take advantage of easy to get bird seed?