Revenge of the tree rats: Some thoughts from rural Wisconsin on living too close to the Sciuridae family

Red squirrel (Photo by Geran de Klerk, Unsplash)

Be-bopping around your yard, planning raids on your bird feeders or gas grill and yelling at the dog, who lives closer to us than squirrels? But there is a point at which it becomes too close.

"A home should be a peaceful sanctuary for its inhabitants, a quiet place of comfort and solitude. But when you live in the country, sometimes your abode is sought after by critters other than humans," rural columnist Chris Hardie writes for the Wisconsin Newspaper Association. "A few weeks ago I wrote about how our power supply was cut off when a red squirrel came into contact with the electrical line on top of a transformer. The deceased – with an incriminating black scorch mark across its chest – was pulled down by the lineman’s fiberglass pole. . . . I discovered that squirrels are the top power grid attackers, with thousands of outages each year caused by the Sciuridae family."

The enemy is red, and has many aliases. "The most troublesome squirrels appear to be the red squirrel, also known as a pine squirrel or a chickaree. Recently they’ve been hanging out at our bird feeder and in the rafters of our garage. . . . When we first started spending weekends at our house in 2004 – two years before we moved permanently and fixed it up – the attic was a popular hangout for the critters. . . . At night the attic sounded like a bowling alley, with the squirrels scampering and rolling walnuts around. All you needed were a few cheers of someone getting hung in the beer frame and it would have been like league night."

Perhaps limiting their numbers would help. "I told my father about the prevalence of the pesky pine squirrels and suggested that if he had the time and inclination, he could perhaps become a scourge to the scurry, the latter being the preferred name for a group of squirrels. . . . Since Dad lived next door and needed something to do, he readily accepted the challenge. . . . he kept his .22-rifle close by. . . The porch overlooked their backyard bird feeder which hung in a maple tree. It was a popular hangout for squirrels. It became death row for the squirrels."

That escalated quickly. "His actions were totally legal in Wisconsin, where a landowner may hunt small game-like squirrels on their own land year-round without a license. Dad’s efforts paid off as the death toll topped a couple of dozen. The chatter amongst the squirrels was to stay away from death row. The bowling alley became quiet."

Not everyone will understand. "We moved to the farm in 2006 and opened an inn. But Dad was vigilant about keeping the squirrel population at bay. . . .One morning while we were serving breakfast, I saw a pine squirrel dashing around the corner of their house. It was soon followed by Dad – wearing his beaten-up straw hat, a t-shirt and cutoff shorts accented by his cowboy boots – carrying his gun while stalking the squirrel. . . . I hoped he would go unnoticed, but the look of shock on the face of the guests told me otherwise."

Squirrels believe in revenge. "Dad is gone, but I wonder if the squirrels remember and are now seeking their revenge. Last week we were in the middle of washing dishes and our power went out. Again. . . .The cause? Another red squirrel dancing death on top of our transformer. The Sciuridae family is everywhere."