By KAREN MADORIN
Every summer we watch contentious creatures, especially birds and squirrels, who claim our yard as their local grocery store. Saucy king birds, shrill grackles, and thieving, bushy-tailed rodents scuffle and sometimes outright war at least once a week.
For the longest time, I sympathized with the poor squirrel who faced not one or two attackers but up to eight or nine. Then I learned Mr. or Miss Bushytail asked for every bit of WW III because it regularly robs nests to eat either eggs or babies. No wonder those kingbird and grackle pairs unite to wreak havoc.
The attacks begin when the squirrel enters the yard. Its reputation precedes it, triggering outcries from every bird in the vicinity, especially aggressive kingbirds and grackles. Once that rodent arrives, volume levels increase exponentially.
If luck holds, Bushytail may reach the seed feeding station, which resembles a white country church. Once in place, it prayerfully fills its jowls with sunflower kernels before the dive bombing begins. Such gobbling complicates its escape as it forces a decision to keep energy-packed calorie resources in its mouth or race unimpeded to safety.
Apparently, noise functions like a bugle call to nearby avian couples who lost family at the paws and jaw of said squirrel. Typically, three to four kingbird and two or three grackle pairs unite to attack. The aerodynamically superior kingbirds swarm the invader, swooping and diving with choreographed skill. They get close enough they yank hair from its wriggling body. The grackles join in with low level flyovers that incorporate unpleasant noise.
The other day, our birds began a prolonged attack on the squirrel while I was outside watering and caring for our new pup and a visiting grand-dog. The dogs were a recent addition so the squirrel got the surprise of its life when it thought it would run through the fence to escape to the south. Imagine reaching the road to freedom to find two yapping terriers.
Wily kingbirds took advantage of the squirrel’s confusion and desire not to lose its seed hoard. They repeatedly dove to tug hair tufts. All the while, four grackles screeched non-stop encouragement.
I decided this avian air corps needed to pursue battle unimpeded by shrill barking so the dogs and I escaped into the house. I assumed a front row seat at the dining room window to watch a 20-minute onslaught where 11 birds chased a now frantic squirrel up and down trees, in and out of garden rows, and across the lawn. I rooted for both sides.
Eventually, exhaustion demanded the break that led to truce. The spent squirrel, with now empty jowls, slurped long from one bird bath while its avian attackers headed east to a different dish. Thirst addressed, Bushytail crept to the seed-filled chapel to pray and replenish its stash. When the birds did not resume their attacks, the fatigued squirrel collapsed in shaded grass with all four legs splayed. I searched for hairless spots in its coat but saw none.
Knowing how Mother Nature works, that squirrel won’t quit robbing nests, but during that visit to its local grocer, our birds exacted a worthy toll for its nefarious actions.
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.