"I t's 5:30 a.m. My world is quiet. The only sounds I hear are the heat firing up and my dog eating his breakfast. I'm sitting on my couch when, above me, the silence breaks with the sound of scurrying feet and what sounds like a golf ball rolling across the ceiling. Even without X-ray vision, I know it's a squirrel rolling a walnut. Old houses have slivers of openings that enable critters to enter. My old farmhouse is no exception."
"Discussions about our frustration with squirrels can pop up anywhere, including in the supermarket, at a holiday dinner, or even in a book club discussion. When I mentioned at my book club that I was writing a book about squirrels, one of the women retorted without hesitation, "I hate squirrels." Her direct condemnation of our local squirrels led to a quick discussion on who felt the same and who found them amusing."
A morning squirrel in the attic reveals structural openings in old houses that allow critters to enter. Practical action involves finding and sealing those openings. The presence of squirrels raises emotional responses that affect how people treat them. Some people respond with affection, feeding and enjoying squirrels' antics (Camp A). Others respond with hostility, protecting bird feeders and treating squirrels as pests (Camp B). Conversations about squirrels surface in everyday settings like supermarkets and book clubs, sometimes producing blunt statements such as "I hate squirrels." Many people fall between extremes, appreciating squirrel beauty while also being frustrated by their intrusions.
Read at The Walrus
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