Backyard Wars: What Critter is King?

Like THE Ohio State, I have THE Chipmunk. They both have that swagger of the champion. Except, chippie is far braver and stronger, for his size.

I’m sure he considers me THE Ogre; the thing in the lawn chair that watches—the commander of the deck.

If I am the commander, chippie is the navigator. He never crosses a single deck board without carefully checking the location of all the pots, plant stands, and old bird houses between him and his target—the flat, open bird feeder—free food for the taking, if one is brave.

Here he comes, now; eyes and nose over the deck edge. He pulls out his little map, yup blue pot #6 is close. Twitching, twitching, go— In behind, around and over; stay to cover; never expose yourself; it’s a war out there, but the family needs supplies.

I can see him bounding along under the lower deck rail. A quick check of the Ogre’s position and a last straight shot, in the open, for the large, deck-box—the brown mountain—where the the supply depot sits.

I have three traditional bird feeders in my backyard, but by far, the one favored is the old, flat, green tray that sits on my deck box. It’s especially attractive to the larger birds, that can’t get seeds from those little holes in the vertical feeders, flappers like noisy blue jays, cooing doves, and bright red cardinals.
While I intended it for birds, the squirrels and chipmunks see this wide-open food source as my meals-on-wheels donation to the entire backyard community—the easiest meal ever, if the Ogre and his wife aren’t around.

More Than One

It’s hard to tell chippies apart. Those little tan stripe with darker side racing stripes come with each model. What I thought was one, may actually be two, or three.
I discovered this when two appeared from opposite directions and their high speed antics almost landed them in a head-on collision. At the last minute, one (I dubbed him Jumper) grimaced at his cousin, and with eyes wide suddenly stretched full length skyward. Jumper landed on the rim of the big tan flower pot. This may have been his intent all alone as he used our tall metal plant stand as his next step up, then the flower box, an easy step to the rail, and finally, two bounds to the freebees.

Once there, I saw Jumper’s nose ease over the edge of the green feed tray. He paused, tightened the strap on his little helmet, and began to reconnoiter. Three peanuts logos were stenciled on the side of his helmet. It was going to get nasty. A moment later the other chippie raised it’s head across from Jumper. I’m sure I heard one say, “Oh, it’s just you, scared me to death.”

Before I could get my eyes from Jumper and back to the interloper, Jumper jammed something in his mouth and with one swift movement was airborne, and gone over the rail.

The depot had opened it’s doors to the winner—the warrior—and it was time to amass supplies. With head down the chippie started nosing through the bits of seeds. I never saw his mouth open, but his cheeks filled to bursting. I realized he was a vacuum cleaner taking up every seed and dried cherry bit in his way.

I’m sure he could have jammed in more supplies, but a jay startled him. Like any good soldier, he gave way to the larger force and headed for home.

I guess it went well for my furry friend when he got home, because I thought I heard several little squeaking voices cheering— Hoover, Hoover, Hoover!

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