Pesky squirrels can drive a gardener nuts

The gray squirrels dine together. Just after dawn they skitter down the neighbor's maple tree and dash across the lawn, glittering eyes fixed on the bird feeders in my back yard.

While the smaller one scavenges for fallen sunflower seeds and peanut bits, the larger squirrel scrambles up the stump of a trumpet vine and launches itself headlong toward the platform feeder. Catching the edge with its toes, it hangs swinging for a moment, like a trapeze artist who's nearly missed his grip. Then it flips its tail and curves itself into a ball, straightening suddenly to fling its body onto the platform.

Safe landing. The aluminum baffle below the feeder, the slick plastic dome that guards the jumping-off point are mere nuisances. 'Squirrel-proof' feeders are a joke. Waving its tail like a pennant, the bushytail looks around as though acknowledging applause. Then it settles down to feast, wedging its chubby body tight against the seed bin, comfortably out of the wind.

Like others of their species, these two are busiest at dawn and dusk - feeding times. And gray squirrels are not picky eaters. In the woods they gather acorns and hickory nuts, or chow down on any of 100 or so other plants. In cities and suburbs, where squirrels have made themselves at home, human contributions such as birdseed, field corn and garden produce may constitute half or more of their diet.

Our neighborhood offers plenty to eat. There are acorns, walnuts and buckeyes growing no more than a block away. Someone nearby puts out corn-on-the-cob and whole peanuts, still in the shell. The squirrels bury it all in my garden - and then they come back for more.

I've tried shooing the squirrels from the feeders. I think they enjoy the game. I've sprayed smelly repellents and treated the seed with hot pepper. They seem to enjoy spicy food. Twice a day they stuff themselves with sunflower seeds, while cardinals and finches go begging.

But that's not the worst. Gary squirrels are especially fond of flower bulbs, as I've learned firsthand. Three autumns in a row I planted fritillarias and crocuses by the dozen. Only a handful came up in spring.

I tried planting deeper, adding compost and 'bulb booster' powders. No luck.

I began to catch on when a clump of checker lilies appeared in an unexpected spot. Digging in to move them 'home' again, I found a whole peanut buried nearby.

Squirrels were rearranging my garden.

It's all about scent, I learned later. Squirrels won't mess with daffodil bulbs, which contain a nasty-tasting chemical. Tulips are more to their liking, and they find the little bulbs, especially crocuses, muscari and fritillarias, downright irresistible.

In the wild, squirrels hoard extra food, hiding nuts and seeds beneath the forest floor. They don't remember where they've cached the loot, scientists say. In lean times, their keen sense of smell leads them back to the goodies. Any nuts that aren't recovered are likely to sprout in spring, helping to renew the forest.

But my yard can do without the squirrels' assistance. The International Bulb Society suggests that gardeners bury mothballs with their flower bulbs, or lay chicken wire over newly planted beds. I've tried mulching with cypress or cedar chips right after planting, to throw the squirrels off the scent. And I tuck in extra bulbs, in case some disappear.

For all their appetites, gray squirrels are homebodies, seldom wandering more than 200 yards from 'their' particular tree. They don't hibernate in winter, but take shelter in abandoned woodpecker holes or other cozy cavities. In spring, they build rickety frameworks of sticks, then stuff them with dry leaves and burrow deep inside.

In early spring and again in summer, those nests become nurseries. Six or seven weeks later, baby squirrels make their way into the sunshine. Right away, they start looking for food.

On this winter day, the squirrels at my feeder are living the good life. But all good things must end - at least temporarily.

Carefully, quietly, I open the back door. The dog bounds into the yard.

In a flash, the squirrels are racing across the lawn, their feet barely touching the snow. Before the dog has her bearings they're through the flower bed, up the fence and safely into the tree.

The smaller squirrel hugs the trunk, but the larger one tiptoes out on a limb and looks down at the foolish, barking dog. Then it settles itself, rubs a seed from its cheek and takes its time nibbling the meat.

Satisfied, it drops the hull and turns tail.

I wish I'd been closer. I'm sure I'd have heard that squirrel laugh.

Think spring! Send questions or comments to Green Thumb, c/o Tribune-Review, 622 Cabin Hill Drive, Greensburg, PA 15601.