As a matter of habit, I feed birds – which means, by default, I feed squirrels. Birds have manners. Squirrels do not. I work to like squirrels, knowing they are part of God’s plan for birdfeeders, but – like impolite politicians and journalists – they work to earn my disrespect and get it.
One of my sisters – more charitable than me – says squirrels need to eat, too. She would remind me the rules are vague, unclear. Feeders do not have “birds only” signs, and if I were feeding the squirrels, birds would pilfer. Maybe.
That said, I have made my expectations of these squirrels clear. They know I expect better. They ignore what I expect. They know my intent, yet throw their weight around, abuse their position, do what they want. They have no sense of ethics, just behave – like animals.
Some bird tries to take home an honest beak of seed for an honest day’s flight, and in come the squirrels. Suddenly, the forest is alive with wild rumors. Before you know it, there is no order at the feeder anymore. These bushy-tailed marauders have made a hash of everything.
This is the way I think of squirrels, but today – pondering what my sister once said – I looked for their good points. I thought maybe I was being unfair.
My politically addled mind tried to be charitable. I tried to give the marauders a second chance. Especially in these fraught, hard-to-manage times, one has to question, strive for impartiality.
Tamping down my squirrel prejudice, putting aside resentment over opportunism, I tried to see the brighter side. I reminded myself that birdfeeders, like republics, need all sorts. Variety is the spice of life, diversity is good, and everyone is entitled to their birdfeeder dream.
I tried to see squirrels as hardworking, industrious, entrepreneurial, just four-footed realists, unwilling to look a dangling gift horse in the chops, filling up all summer for winter survival.
I tried to imagine they were not rude, self-centered rascals, but thoughtful, thrifty, calculated risktakers, aware of my disapproval but striving to be more Aesop’s ant than grasshopper.
I tried to see their pushy, groveling tendencies as a God-given disability. They were, after all, wingless, slower than birds, had no feathers, could not go straight to their nest.
They needed indulgences, freedom to butt the line, a chance to get while getting was good, even if it looked like greed. Maybe my perspective was off, I thought.
As I watched one fill his jowls with seed marked for goldfinches and “songbirds,” I noted squirrels only chatter, no songs. I chided myself for that closemindedness; they were squirrels.
Done gorging, he was soon on a tree trunk a hundred feet overhead. As I watched, he showed daring – a kind of pioneering spirit – jumped wildly for a branch, caught it mid-arc, on to nest.
My distaste faded a little. A twinge of fondness shot through me, remembering what T.S. Eliot wrote. “Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.”
Maybe the world needs squirrels to prod us to risk-taking, or for entertainment, or to stay on guard, or maybe admire the patience, peace, and song of all the others – who are not squirrels.
I was reminded of the French philosopher, Pierre Louis Maupertuis, who marveled at Nature’s order and thrift. Everything has its place, no waste. Even streams are efficient, no extra motion.
I began to warm to squirrels. Like Theodore Roosevelt, I thought, they are conservationists; they waste nothing. They turn woodpecker holes into nests, decked with thistle. TR said we have to learn to live within our means, and squirrels do that. No debt or fret, all crash and carry.
I was just about to change my worldview on squirrels, when some bullheaded cousin of the trapeze artist showed up at my birdfeeder, and promptly scared away all the feeding songbirds.
Counterpoints flooded back. Like those self-satisfied politicians and journalists who feel accountable to no one, this little pile of pudge thought he owned my birdfeeder. He had no time, interest, or room for others. He could not let them finish, had to dominate.
On reflection, squirrels do not get my vote. They have no sense of community, no etiquette, no respect for birdfeeder rungs or rules, no respect for the institution. They think they own the joint. That does not sit well with me, which is why they get shooed off my me.
William of Wykeham said “manners maketh the man,” meaning you can tell a lot by how someone behaves, whether with the cardinal’s dignity or squirrel’s bloody-minded indifference.
Edmund Burke, another conservative, agreed: “Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe.” Squirrels, like many in modern society, have none.
So, all things being unequal, I will continue to favor the birds. Squirrels will come and go, asserting privileges and exercising rights they do not have, reminding me why I prefer birds. Politicians and journalists will come and go too, reminding me why – I prefer birds.
Robert Charles is a former Assistant Secretary of State under Colin Powell, former Reagan and Bush 41 White House staffer, attorney, and naval intelligence officer (USNR). He wrote “Narcotics and Terrorism” (2003), “Eagles and Evergreens” (2018), and is National Spokesman for AMAC.
