Summertime and the living is easy
It's been a year almost to the day that I reported that our backyard squirrel skipped town and left me in peace.
But the trap door's been open for anytime he came back.
Well, he's back. I know it's him because of his nasty habit of dropping from the maple tree onto the roof of the sunroom.
He's punctual. Somewhere in the vicinity of 6 a.m. when I'm reading the newspaper, he drops, scampers across the roof and does a handspring into the backyard.
On days when he's feeling friskier than a squirrelly squirrel, he scoots back up the massive tree trunk, drops again and does another free fall into the yard.
He did it three times on a recent morning while I watched from inside and my Elmer Fudd, steam-out-the-ears personality took over. Like "wasccawwy wabbit" that tormented Elmer, I take squirrel's antics personal.
He's too squirrelly to get himself caught in the wire cage bought exclusively for him.
The trap's design is simple: Put bait on a treadle that trips a rod that springs the trap.
But Squirrelly skips the important step of tripping the door but still gets the assorted nuts I liberally place on the treadle.
United Exterminating Co.'s Web site says I might get better results using a peanut butter sandwich as bait. Nuts and grain drive squirrels nuts, even squirrelly ones if you chum them pretty well, the site says.
Put peanut butter on a slice of bread; fold it, then tear the sandwich into parts. Use bits of the sandwich as hors d'oeuvres to work up Squirrelly's appetite and to mark a trail to the trap for the main meal.
A year ago, I speculated that Squirrelly married and moved away. Regina, who has the ability to see a glass 110 percent empty, says he simply brought his family back. Those three gymnastic exercises I saw that morning, she says, were performed by a troupe playing follow the leader.
Perhaps, I need to buy two jars of peanut butter. I can always eat the leftover.