The Great Squirrel Hunt
Recalling something over 25 years ago only sometimes happens to me. Why do I think about this particular event that transpired during our summer in Edmond, Oklahoma?
It Started One Evening
We were in the kitchen finishing dinner when my wife told me she heard something in our attic. I heard nothing, but she insisted something scratched the ceiling. Later that week, I listened to the sound in the living room—no question about it. Something was living in our attic.
We kept hearing the sounds as the week continued. Finally, my wife asked me what I would do about it. I promised to investigate on Saturday. Saturday arrived, and before my wife and kids got out of bed, I went into the garage, pulled down the ladder to the attic, and looked for the source of the scratching sounds. I had a hiking headlamp on like a spelunker heading into a cave.
There was evidence that squirrels had set up a nest. They were turning pathways in the insulation into highways. I could see scratch marks in the corner when they entered the attic from outside. No squirrels were in sight. I resolved at that moment the squirrels needed to die. How dare the little tree rats invade my home.
I entered my home office closet and got my Daisy air rifle. A few years prior, I used this BB gun to rid another pest squirrel eating the corner trim of our roof. That invasion ended a day later when I made a once-in-a-lifetime shot that killed the invader while he was running across our rooftop.
That kill shot was in my mind when I confidently told my wife at breakfast that I would take care of the tree rat as soon as he showed his face. My wife dislikes this kind of talk. She makes me catch and release bugs that find their way into our home. A disgusted look came across her face.
So It Began
A few days later, we heard the sound. I was prepared. I had my headlamp and the air gun in the garage next to the attic ladder. I went into hunter mode and bounced up the ladder. When I got into the rafters and scanned the corners, I saw two eyes looking back at me from the far end of the attic. I aimed and had a clear shot, but I hesitated. Killing the rodent in a far-away corner would be problematic. I wasn't sure that I could get to the body. The last thing I wanted was a dead animal stinking in our attic for the summer.
I fired a warning shot at the little bugger to see if I could flush him out of the corner and closer to the garage end of the attic, where the body would be more accessible. Amazingly, it worked. He (I don't know if it was a he, I just preferred to think of the invader as he) started moving along the edge of the attic toward the garage. My quarry was moving quickly. He occasionally disappeared into the insulation, appearing above the insulation a few feet closer with each movement. Finally, he was at most 15 feet away, and I took aim, fired, and missed. The invader darted into the corner I suspected was his entry point and disappeared.
I was sure he was out on our roof laughing at me and resolved that tree rat would die before the week ended.
The Week Turns Into Weeks
Well, this became a routine that lasted for over six weeks. I'd get home at night, and we'd hear the scratching noise. I dart into the attic with my bb-gun and headlamp and go on the hunt. I attempted to murder that squirrel at least twenty times, one time nearly falling through the attic into our living room while chasing him across the attic when my foot slipped off a rafter and almost went through the drywall over our ceiling in the living room.
My wife was fed-up with the hunt. She called the county to see if they had a solution to our squirrel problem. When I arrived home from work the following Monday, I saw a substantial (squirrel-sized) cage sitting in the garage beside my bb-gun.
At dinner, my wife told me it was a good thing I hadn't killed the squirrel because the county pest control guy told her that it was "illegal" for homeowners to hunt pests in town. She got instructions from the government man that explained how to bait the cage to catch the squirrel. I agreed that I would get the cell set up over the weekend, but in my mind, I was still hunting that bastard. It had been over 6-weeks, and that squirrel was taunting me.
I put the cage in the attic but didn't bait it. I was still hunting. I moved the bb-gun into the attic, so my wife wouldn't know I was still trying to kill the quarry. She thought I was very responsible for checking the trap every night.
One Saturday morning of the 7th week, I was sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen when I noticed something strange. Our cat was sitting in the dining room, staring at the base of the wall. I went over to investigate and put my ear against the wall. I heard the unmistakable sounds of the squirrel rooting.
I darted up the ladder into the attic, grabbed my gun, and headed for the corner above our dining room. I had to crawl on the rafters to get into the intersection far enough to shine my flashlight down into the cavity that formed the wall.
Sure enough, there he was. The little bastard was mine. Of course, there was one small problem. If I shot him in that space, there was no way I would be able to retrieve the body. The squirrel was around 11 feet below me inside a 6-inch cavity in the wall. I wondered how he got in and out of that space. It might be possible to fish the body out of there with some hook. I resolved to talk it over with my wife.
After admitting I was still trying to kill the tree rat, I told her I didn't think shooting him down there would be wise and that the baited cage solution was starting to look pretty good. My wife rolled her eyes and sighed. I didn't know how the rat got in and out of that space.
A couple of days later, when I got out of bed, our cat was still staring at the wall. I went up and crawled over to see where the squirrel was. When I shined my flashlight down on the squirrel, it was apparent crafty fellow was trapped. He was in a real jamb. I started to feel sorry for him. Nobody deserves to die from thirst at the bottom of a wall cavity. I began thinking of ways that I could rescue him. I went down to my garage and found some climbing rope. I made a few tiny knots in the rope, tied a rock around one end, and put a carabiner on the other. Then I drove a wood screw with an o-ring end into one of the rafters a couple of feet from the wall cavity. I clipped the carabiner to the o-ring, then dropped the rock with the rope into the wall cavity.
This activity freaked out the squirrel, but I could tell he wouldn't survive much longer without water. I moved the cage over near my rope, baited the cage with peanut butter and a bowl of water, then went to work, hoping that the squirrel would use the string to climb out and go for the water in the cage. Of course, I could have lowered a bowl of water into the crack, but that would have been too easy, and it wouldn't have solved the problem.
Squirrel Escapes It's Hell Hole
When I got home from work that night, I asked my wife if she had heard anything in the dining room wall. She hadn't, and the cat wasn't staring at the dining room wall.
I went up to see if the squirrel had climbed the rope and gone for the bait. Amazingly, the little fellow had. He was sitting in the cage. The water was gone, and the peanut butter was eaten. He had survived the ordeal.
I have to admit. At this stage, I developed some respect for this clever little bastard. I brought him down and showed my wife that her idea had worked. She smiled that knowing smile.
We put him in the car's back seat next to our youngest daughter (in her car seat) and drove out about two miles south of our home. There was a scrub oak forest near our house.
I got the cage from the back seat, walked it over to the treeline, placed it on the ground, and opened the door. The squirrel darted toward the first tree and made his way up to a branch around ten feet up the tree. He stopped and stared at me, then started making that scolding sound that squirrels sometimes do when you walk too close. He didn't seem to appreciate that I had saved his life.
This squirrel outsmarted me over seven weeks, survived falling into a wall, nearly died from thirst, and lived to get back to the trees to scold me.
I had no doubt he would find a way to survive in the forest.
