Evicting the squirrel

I hung a new suet feeder in a tree in my backyard earlier this week, and I have yet to see a bird feeding from it. Of course, the fact that I get up only thirty minutes before time for work and I don't get home until dark cuts into my bird-watching this time of year. So I grabbed a quick glance out the window at the feeders on my way to shave this morning. I was appalled.

Hanging upside down from the pole that holds my feeder of sunflower seeds was a long-tailed grey squirrel.

Squirrels are the bane of us bird-feeders. They are greedy, destructive, and messy, but most of all they scare away the birds which defeats the purpose of feeding birds in the first place. Mr. DePaul, my father and bird-feeding mentor, goes to exhaustive lengths to discourage squirrels around his feeders (I hesitate to describe some of his methods on a family-oriented blog). I didn't inherit his disdain for the furry mammals, but when I saw mine this morning, I was a little miffed.

I marched toward the feeder in my house shoes, making eye contact with Mr. Squirrel all the way across the yard. He left only after I was within arm's reach of the pole. Get out and stay out! was my unspoken message that chased him into the woods. I returned to my shaving basin, the sovereignty over my tiny garden kingdom intact.

But I'm sure the squirrel returned, most likely before I left the driveway. And he probably invited all his friends to the buffet just for spite. My presence was merely a temporary deterrence.

The squirrel incident parallels one of my writing struggles. I have an interesting character in mind who is dealing with some past issues of commission and omission in a series of dreams which I'm trying to write in the third person p.o.v. The character wouldn't be a reliable witness if I wrote them in first person because as a retired pastor he would certainly filter them, especially dream number 1.

Which is precisely my problem. I sit down to write the first dream and look out the window to see my internal censor hanging upside down from the feeder pole, digging through my sunflower seeds. He says things like You can't write that. That's vulgar! and Wait until _____ reads this! You'll be finished as a _____. I chase him away like I did the real squirrel this morning, and he shakes his long furry tail all the way into the woods as if to say I'll be back! And he is, as soon as I pick up the story again.

He steals my ideas, destroys my voice, makes a mess of my psyche, and scares away all the little birds I'm trying to attract to my feeders. I can't get rid of him.

If I treated my "squirrel" like Mr. DePaul does his, my children would be orphans.