If you've followed my blog for awhile, you might have seen a few posts about my favorite night-time visitors: Southern Flying Squirrels. You can read more about them in my posts "Gliding in the Night" and "Photoshoot: Boris and Natasha." There are also a few pictures, along with those of other nocturnal visitors in "Nightlife on the Ridge."
I have about a dozen bird feeders, and I refill the feeders for my feathered friends nearly every day with several kinds of seed and suet. (The cats truly appreciate this, because they get to watch the Birdie Channel from the comfort of the family room bench.) At night, I add a few item to feeders--a mix that is designed to appeal to my furry fliers; in addition to the seeds and suet, I offer a tasty buffet of peanut butter, fruits and berries (they seem to really like blueberries). I think they know my voice, since I'll call out "Boris! Natasha!" as I feed them; within a minute or two, at least one shows up. (Why Boris and Natasha? Some folks might remember Rocky as the flying squirrel from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons of decades ago. Their arch nemeses were Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale. The names just seemed right.) This has been a busy year for Boris and Natasha; they have created a lovely--and large--family. Many times this summer, I would count more than 8 squirrels on the trees, leaping from limb to limb, and noshing on the spread I left out for them. Their high-pitched squeaks and squeals contributed to the nightly chorus of insects and frogs. Sometimes, I'd hear one squeaking off to the left and, if my timing was right, I'd watch him (or her) swoop in and land on the tree.
I never tire of watching these creatures; their big black eyes epitomize cute. And they are just so unique. I hd no clue such creatures lived in the US, let alone suburban New Jersey. And they come to my back yard. I feel somewhat honored. Some of the brood are so used to my presence that they'll come close enough to touch as I put out the peanut butter or berries.
But I won't touch them; they need to be wild. And I don't try to befriend them. They need to be appropriately apprehensive of humans.
But they are darn cute. Of course, the photographer in me can't resist a challenge, so many a warm summer night found me and my Canon and my tripod standing in the dark, and hoping to snap some good pictures. I challenged myself to see if I could capture a squirrel in mid-flight--without resorting to a trip wire or motion detector.
So take a scroll through today's post and meet Boris and Natasha and their family--just don't ask me who is who.
Posing for the camera.
Here you can really see the skin stretched between the paws. I like to describe these guys as a washcloth with paws on each corner, a head on one end and a tail at the other.
When they are at rest, the skin folds up and it's hard to see; only the white color makes it obvious.
C.U.T.E.
When the squirrels run up and down the trunks, it almost looks like they're not even touching the tree. Maybe they're not.
This is the best I was able to manage of a squirrel in flight. His white underbelly with skin flaps glows as he comes in for a landing on the tree trunk.
Three squirrels feasting on the peanut butter buffet.
Seeds and berries are the featured item in this feeder.
And someone is enjoying the suet feeder.
One of the babies eating from the sunflower feeder.
I'll have the cabernet, please...
A busy night: four squirrels.
Even busier. Count 'em: SIX squirrels.
"Your buffet has run out of sunflower seeds. Could you please refill?"
Now that summer is nearly over, there are fewer squirrel visitors. Perhaps the young ones have moved out--something I can truly identify with, as Aaron, my youngest, left for his freshman year at NJIT just a few weeks ago. But Boris and Natasha still come by, and I continue to offer them a good nosh, every night.
My family room features several large windows that overlook a stone patio and a shade garden. Hanging throughout the garden are a few bird feeders. Well, more than a few. Actually, more than a dozen.
Athena looks out the family room window.
I love watching birds at my feeders. It's mesmerizing and fascinating. In a post a few months ago, I included quite a few photos of some of the different birds that come and feast.
But it's not just avian critters that partake of the lovely buffet I lay out daily. There are a few uninvited guests.
Squirrels.
Pondering which feeder to plunder.
And no, they are not on the guest list, but somehow they get past the bouncers at the...well, maybe that's the problem. There is no door to my backyard. Though, even if there were, I am sure squirrels would find a way over or around it. And while my dogs could be qualified as bouncers (particularly Jasper and Tucker, who can be very Bouncy), they are not on Outside Duty all the time.
And thus Squirrels are crashing the party.
Decidedly NOT squirrel proof, this is a favored feeder for the non-feathered interlopers.
Not that I mind them that much. They are kinda cute. Particularly when they sit on their hind legs, holding their little paws in front of them and ask, "What are you looking at? And can you bring out some more sunflower seeds? You're running low."
Squirrel on the window feeder: "You're running low on seeds here. Tell management we need a refill."
I just wish they would be better at sharing. And they scare away many of my feathered friends. Though I have found that if I add a special hot sauce to the bird seed, the squirrels lose some of their desire for the treated food.
The little bushy-tailed rodents do provide endless entertainment for my furry family members. For the dogs, squirrels are just irresistibly chaseable. And I'm sure the cats would chase them, too, if they were allowed Outside.
Making a quick exit along the fence. As soon as the squirrels hear the dogs coming outside, they beat a hasty retreat.
But even if you can't chase 'em, you can watch 'em. And I have set up my family room with a bench seat right in front the windows that overlook my garden and feeders. I even have a few feeders stuck right on the windows, for an up-close and personal view of the brave birds that stop to eat there.
I picked up this cool lantern at an estate sale, and was about to put the candle inside when I came up with the brilliant idea of putting bird seed in instead. Then the birds could get in, but the squirrels...nevermind.
Dawn and Athena love the bench, and spend many hours watching Kitty TV, which I'm sure they believe is tuned to their favorite channel of Birds and Squirrels--and Chipmunks--simply because they are Cats Who Must Be Served.
Benched: Athena and Dawn watchin' Birdies and Squirrels.
Athena will Hunt the Birds and Squirrels she sees. Back when I still had crosspieces on the windows, Athena would leap up at the Birds--or Squirrels--on the window feeders, and hang on with her claws until they flew or jumped away. Usually Birds startle and flap away in a satisfying swirl of feathered fury. But Squirrels learned very quickly that the pounce was ineffective and would ignore her, except perhaps to stop eating and stare back at her. "You lookin' at me? You lookin' at ME?" Athena would drop from her hanging position in disgust.
Athena has just leaped up to scare away the Squirrel on a window feeder, and is hanging on the cross pieces. Tucker would love to do the same. Lilah is just watchin'.
And I'm still trying to decide if it's sad or humorous as Athena still leaps at birds and squirrels even after I removed the crosspieces. Of course, there is nothing to hang onto, and after she leaps up to the feeders, she slides down the window in a cartoonish whoosh.
Actually, I decided; it is humorous.
Lilah also likes to watch the Birds and Squirrels. She'll chase them when she's Outside, but when she's in the house, she knows there's no way to actually Get the Squirrels, so it isn't worth the effort to jump at them or bark at them.
However, that is a lesson that is lost on her brothers. Jasper and Tucker really Want Those Squirrels. And they both Know they Could Get Them. They Could. So they have to Bark at them. Because there are Squirrels. And they're Out there. Being all Squirrelly.
The two boys can get themselves quite riled. Which sends the cats running. Hilarity ensues.
Well, actually, not. Usually just a lot of noisy barks and woofs and a howl or two, cats zooming underfoot to get away from the commotion, and me running into the family room to prevent windows from breaking, as the dogs will often jump at the glass in their efforts to Get the Squirrels.
I am working with them to tone down the reaction to Squirrels Outside.
The operative word in the previous sentence: "working."
All three dogs in Squirrel-watching positions. Jasper is a little too big to sit on the bench, but he can see over top of it quite well.
When Tucker is at Camp Bow Wow, and therefore not around to egg Jasper on, the excitement level is a little lower--as in, I'm not as afraid he's going to crash through the window. But he does make it clear that he is on the wrong side of the glass barrier. In the short video (only 50 seconds) below, you can hear Jasper's commentary about the squirrels he sees. Make sure you have sound on when you watch it, because the fun is in Jasper's discourse.
Oh, and I've added subtitles for those who don't speak Dog.
Dusk comes early here on the mountaintop--or what passes for a mountaintop in New Jersey. Our home sits on top of the first ridge of the Watchung mountains; it is not even worthy of a name; it is simply the first ridge. We are surrounded by trees, and as the sun dips below the the uppermost branches, our light dims--nearly an hour before it does elsewhere in town.
As it gets dark, our daytime visitors--birds, bees and butterflies--are replaced with creatures of the night. They are no less beautiful, and no less fascinating. And every night, I get to see who has stopped by for a snack.
Heading out for the night Before I head to bed, I offer One Last Potty to the pups; it's our last outside visit of the day. Jasper and Tucker usually come running to the back door, but Lilah waits to see if I Really Mean It. She's right, because sometimes I get distracted before we head outside; a load of laundry needs to folded or some dishes left in the sink cry out to be washed. Once Herself joins us, each dog gets to Ring the Bell (they're learning to ring a bell as a sign that someone needs To Go). Then I attach a small color-coded light to his or her collar; it's the only way I can see where they are at night, particularly Stealth Lilah, whose black fur causes her to disappear when she's more than a yard away from me. I then leash everyone, all dogs Sit, then Look at Me and await the magic word, "Release," which allows them to go through the door.
And we're Outside.
Everyone must walk nicely on their leashes as we cross the deck to the patio, where they must sit calmly again, allow me to take their leashes off, Look at Me once more, and then "Release" sets them free to run through the night and do their business. I always carry a flashlight with me during Final Potty Time, so I can bag up and remove their "business," but it also gives me an opportunity to see who has come to visit after dark.
Moths: spirits in the night The moths come out first; as soon as the sun goes behind the trees, the butterflies disappear and are replaced by their nocturnal cousins. They feed on the same flowers, and flit around my butterfly bushes, supping nectar and unaware that they are not “moth” bushes.
Until I actually started searching them out, I had this generic visual picture of a moth as a dun-colored nonbutterfly that maniacally attacks light sources. Let me be clear; I was Very Wrong. These creatures are really quite gorgeous. That said, identifying moths is much, much harder than identifying butterflies. For one thing, there are just so darn many of them: more than 10,500 species in North America alone by one estimate, compared to 750 butterfly species.
Here are just a few of my nighttime visitors:
I believe this is a Spotted Straw Moth, feeding on my buddleia, or butterfly bush.
I haven't a clue who this gorgeous creature is. The wings were tiger striped, orange and black. I only saw him once.
This moth was about 2 inches wingtip to wingtip. But, again, I couldn't identify him. Amazingly, there are a zillion butterfly identification books, but little or none for moths. And the online resources are not geared toward rank amateurs like me.
In addition to the the butterfly bushes, I also find moths on my front porch, where they congregate if we leave the lights on. This happens only when we're expecting visitors, as I'm a firm believer in dark skies.
This moth got as close as he could to my porch light. But (pardon the pun), I could not shed a light on exactly what kind of moth he is. (On second thought, no pardon. I LIKE puns.)
Hanging out above my front door was this moth; I love his mottled wings. You can imagine if he was on the trunk of a tree, he disappear. Such perfect camouflage.
Lions and tigers and bears...or maybe bats and owls and deer Sometimes, when I'm out in the yard, I see bats swooping and diving through the air. I LOVE bats. They eat mosquitoes, as well as other tiny insects. Did I say I love bats? And every once in a while, I'll hear--but rarely see--an owl. Usually, it's a great horned owl; I can recognize the call. And what's so neat about the great horned is that if you do a half-decent imitation of their call, they'll answer you. Many an evening will find me out in the backyard hooting at owls. Hey, the neighbors are far enough away; they probably think it's just a owl with a funny voice. I've also heard screech owls; these birds make those sounds you always hear in scary movies when a half-dressed teenaged girl is lost in the woods. It's very eerie, but way cool.
After about 10 or 15 minutes outside, the dogs have sniffed the important sniffs and barked at any deer in the vicinity. Who ignore them, having learned that not only does a deer fence keep deer out of my yard, but also keep dogs in my yard. Most nights, if there are deer, they might stand up if they were laying down, but usually they just stare at the dogs, with only a slight ear flick indicating that they even hear the ruckus of the hounds. And they don't move. Which of course, drives the dogs nuts. I'm sure the deer are amused.
Inside, outside, leave me alone Let it be noted, though, that the deer fence does NOT keep out skunks. No. It. Does. Not. We learned that the hard way last year, BT (Before Tucker) when Jasper and Lilah cornered a skunk behind the storage can we use for bird seed.That's a topic for another post, when I can discuss, among other things, What I Learned about Removing Skunk Smell (and it doesn't involve tomato juice.)
Another creature not stopped by the deer fence is the raccoon. While I've not met one personally--nor have the dogs--I often see the telltale footprints, as well as the creative destruction, that are their calling cards. I have to put a heavy rock on the bird seed can, or they'll open it up and snarf down the sunflower seeds. And every night I have to remove one particular bird feeder that the raccoons have learned to knock off its branch so that it crashes to the ground and breaks open: an easy feast.
So every night, I carry that feeder into the garage, where I put it in a large plastic tub, so the mice don't get it. That worked swell until one night a scrabbling noise stopped me just as I was about to drop the heavy feeder into the tub. Flashlight in hand, I looked into the tub to discover that a friendly neighborhood mouse had stopped by.
Well hello there Mr. Mouse. You're cute, but you're cuter when you're in the woods instead of my garage. And with Dawn and Athena around, your life expectancy is much greater outside my house versus inside.
He must have jumped in and couldn't jump out. I brought the tub to the side of my driveway, and let Mr. Mouse scurry away beneath the forsythia. It should be noted that the next night, Mrs. Mouse tried the same trick, followed one day later by Uncle Mouse. Hopefully, that was the last of them.
Boris and Natasha stop by the buffet As part of my routine, I then head back into the house through the garage, where I grab a spatula full of peanut butter, which I then bring back outside so that I can feed our flying squirrels. (For more about Boris and Natasha and family, read my posts Gliding in the Night and Photoshoot: Boris and Natasha.)
For those of you unfamiliar with these creatures, it turns out that New Jersey is home to Southern Flying Squirrels, who feed on mushrooms, fruits, berries, insects, and, apparently, peanut butter. A family of at least five squirrels live nearby and they know when I bring the peanut butter out, and usually make an appearance within five minutes after I've slathered Skippy into what has become the Squirrel Feeder.
Flying squirrels don't really fly; they glide using flaps of skin between their front and rear legs. Imagine a furry washcloth with paws at each corner and a head and tail centered on either end. Here you can see the skin flap as one of them scurries down our maple tree.
Checking out the peanut butter.
Flying squirrel buffet: three squirrels settle down for their evening meal.
Dawn and Athena hope for a night's entertainment By now it's time to bring the dogs inside, as they Really Want To Get the Squirrels, and I really Don't want them to get the squirrels. In the mean time, Dawn and Athena have set up a moth patrol in the laundry room, having learned that sometimes, if they are Very Lucky, a Gift will fly into the house as three dogs tromp in. And oh! What happy times when the cats get to chase a moth.
Moths do get in every so often, and when it happens, the cats are mesmerized.
And so is Tucker. He wants to Get the Moth, too. If you look carefully, at the top right of the picture is a tiny dark speck. No, your computer screen isn't dirty; that's The Moth.
This guy wound up in our laundry room recently. He had a 3-inch wingspan. I'm pretty sure he was a Common Gray moth, but I thought he was anything but common. Even though the cats Wanted to Get the Moth really bad, we rescued him and set him free back outside.
Usually, we try to Live and Let Live, and help the moth back outside to enjoy the rest of its short life. The cats aren't disappointed for long, as part of the nighttime routine is a small bowl of crunchy kitteh noms, which more than make up for the loss of the moth.
And while we non-nocturnal creatures head to bed, the nightlife of the residents on the first ridge of the Watchung Mountains has only just begun.
As I write, I’m trying to feel the warmth of the summer evening when I first encountered my squirrelly little friends.
I always carry a flashlight when we head outside for our last excursion of the day, mostly because Lilah, the obsidian-furred Stealth Dog, disappears in the dark. This particular night in the summer of 2010, as I walked past the tree where I keep the suet feeder, I heard a scrabbly noise, like something scratching at the bark. Without taking time to think, I swung my flashlight in the direction of the sound and saw a tiny creature sitting on my suet feeder.
It was the size of a chipmunk, with a chipmunk-sized tail, but it had graybrown fur. It's large dark eyes seemed to take up an inordinate portion of its head. Startled, the little animal scrambled up the trunk and disappeared into a crook between two branches.
What was that? I quickly ran through a list of possibilities.
Squirrel? No, too small. And squirrels are creatures of the day.
Chipmunk? Nope. No stripes. And the eyes were way too big.
Those huge eyes offered a clue; whatever I saw was nocturnal. A furry nocturnal something. So I did the obvious: ran inside, fired up the MacBook and Googled “New Jersey nocturnal mammal.”
The result? Flying squirrel. Sounds possible. So let’s try a Google image search. Oh. My. Gosh. That’s him! Or her!
Most specifically, my visitor was a southern flying squirrel or Glaucomys volans. They live in deciduous and mixed forests throughout the eastern U.S., bunking down during the day in nests made in holes in dead trees, called snags. And it turns out, in addition to suet, they like peanut butter.
Naturally, the next day, at dusk, I slathered a glob of Skippy onto my suet feeder. That night, when I came outside with the dogs, I heard that scratchy, scrabbly noise, and there the creature was, chowing down on the brownish goo.
My new friend didn’t seem to care when I shone the flashlight on him, and Jasper and Lilah were busy chasing Sniffs in the night, so I stood there and watched him for awhile. Of course, prior to this, the only flying squirrel I had ever come close to (if one could call watching Saturday morning cartoons “close”), was Bullwinkle the moose’s best friend Rocky. It felt too easy to name my new acquaintance Rocky, so instead I decided to name him after Rocky and Bullwinkle’s arch nemesis: the Russian spy Boris.
Boris came every night after that. And within a week, there was a second squirrel. Of course, she had to be Natasha (Boris’ femme fatale partner). I took to calling out their names and making a clicking noise when I brought out the peanut butter in the evenings, thinking they might hear me and associate the sounds I was making with the peanutty smorgasbord I was setting out. Did I sound foolish? Perhaps, but my neighbors’ homes aren’t that close and I didn’t really care.
But here’s the thing; the squirrels did learn to recognize my call. Fast. And soon, I would go outside, call out, "Boris! Natasha!," click a few times...and suddenly they’d appear at the top of the tree. They had to have glided there but I didn’t hear them, and didn’t see it happen. They flew so quietly.
However, they weren't completely silent; when they weren’t floating through the air, Boris and Natasha called out in tiny voices that I could just barely hear. They made high-pitched little squeaks, chittering batlike noises that seemed to come from all over the yard. And, then one night when I was simply standing there watching them and grooving on the concept of flying squirrels simply existing, let alone eating from feeders in my yard, a shadow swooped over my head and landed with a little up-curve on the trunk. I saw it glide!
And what's this...there are three? No wait, there’s another one. Four? Five?
Throughout the summer, they came. My husband and children and I would head outside at dusk; I’d call out for Boris and Natasha, clicking as I spread the peanut butter on the suet feeder--and in a new feeder I put on the tree specially for the squirrels and their friends and family. They’d glide soundlessly over our heads and flit from branch to branch on my split-trunk tree. In flight, they looked like square furry washcloths, with tiny paws at each corner, a head centered on one edge and a tail in the middle of the opposite side. The creatures pinballed back and forth among the tree limbs. Friends would stop by to see the show. At a family reunion (human, that is: my relatives), an entourage of cousins watched in awe as I called the creatures and they came swooping in to eat and play.
Every night I put out peanut butter and made sure the suet feeder was full. However, as fall approached and the nights got colder, there were fewer squirrels. And then they simply stopped coming. For a while I thought perhaps they hibernated, but apparently, these guys don’t go in for the long sleep. I worried that something happened to them; often I’d hear the call of a screech owl at night and hope that southern flying squirrel wasn’t on the dinner menu.
Eventually, I stopped putting out food. I figured I had my once-in-a-lifetime encounter with these unique animals. I felt incredibly lucky to have had the opportunity to watch them glide and soar in the nighttime sky.
And then, a few nights ago, I was outside with the dogs, and I heard the familiar scrabbling sound. My flashlight revealed a tiny furry creature with big eyes sitting on the suet feeder.
Welcome back, Boris. Time to buy the economy jar of Skippy.
