Many people who know me are aware of my long, problematic relationship with squirrels. I’ve received gag gifts such as squirrel calendars, magnets, and even a shiny metal squirrel nutcracker. A small squirrel statue sits outside our house with an American flag super-glued to its paws—showing patriotism in a rodent-centric re-creation of Joe Rosenthal’s famous Iwo Jima photograph, or perhaps reclaiming central New Jersey territory for these furry, earlier inhabitants of North America.
If that latter interpretation seems fanciful or alarmist, read on.
The typical New Jerseyan considers squirrels to be cute, innocent animal neighbors—but the typical New Jerseyan is wrong. For years, I’ve tracked newspaper headlines, clipping and posting them on a corkboard, putting together the pieces of a very disturbing puzzle, like the troubled but dedicated lead detective in many most every PBS Masterpiece Mystery series, not to mention hundreds of other movies and TV shows.
The next step, naturally, will be to mark the locations of these events on a map with pushpins linked by lengths of red yarn, and post pictures of known members of the Squirrel Syndicate (Scrat, Sandy, Rocket J.), their connections to each other indicated with more red yarn or maybe some black tape. And how could the scene be complete without handwritten notes on Post-its, reading “WHO’S IN CHARGE?” and “WHAT IS THE PATTERN?” and “WILL THEY REMEMBER WHERE THEY’RE BURYING THESE ACORNS?”
The standard name for this kind of visual display is “evidence board,” but it’s known more colloquially as a “crazy wall” (see crazywalls.tumblr.com for many fine examples). Combining the terms, and with a nod to the creatures I’m dealing with, I call mine a “nutboard.”
The articles show a clear conspiracy of criminal squirrel activity: “Squirrel the culprit in Oct. 4 train delays” (The Trentonian, Oct. 20, 2012) and “Squirrel causes power outages, mass evacuations at Trenton senior centers” (Sept. 6, 2010). The latter was accompanied by a front-page photo of an enlarged, godzilla-sized squirrel and an unforgettable front-page headline that read, “SQUIRREL TERRORIZES 199 SENIORS.”
They’re not just making us late and cutting our power, though. They are increasingly violent, as shown by a 2017 New York Post story and its accompanying video footage, headlined: “Cookie-eating squirrel goes nuts on cops.” (The use of the word “nuts” in a whimsical context when discussing squirrels has, unfortunately, led many to believe that squirrels are harmless, or have a good sense of humor. They aren’t, and they don’t.) 2017 also saw the New York Post reporting (again, with video evidence): “Fat squirrel steals pricey goods left out for delivery folks.”
Theft and attacking a police officer mark a clear escalation and intensification from so-called “nuisance crimes.” Unfortunately, this seems to be a trend, and not just locally. The Associated Press, also unable to resist nut puns, reported “Squirrel goes nuts on Vermont neighborhood” (March 17, 2011). The New York Post picked up a news report from the U.K. with the headline “‘Psycho’ squirrel’s 48-hour Christmas rampage terrorizes town, injures 18” (Dec. 29, 2021).
The Canadian magazine Spacing revealed the disturbing news that “Toronto’s squirrels have become carnivorous” (Aug. 28, 2020). And Miami Herald reporter Howard Cohen told the story of a “Florida man attacked by ‘crazy squirrel’” (March 20, 2019). Cohen wrote that a squirrel “’has gone nuts’ [..] and, without provocation, attacked and bit the victim on the elbow and scratched him on the arm.”
That victim, one Robby Armstrong of Sarasota County, said, “I chased him around and shot him with a BB gun about 10 times, but he is still alive, so be on the lookout for a crazy squirrel.”
Carnivorous? Bulletproof? Unstoppable? “Nuts”? Wait, there’s more.
UPI’s John Murphy reported (August 15, 2022) that “Squirrels are ‘splooting’ all over New York City.” I’ll allow your imagination to take you where it will for a moment, before explaining that splooting is simply the act of stretching out face-down, limbs splayed. This is no sit-in (or sploot-in) protest, nor is it some kind of insurance scam (though I’m sure the squirrels are working on that angle as we speak).
Splooting helps mammals cool down in hot weather. So even though “splooting” might sound like a disgusting act, it’s actually not as troublesome as other squirrel activities. If it helps, you can replace “splooting” in your vocabulary with another term the New York City Parks Department uses to refer to this practice: “heat dumping.” Though to my ears, that sounds much, much worse.
All of my squirrel conspiracy theories are strictly for fun, of course—they haven’t made me that nuts (yet). But I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy an Orson Welles, War of the Worlds-style panic, inspiring anti-squirrel sentiment among readers who don’t make it this far in the column, because we’re coming up on the time of year when squirrels are at their most annoying—the Halloween season.
Every year, we buy pumpkins and carve jack-o-lanterns, placing them on the steps of our front porch for display. And every year, over the course of a week or two, squirrels destroy them, one tiny bite at a time.
This isn’t their only offense against me. Not so long ago, they raided a shipment from Nuts.com, busting into a “Custom Gift Tray” of pecans, cashews, macadamia nuts and more, by gnawing their way through the cardboard box it was shipped in, as well as the plastic container inside.
One squirrel enjoys scaling the screens on our windows to reach a suction cup-mounted bird feeder (see photo), where he makes himself at home, pigging out while the birds watch helplessly. Squirrels can rotate their ankles 180 degrees, enabling feeder-raiding and other impressive maneuvers, like descending trees head-first. There’s a reason horror movies often show monsters, or humans possessed by demon types, descending a wall squirrel-style—it’s just plain creepy.
But the jack o’ lantern destruction is most irritating, because every day when I open my front door, I see a visual reminder that they’ve gotten over on me—again. After two or three weeks, all that’s left is a stem and a pumpkin juice stain on the concrete steps.
The daily demoralization extends the misery of destruction over time, like slowly peeling a Band-Aid instead of just ripping it off quickly. If I could choose, I’d gladly take rowdy teenagers smashing my jack o’lantern quickly, instead of having my creation slowly devoured over the course of weeks.
It’s been suggested to me that coating the finished jack o’lantern in vinegar will dissuade the little varmints, a strategy I plan to try this year. Someone else advised shaving off bits of a bar of Irish Spring soap, apparently quite abhorrent to squirrels, and creating a protective barrier around my pumpkin. And there’s always the option of catching the squirrels in a Havahart trap and relocating them, though more often than not they manage to remove the peanut butter bait without being caught.
But despite the vinegar, and the soap bits—even if I pile peanut butter alongside the jack o’lantern as a risk-free sacrifice (bribe) and gesture of goodwill—I’m quite sure the squirrels will still target that pumpkin. I can imagine their squeaky little voices dismissing my efforts, chanting “Peter, Peter, we are pumpkin eaters!” (Paradoxically, it’s both funnier and scarier if you read that in a cute squirrel voice.)
This Halloween, it’s me against the squirrels, and let the best mammal win. I’ll try my hardest, but I have to admit, I don’t like my chances against the little monsters. Give me a ghost or goblin any day… all this squirrel business is (ugh, I’ll say it) driving me nuts.
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