I’m watching an intriguing saga unfold out of my office window.
I have recently gotten really fascinated by the birds in our back yard, and over the weekend I hung a feeder from a tree branch right outside my window. I can see the tree and feeder right over my laptop screen.
The feeder itself is a type that is squirrel-proof. Anything heavier than a big cardinal makes the feeder close, shutting off the would-be snacker from the treats inside. Not only that, but I hung it far enough out on the limb that it’s not easy to get to.
Here’s the thing. The squirrel that has been circling this feeder all afternoon doesn’t know it’s squirrel-proof.
I’ve been watching this guy WORK. He edges out on the limb, assesses the distance from where he is to the birdseed, turns around and goes back down. Then he stands under the feeder for a while, stretching his little body as high as he can (he’s like two and half feet too short.) The he goes back up the tree, then to the nearby fence post, then the ground again. One time he launched himself from the limb, knocking into the feeder on his way to the ground.
Finally, he figured out how to stretch his body down the feeder, upside-down, to reach the seed. By the time he got his face up to the opening his weight had closed the feeder, keeping him from the delights inside, despite all his hard work.
I think there are probably several morals to this fable of the Squirrel and the Birdfeeder. The one that is resonating for me is this:
Some things aren’t made for us, and we can wear ourselves out trying to get them.
