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| Squirrel Bone Tea | |
| By bwoz | ||||||||||||||
| 10 February 2007 | ||||||||||||||
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No animals were harmed in the writing of this tale. At least as far as I know. Well, we were at it again last weekend. All Saturday and half of Sunday, up until the 3 o’clock kickoff, Bears versus Lions; we were cleaning up bird seed from all over the back porch and trying to figure out a way to keep those pesky squirrels from destroying the bird feeder. I’ve tried just about everything I can think of. First, my wife says, “Just give them some of their own; put it in a bowl at the bottom of the tree. If they have their own they won’t mess with the bird feeder.” Nice theory – no hypothesis to work from but a nice thought. The nasty little rodents just packed their little cheeks full of bird seed from the bottom of the tree, and they ran back up to stash it in their cozy little hideaway. Within about 45 seconds they had chewed through the nylon cord until the feeder dropped and bounced and spilled two pounds of bird seed all over the backyard. That was the Saturday cleanup. I re-hung the feeder using a bent wire coat hanger instead of nylon cord. I was sure that would do the trick – no way they could untwist, chew, or cut through the wire. That was before I realized squirrels all carry Swiss army knifes with them. They must, because somehow before the half-time beer commercials they had managed to remove the screws that secure a plastic roof to the bird feeder. They raised the roof and that’s all she wrote, and another two pounds of bird feed went on the ground – cleanup isle 4, next to the mimosa tree. The last option, after a harsh bout of cursing and foul gestures, my wife says “Sleep on it. You’ll think of something by morning, you always do.” And she is right; that is always good advice when face with a dilemma; sleep on it. Of course, after two NFL games, half a pizza and a twelve pack of Milwaukie’s finest the sleeping part came pretty easy. Monday afternoon: On the way home from work I stopped in to the neighborhood lawn and demolition shop. Earl, the counter guy, always knows a fix for these kinds of situations. Whether the problem is possums in the car port, fire ants in the garden, or pigeons in your chimney he can usually think of a cure that won’t cost much, if anything at all. I figured that feed-robbing squirrels are right up his alley. I was right, because as soon as I walked in he said, “Heard about yer squirrel problem, dude.” like it was a rash, or a backed up toilet. “I guess Lydia called? What did you tell her?” Earl said, “Well, I told her I’d think on it, and I think I’ve come up with something. Squirrel bone tea, man. That’s the answer; gets rid of ‘em every time.” I looked at him for a few seconds, trying to decipher if there was a joke in there somewhere. “Squirrel bone tea?” “Yup,” he says, “they can’t stand the smell of it.” “Okay, I’ll bight. What’s the recipe?” It seems like all of Earl’s remedies involve some kind of homespun, folk tested recipe. This one was no exception. “Well,” he started while scratching his head. “lemmee think now; all you really need is…” at this point I’m beginning to wonder if he is making this up as he goes. “All you need is squirrel bones and tea.” Hell, I’ve got that, I’m thinking. We’ve got tons of tea; lemon grass, mint, raspberry chamomile, Sleepy Time, Cranberry Apple Zinger, Morning Thunder. Wait a minute. Did he say squirrel bone? “What the heck is squirrel bone, Earl?” I’m thinking it is some exotic herbal thing like Saint John’s Wart or Bee Pollen extract or Gotu Kola. “Squirrel bone is the bones of a squirrel, man.” Earl tells me. “Earl, to get bones of squirrels means I gotta have dead squirrels. I don’t want to murder the little pests. Even though they are nothing more than rats with nice tails, I can’t go around killing them. Hell, if I did I wouldn’t be standing here asking you how to get rid of them, now would I?” Earl held up his hands in a “whoa, big fella” kind of way. “No, no, not at all buddy. You don’t need to kill squirrels. My brother has bags full of squirrel bones. Now, he lives way out in the sticks, you see; and squirrel hunting is a way of life for him. I mean, it aint illegal or anything like that.” “What does he do with bags full of squirrel bones, Earl?” I was a little worried at this point. I’d never met Earl’s brother and I wasn’t about to suggest a rendezvous. “What could any sane person possibly do with even ONE sack of squirrel bones?” “He boils them, grinds them down and mixes their powder with rain water for his garden. He grew two 60 pound tomatos and a 175 pound egg plant last summer. He would have won a blue ribbon at the state fair, except on the ride up to Tallahassee they fell off of the roof of his VW and an 18-wheeler hit them square on at about 80 MPH. Bob Gomar, that traffic reporter on Channel 7, said that from the Eye In The Sky action chopper it looked like a whale meat and tomato puree fondu. The FHP had to close down both east bound lanes and Chub got a ticket; unsafe load.” “Chub? Your brother’s name is Chub?” Now I was really worried. “We call him that now. He’s named after grand-daddy; Schofill Branscum the 3rd. We used to call him Skeeter until he reached puberty; we’ve called him Chub since then. Anyway, I’ll call him and have some squirrel bones here tomorrow.” Tuesday afternoon: I stopped in at the lawn and demolition shop and Earl greeted me like he’d never seen me before. “Help you?” he asked. “Earl, I’m here for the…” before I could get a full sentence out he put his grubby finger to his lip in a “hush down” gesture. “Wait ‘til these other customers leave.” He whispered. Earl smiled and stepped behind the register to ring up the sale – a 10 pound sack of manure. The customers thanked him and left. Earl watched them all the way until their truck left the parking lot before he reached under the counter and pulled out a Swisher Sweet cigarillo box that was wrapped in half of a dirty blue bandana. “Earl, this isn’t illegal or anything is it?” He paused for a second, just a fleeting thought I guess. He shook his head. “No, nothing illegal about squirrel bones. I just can’t let on like I’m selling them from the store is all. That would be illegal – laws against voodooism or some silly nonsense. Now, all you got to do is put three or four bones in boiling water with five or six Lipton tea bags for 10 minutes; best if you break the tea bags open. Then, let the tea mixture cool down for an hour or so and then pour it on the tree. Squirrels know the smell of other dead squirrels and won’t cross it. They won’t even want to use that tree – they’ll move to another tree and leave the bird feeder alone; won’t even look at it again. After that you can crush up the bones and mix them with beer to get rid of mole crickets. You got mole crickets?” By this time, after forgetting to inhale for a minute, I almost choked and passed out. But Earl has never steered me wrong. I took the squirrel bones home and, lucky that Lydia was at the Bingo Palace, I boiled the bones as instructed, let them cool for an hour, and then poured squirrel bone tea up the tree trunk and across every branch I could reach from the ground. Then I filled the bird feeder and waited. That Earl is pure genius sometimes. We haven’t seen a squirrel in the mimosa tree for three months, and just like Earl said they won’t even look in that direction. Lydia and I wonder though; was it the squirrel bone tea that drove off the pesky critters or was it those three alley cats that have taken to lying around in the mimosa tree, licking the bark and rubbing against the tree trunk. Whatever; no more squirrels in the bird feeder.
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