A red squirrel de-husks a walnut in the writer's backyard/Jim McCormac
Nature: Fast, gravity-defying red squirrels would give Spiderman a run for his money
NATURE
Jim McCormac
Four species of tree squirrels occur in Ohio:
fox,
gray, red, and
southern flying squirrels. Of this quartet, I find the high-strung red squirrel the most interesting.
Thus I was pleased when a pair recently took up residence in my yard. The occasional individual has spent time here, but their stays were usually of short duration. The current duo seems committed to the backyard ecosystem. They have even appropriated a cavity in my black walnut tree.
Red squirrels reach peak abundance in northern coniferous forests. Columbus is near the southern limits of their range. This is probably the least common squirrel in Ohio, due to its decided preference for conifers, especially spruce.
These squirrels readily adapt to suburbia, but favor sites with some cone-producing conifers. Even ornamental Norway spruce will do. My neighbors have several large specimens of the latter, and I suspect that’s what drew the squirrels.
The red squirrel is a handsome animal, with a rich reddish-brown pelage, creamy underparts, and thick white eye arcs that impart a surprised look. A strapping specimen is only a foot long from nose to tail tip, and weighs less than a half-pound.
While small in size, red squirrels have enormous personalities. They seem almost psychotically aggressive, and often appear to be in a rage. Even if unseen, their near constant calls give them away. The bellicose mammals sputter out a barrage of chirps, clicks, clucks and discordant chatters. Their wall of sound is accompanied by frenetic flicks of the tail. If suitably irked, they’ll angrily stamp their feet.
My squirrels have developed a walnut fetish. The seeds of spruce cones are their normal stock in trade, but apparently the allure of walnut meat is irresistible.
Unfortunately for the local gray squirrels, they, too, are connoisseurs of the hard-husked fruit.
Fat chance the grays have of harvesting walnuts in my tree. The reds have dominion over the 75-foot tree and its myriad fruit. If a gray squirrel is spotted entering the walnut’s boughs, a red squirrel lights out after it like it was shot from a cannon.
A red squirrel at top speed would embarrass Spiderman on his best day. The red — which is half the size of a gray — tears after the interloper like an arboreal Usain Bolt, quickly driving the rival squirrel from the tree and usually out of the yard.
One possible explanation for this insanely aggressive behavior is the red squirrel’s need to defend numerous caches of cones, nuts, seeds and even mushrooms. The tough little squirrels don’t hibernate, and create warehouses of food tucked in tree crevices and other niches. They draw upon these larders when food sources are lean.
Other animals regularly try to raid the caches, but the vigilant red squirrels soon run them off.
Come early spring, the reds become amorous and begin courtships. This generally entails racing about at breathtaking speed, zipping through the branches and making death-defying leaps. When the female is suitably impressed, mating commences.
Eventually, 4 or 5 tiny naked pink kits are born, and hopefully, in my case, that’ll be in the walnut tree den hole. In only about 40 days, the kits go from blind, 7-gram, amorphous blobs to fully furred and active. After 2 to 3 months, the parents expel the youngsters from their home turf and they strike out on their own.
My neighborhood, I believe, could benefit from additional red squirrels. What better way to enliven peaceful suburbia than with gravity-defying maniacal peewee squirrels imbued with the ferocity of Genghis Khan and the agility of Wayne Gretzky, moving at the speed of bullets.
Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.
