Although I hunted squirrels as a teenager, I never really appreciated how skilled and intelligent they really are. For the past several months, I have been matching wits with a “scurry” of squirrels — scurry is the collective noun used to describe unrelated squirrels in a temporary gathering. I used the term “matching wits” loosely because I have been getting my butt kicked by these furry creatures on a regular basis.

My wife and I have several bird feeders on our property designed to attract specific birds. If you think gas is expensive, you should check the price of high-quality bird seed. Let’s just say my bird food bill is close to my electric bill per month. I am not complaining, but here is where the squirrels enter the picture. It stands to reason that any food knocked out of a feeder by the birds will be lost to the squirrels. That is natural and I accept that loss. What I have difficulty with is squirrels that get into the bird feeders and toss out seed to their buddies on the ground like they were grabbing TV sets out of a delivery truck in New York City.

My first attempt to discourage the squirrels was to string a cable between two trees from which to suspend the feeder. In almost no time, I watched the squirrels not only walk the cable to the feeder, but make it look easy, and I swear they had fun doing it.

The next attempt consisted of a pole with the feeder on top and a large cone shaped baffle mounted mid way up the pole. Squirrels climbing the pole found themselves inside the cone with no way out except back down the pole. I thought we had found the answer, but the squirrels had another trick up their furry sleeves.

All of my life, I watched squirrels in the wild running through the trees, jumping from branch to branch, never hesitating or stopping to calculate the distance or question the strength of the receiving branch, simply a leap of faith. In my entire life, I have never seen a squirrel fall from a tree.

What my wife and I witnessed over the next several days from our kitchen window was simply amazing. One squirrel made repeated visits to our bird feeding site with the intent of beating the baffle. Initially, he attempted to climb the pole, but repeatedly was defeated by the baffle. Next, he deliberately circled the feeder and several times attempted to leap from the ground past the baffle without success. Next, he circled the feeder using every object in the area including our bench, several trees and shrubs to observe the feeder. He would study the feeder, pole and baffle from each angle, but never once made an attempt to leap. It was if he was mathematically calculating the angle, distance and height and making a definite decision not to leap. Then in one final attempt, he climbed on a huge flower vase my wife had recently added to the setting. He sat on top of the vase for an instant, crouched and shot off like a rocket, just clearing the baffle and snagging the pole with one paw. In an instant, he was in the feeder gorging himself and spilling feed for his buddies.

It seemed simple, all I had to do was move the vase a short distance further away to defeat his latest solution. But for now, I turned away and, out of respect for his efforts, let him enjoy his victory. That squirrel was smarter and more determined than many people I know. I will just buy some extra feed the next time I go to the feed store.

John Kasun writes from his home in Duncansville where he realizes that if squirrels needed money, the banks would not stand a chance.