Way back in 1989, after seven years of living in a freeway-adjacent apartment (where the wildlife consisted of the pitbull across the hall, the alcoholics in the unit above and the urchins in the building next door), it was a relief to move into a rental house in a less urban part of the city. Although it was by no means perfect, that house had a private backyard surrounded by trees and tall shrubs.
And where you have trees, you have squirrels.
Initially, the squirrels were enchanting: running in spirals up and down the tree trunks, dashing across too-slender branches, and leaping from tree to tree. Even the chittering and the sound of claws skittering across the roof were no bother.
Then we took up container gardening, and ambivalence entered our relationship with the squirrels - because where you have potted plants and you have squirrels, you will have digging and hoarding. Squirrels do not care about the bulbs or seedlings already residing in a pot; all they see is a convenient place to stash some snacks. The returning squirrel often forgets exactly where it left its stash, so it will excavate several locations in its search (and no, it does not refill the holes when it's done). Sometimes the stashed nut or seed remains hidden and sprouts. Ever have an unidentified tree spring up where you did not plant one? Thank you-know-who, the unintentional guerrilla gardener.
As for this fellow, we caught him casing the pots on the front patio of our current home. When we shooed him off with a scolding, he ran onto the tree limb hanging near the front door and scolded us right back. Cheeky little bastard.
