Donovan Kelly

I've got some West Virginia flying squirrel pelts that I would gladly donate to a good fur coat. Only problem is they are still flying happily in the rafters of our cabin. I've spent thousands trying to keep the squirrels out of the cabin and my wife happily in. So far I'm batting zero for two.

Actually, I heard nothing last night. The first weekend without the pitter patter of tiny flying squirrel feet scampering merrily through big holes in our sleep. They usually leave with the arrival of warm weather, but Bruce the Builder and his magic hammer may have done the trick early.

Bruce has been sealing up and cleaning out the ventilator boxes he cleverly built 25 years ago to air the cabin. Little did he know that flying squirrels live to live in ventilator boxes. But then he had never met a flying squirrel before.

The curve of his relationship with the little rascals followed my own, but much faster:

Week 1: “I sure don’t want to seal the little critters in. I’ll give them plenty of opportunity to move out before I start sealing up the place.”

Week 2: “The darn squirrels chewed clean through the screens I had originally installed. I cleaned out 12 gallons of nesting stuff and you know what from the first two boxes. What a mess.”

Week 3: “The traps aren’t working. Do you have a pellet gun?”

Once I too loved the sneaky little devils with the big soulful eyes that surely were designed by Walt Disney. But I should never have left the sunflower seed feeder permanently out and filled. Sure I was guaranteed a big happy bird population. And yes, the first glimpses of the little gray squirrels gliding to the feeder by moonlight were thrilling. The first night one sat by the fireplace and watched me read, I smiled at the company. The 10th night I did not. Especially when my cabin mate announced either they went or she did.

So go they must. Last summer a builder and his crew squirreled away thousands of dollars stuffing cracks and entry holes, but still the squirrels returned. Last winter I live trapped and dead trapped more than two dozen of the little varmints and still they kept dancing our tranquility away.

This year I’ve put in the first team, Bruce, who originally built this cabin and knows its innards and outards better than anyone. Go get ‘em Bruce! Give us a no flying squirrel zone! Make my cabin her cabin again!