And then the squirrel showed up…

…and turned me into my father.

As I do every Father’s Day now, I spend much of the day thinking about my dad. he passed away 2 1/2 years ago and it seems that every year since I am walking more and more firmly in his footsteps.

The latest example has revealed itself in a relatively new feature of our home that came not from him, but from my late mother-in-law. Among the many things we inherited from her was the bird feeder that hung outside her bedroom window in her final years. It’s been a lovely thing to have—birds of every shape and color perch there, nibble on seeds, and no doubt kibbitz about the local avian gossip. (“Have you seen Esther’s plumage this season? She’s definitely had work done…”)

And then the squirrel showed up.

I’m not sure how intelligent squirrels are, but one thing they definitely cannot do is pick up on context clues. This bird feeder is small, compact—it’s bird-sized, not squirrel-sized. So when our friendly neighborhood squirrel decided to squeeze his fat squirrel ass in there and gobble up all the seed (again, context clues—the package says birdseed, not squirrel seed), one could understand if I was a little annoyed.¹ Except I wasn’t a little annoyed, I was enraged. Well, not exactly enraged, but really put out. Whenever the squirrel makes an appearance, I jump up from whatever I’m doing (usually something much more important, like giving our daughter lunch) and rush over to tap on the window and tell the squirrel to go jump in the lake. My wife has wisely suggested that I stop this practice as it only serves to annoy everyone except the squirrel.

A blissfully squirrel-free moment at the bird feeder.

So who do we blame for this ridiculous behavior? My dad. I cannot begin to tell you how much time, effort, and resources he put into trying to outsmart the neighborhood squirrels who would do everything in their power—performing Mission Impossible-level stunts that would make Tom Cruise blush—to muscle their way into the bird feeders that hung outside our childhood home. Nor the wide variety of colorful language dad used when they, time and again, outsmarted him.

So Dad, if they have substack in the great wherever and whenever and you’re reading this, know that I am carrying on the good fight and will not rest until our bird feeder is a safe, birds-only zone.

Happy Father’s Day, everyone. May you all inherit and relish in the great and ridiculous traditions of your parents.

1. I know I’m gendering the squirrel here, but I can’t imagine a female squirrel would be this impolite.