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Squirrels on a metal roof sound like a herd of goats…it’s possible that goats would sound even louder, but we have no goats and we do have quite a few squirrels. These are Eastern Fox Squirrels, pleasantly brindled on top, with pumpkin-yellow fur on their bellies.

They mate in winter–in December (sometimes even in November, the scamps)–and this involves a lot of dashing up and down trees in a spiral, usually closely followed by another squirrel. Also leaping in place, leaping up and reversing direction, leaping up and turning flips…anything to attract the attention of a squirrel of the opposite sex. They leap on the ground, from trees to ground, from ground to trees, from trees to roof, from roof to trees…and they seem to think the roof is the perfect playground for galloping up to the ridge and down again, scuffling in the gutter and then pouncing on one of the water tanks (or a tree) and then back again.

Dawn in winter begins not with bird song but with the thud and gallop of squirrels. I’m convinced we have a five pounder up there some mornings–or a twenty pounder–as it thunders across the roof, boomity-boomity-boomity boom!

We call them bushy-tailed rats when we’re annoyed with them, but I do enjoy watching them signal with those big bushy tails. Flirt-flirt–“See my tail? it’s a fine tail! It’s bushier than your tail! Look what I can do with my tail!” They warn of hawks and other possible dangers (“Chuck! Chuck-chuck-drrrrrattttt!) Of course they steal feed from the birds…not a serious problem for us, as they would rather steal pecans off the trees and the ground, and acorns, and so on. Watching a squirrel negotiate the matter of spilled cracked corn with a flock of White-winged Doves is instructive. One dove–the squirrel intimidates it. But when the full flock is here, a heaving gray carpet on the ground, the squirrel lashes its tail madly in the tree and scolds. The doves ignore. The squirrel sneaks closer. The doves armpit…the squirrel backs up a few inches and tries again. Eventually the squirrel is eating a little corn in its own cell…a dove-body-width away from any of the doves.