For those of you who don’t know the continuing saga of the squirrel I refer to as Rocky, a quick back story to fill you in. About a year ago, in the very room where I am typing this blog, I started hearing loud, scratchy noises. Something was clawing its way up inside the wall, across the ceiling (and my head!!) and down the other side-yikes!! I pounded on the wall- hearing the 150-year-old horsehair plaster come tumbling down-and the scratching sound went away. I figured I scared the little guy outta there! Wrong!
The Trapping Part I: Caught Rocky on the
roof in a Havahart trap using nuts and peanut butter. He finished his snack, switched his tail and busted out of the trap before our very eyes!
The Trapping: Part II . Success! Caught him red-pawed in the basement digging through a trash bag-so I promptly used my McGyver-like skills to create a trap using an old
sheet and electrical cord (not plugged in, my mistake). Dragged the bag across the street and set him free into the lovely conservation land. Returned to the house and, according to the squirrel guy, Dennis the Mennis (nope, not making that up) he was back in the house before we were! He was now using our home as a flophouse and a storage facility. We found piles of Daisy’s dog food inside my husband’s sneakers and ice skates! Try explaining that to the clerk at the skate shop..
Three Unfortunate Souls: Persistant, destructive little guy. If we boarded up one eave, he ate a hole in another to get back in, causing thousands of dollars in damage. Early one morning, I heard the unmistakable chirping of teeny, tiny birds coming from somewhere very close to my bedroom window. Set the scene: At 5am, I climbed out the bathroom window onto the roof in my PJ’s. I pulled the chewed molding off with a hammer, only to find a bird’s nest with a freshly-hatched chick! As I yanked out the nest, it fell out onto the roof and rolled into the gutter, lifeless. Sadly patched up the hole, buried the bird. End of story-right? You
should know me by now. Down the stairs to fire up the Keurig, passed by the downstairs bathroom and heard the unmistakeable chirping of teeny, tiny birds! The other two babies had fallen INTO the house and were now in the ceiling of our downstairs bathroom!! One way in, no way out. Reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Telltale Heart, the chirping drove me to the brink of madness, and by the third day I was ready to take a Sawz-all to the ceiling to free them. But the chirping finally stopped. Poor unfortunate souls. End of story-right? Read on.
It’s summer now, and Rocky seems to have moved on. I am leaving to join my husband in Scandanavia for a much-needed vacation. We had hired a contractor to repair all 
of the squirrel damage and he was scheduled to do the work while we were away. I get a call from the painter. He tells me not only is there a squirrel in the front (yet-to-be-repaired) eave, she has babies in there!!! Apparently Rocky had been “busy”. Or perhaps Rocky was actually Rosita! I left a message for the contractor to get Dennis the Mennis back, get rid of that nutty family and I get on a plane to Copenhagen. The story ends here. Right?
Fast forward to this past Sunday. While doing laundry in what I refer to as the dungeon (my basement), I spotted what appeared to be some wood shavings on a 
table. While I had noticed them before, and assumed it was from some recent electrical work we had done, the pile was most definitely growing. Grabbing my 
flashlight, I peered up between all the new wires attached to my basement floor joists, and there it was-the point of entry! Now I am no varmint expert, but I believe that a 3 inch hole in your 150 year old wooden sill with freshly chewed shavings is an indication that Rocky the Squirrel 
is using your home as a B & B. Lots of nice laundry in baskets for a cushy night’s sleep.
And since I had repeatedly set out traps with Cheezits and peanut butter, breakfast included. Sooo, what to do? I grabbed a can of this great stuff- literally called
Great Stuff! It shoots a foamy expandable insulation out of a long straw 
that fit neatly between the wires. I plugged the hole, hopefully forever ending the saga of Rocky the Squirrel. Perhaps.
But I’ll keep you posted.
Country Design Home 
[…] but that does not apply to rodent control. (Unless, of course, you count the time I captured the squirrel with the trash bag- read that saga here…) […]
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