The squirrels must die!

Since my birthday a few weeks ago, when my mother gave me a birdfeeder as a gift, I've been locked in mortal combat with the squirrels.

I want to feed the birds. I don't want to feed the squirrels. Yet, the squirrels have been ingenious (and I'm talking Mensa genius) about getting to the black oil sunflower seeds I use to fill my feeder.

It got to the point where I wanted to exercise my Second Amendment right to bear arms to establish myself as a well regulated -- but half-crazed -- militia with the sole purpose of protecting my right to feed birds, not squirrels.

I was angling the wife for something that I could set on full automatic, but she said no. (She doesn't let me have power tools either.) So I started angling for wide-spray shotgun, and she said no. Then how about a .22? Or a BB gun? Or a cap gun? No, no, and no.

So it was going to be squirrel wile against my wile. Mano a mano. Wilo a wilo.

Trouble is, those squirrels are one wily bunch.

There was a particular place on our porch that I wanted to place the birdfeeder for easy viewing while we sit in the living room and for easy access to refill the feeder. And I tried to place the feeder in such a way as to put it out of reach of the squirrels.

I put it out on a 15-inch arm hanging planter and Superglued tacks on the arm to create the Plank of Death. That would discourage them. And a large cover over the top so they couldn't drop in my parachute.

And for the most part it worked. Until the squirrels put out a call for the tallest squirrel in the forest, one who could stretch himself in a way that resembles Wilt Chamberlain stretching for a basket.

He pulled himself to full stretch and put enough force on the plastic base to separate it from the feeder, spilling sunflower seeds to the grass below, much to the delight of the assembled squirrel population.

It was at that point that I emailed my wife who was at work with the subject line of: "The squirrels must die!"

The wife thinks the birdfeeder is an old person activity. But I wasn't the one the other morning who was scolding the squirrels to keep away as they lurked about the feeder.

After way too much angst I abandoned the Plank of Death idea of placing the birdfeeder off the porch. Using an S-hook and equipped with a plastic squirrel baffler from Home Depot, I've hung it from a gutter, positioned in front of the living room picture window.

The chickadees like it. The finches like it. Even the cardinals, who I think are a little skittish about seeing their reflection in the window, are fairly regular visitors. And no squirrels. Which means I like it.

But I'm wary. The squirrels are still lurking. They're smart. They're wily. And I still want my right to bear arms. A high-powered squirt gun?