For the past six months, lone squirrels have been clicking and squawking outside my window in order to reclaim their replenishing stocks of dumpster treasure. This noise is worse than previous years, which is why I checked this book out of the library: to interpret the "secret language of squirrels".
As it turns out, translating squirrel vocalizations is not very difficult at all. Here is the vast variety of messages they convey, from Table 9.1 of the book:
Buzz: Startled or distressed.
Kuk: Mild distress.
Quaa: Startled or distressed.
Tooth chatter: Agonistic chases and distress.
Moan: Startled or mild distress.
Scream: Severe distress.
Grunt: Males in mating chases.
High-pitched whine: Females in mating chases.
In other words, when you hear a tree squirrel talkin', it's either in distress, or out to get laid. (Or to avoid getting laid.) Why, just this morning, a squirrel outside my window was "startled or distressed" for nearly five hours straight!
Right. Despite my dim prospects at becoming a "squirrel whisperer", this book put me in another world: hard science pitched in prose for the ordinary reader, without losing any of the difficult bits. And you get loads of cool facts: did you know, for example, that tree squirrels are one of only a handful of mammals (including us) who can see in color? And that may be the key to their survival skills in an urban setting?
And did you know -- this is even better -- that researchers still cannot figure out how squirrels find their buried acorns after the snow melts? Theories about smell and visual memory don't seem to be valid -- or at least they're not proven by experiment. For all we know, squirrels are magic.
My favorite chapter is the one entitled "Reproduction", where the authors admit at first that the "pure and unadulterated chaos" of males chasing females in estrus can be quite difficult to interpret. But yikes: their research found a dichotomy between "active-pursuit males" and "satellite males". The horny active-pursuit males gave up nutrients and energy in order to keep zig-zagging and "grunting" in pursuit of lightning-fast females -- not always successfully. But the "satellite males", who were nonchalantly slow-mo galloping and sniffing peach pits on the periphery, got laid just as often.
Here is how the authors experimented with the "active pursuit" males: "following a breakaway in which the males frantically searched for the lost female, we rolled the ball along the ground, through the middle of the mating chase. Six males quickly pursued the ball until it stopped and settled into the grass. Desperate measures indeed." Thank heavens you can't get killed by a squirrel: sometimes I wondered whether these creative but oddly cruel researchers woulda gotten offed like Treadwell...
This is a wonderful read, for both bio-geek naturalists and those of us who need anti-squirrel earplugs during the early-autumn dumpster dives. Plus: who can turn down a book with a chapter entitled "The Squirrel Body Plan"? You'll never feed them again, but you'll also admire 'em a bit more and watch them closely.