I'm not sure I'd want to get involved in a battle of wits with a squirrel.

A few years ago, I was sitting in my car up in Volunteer Park, about a hundred yards north of the Iron Donut, eating a Burger King "Whopper," drinking a cup of coffee, and enjoying a nice spring day, when I noticed a bit of commotion by one of the waste cans near where I had parked. It was one of those waste cans with a removable dome-shaped top with a sort of flap opening.

Three crows and a seagull were squabbling amongst themselves and were very interested in something in the waste can. I watched a crow hop up and perch on the edge of the can and butt the flap open with its head. Then, a noisy ruckus from inside the can drove it off, and, frustrated, it hopped back down to the ground again. Suddenly the flap flipped open and a squirrel appeared in the opening. It tossed a French fry out on the ground, then disappeared back into the can again. The three crows and the seagull got into a pitched battle over who go the French fry.

A few minutes later, another crow hopped up on the edge and tried to look into the can and once again got driven back. A squirrel appeared, tossed out a French fry, and the Battle of the Birds starts all over again.

What was happening, of course, was that a couple of squirrels (who regularly patrol the waste cans in the park) had discovered a passel of "fast food" that someone had dumped into the can and were having a feast down inside the can. Somehow the birds had also discovered the cache of grub and were trying to steal it from the squirrels (and from each other).

Whenever one of the birds got too aggressive, one of the squirrels (who were working in cooperation) would toss out a French fry, and the ensuing battle would keep the birds busy for several minutes, leaving the squirrels to scarf down the goodies in relative peace.

Those damned things are smart!

But they can be had. Mick Lieb used to buy a couple of those little cellophane bags of Planter's peanuts before going onto the University of Washington campus, and feed the squirrels. He found they could be pretty funny.

One day, one particular squirrel got especially aggressive, grabbing peanuts before the others could get them (Alpha Squirrel, apparently). So the devil sat on Mike's shoulder and made a suggestion. Mike began to smile an evil smile. He tossed the aggressive squirrel an entire bag of peanuts—unopened. With the bag held firmly in its mouth, the squirrel bounced away from the others, headed up a tree with its prize, and ran out on a branch.

Mike watched as, between paws and teeth, the squirrel tugged and yanked at the cellophane bag, trying to get at the peanuts inside. Suddenly success! The bag ripped open! But, horror of horrors, all the peanuts, the entire contents of the bag, rained down through the tree branches, leaving the squirrel holding an empty bag.

Mike said the squirrel jumped up and down on the branch, chattered loudly at him (as close to bellowing in rage as it could get), and shook his tiny fist at Mike.

The squirrel knew it had been had!

That kept Mike snickering for days. He did enjoy the antics of the squirrels.

Don Firth