With few exceptions, writers on outdoor life make it a point to denounce the red squirrel. They claim that he is a nest-robber of the worst kind. The most of this abuse bears the earmarks of the library. One author copies after another, without knowledge of the real life of one of the most interesting wild things of the woods.
Reliable observers have related isolated cases of nest-robbing, by the squirrel, which we have no reason to doubt. I believe the thing is most unusual, and happens only when the food supply is cut off. If a squirrel in the spring is face to face with a famine, he might be tempted to kill and eat young birds. I have no record against the red squirrel, after eighteen years' observation here on the Cape. In Maine for fifteen years I saw squirrels plentiful enough on my farm. A small fruit orchard, near the farm buildings, usually harbored several squirrels. Birds nested in the trees and reared their young unless a coon cat got them before they could fly. I never knew a squirrel to molest a birds' nest, and the farmers of that town never complained of them, so far as I know. When we farmers compared notes on bird destroyers we invariably agreed upon crows, snakes, and weasels.
I have before me a book on nature, which contains an account of the red squirrel. The author tells in a delightful way about the wild things, but some of his statements are based on imagination instead of observation. He bitterly assails the red squirrel as a nest-robber, but some things in his story lead me to think he has culled the library for his statements. This story may fit a chipmunk: "that the squirrel brought six chest-nuts to his store, which he emptied from his 'cheek pockets.'" I venture to say, that no man living ever saw a red squirrel carry six nuts at one mouthful. This squirrel has no cheek pouches like the chipmunk, and usually carries one nut, seldom two at a time. The author has his very bad squirrel come to a bad end. He was killed by five or six robins while he was carrying off one of their fledgelings. It is an excellent representation of swift retribution, but to any one who knows the fighting ability of the little red whirlwind it can be taken with a grain of salt. It would be impossible for robins enough to gather around a red squirrel to kill him. In my cabin dooryard, while I have been writing this article, a desperate fight has taken place. Ten crows, made bold by hunger, attacked Tiny and tried to take possession of a loaf of bread. The squirrel never flinched, but stood over the bread, and whenever a crow got over the dead-line, filled the dooryard with feathers. I did not interfere, but saw the fight from the cabin window. The black rogues were obliged to retreat when Tiny got downright mad. When the fight began Tiny did not try to hurt the crows. He would run at one and allow him to hop into the air and take wing. It appeared to me that Tiny was just scaring the crows away. When he found that they were in earnest, he got mad and made the feathers fly, and the crows had to leave to save their lives.
I am writing natural history just as I find it, from observation of the wild things. To some of these wild things I am caterer, protector, and friend. They do not object to my presence when engaged in domestic affairs, so my ability to pry into their secrets is increased in ratio to the confidence accorded me. The red squirrel is one of the wild things which I have thoroughly studied because I have had the opportunity to do so. When a writer asserts that the red squirrel is a poor provider, and without family ties, I know that his observations have been haphazard, and that he does not understand the life history of the little animal of which he writes.
The male squirrel assists his mate to fill a storehouse for family use and then hides stores for himself on territory which he owns. Most observers see the squirrel hiding nuts here and there, and jump to the conclusion that he is improvident. When there are nuts the red squirrel lays up a store for his family and for himself, so that he and his family are well fed through the winter. There are no emaciated red squirrels in the spring, which tells the story of careful provision. The young squirrels do not provide for themselves, as soon as big enough, as stated by some writers. The young born in April remain with the female through the winter. The male has a nest of his own, but if the weather is very cold he stays in the home nest with his family. The nest is intelligently constructed and the materials used are selected from supplies near at hand. Tiny's nest is made largely from moss that I use for packing. The nest is thatched with oak leaves so no rain can enter. Sometimes it happens that wood-choppers cut a tree that contains a squirrel's nest. J have examined such nests. The inside is lined with milk-weed silk and fine shreds of yellow birch bark. There is always a surplus of this soft material, which is used to stuff into the entrance to the nest. The squirrels shut the outside door to keep out the cold. I once investigated a nest in the top of a pine-tree, when the thermometer registered zero, and found the entrance packed with soft material. The squirrels knew all about cold weather, and had made arrangements to keep the nest warm, by laying one side material to close the entrance when necessary.
When I see an unfinished dwelling-house and know that the family therein must suffer in cold weather, I think of the cozy dwelling that the red squirrel provides for his little ones, and I ask myself if the human being is the only intelligent animal in nature's catalogue?