Of Squirrels And Old Men

Being out-of-town for a month, I figured that the local squirrels and birds have stopped visiting my food sites once they were no longer replenished. It would probably take a few weeks before the wildlife will return. So I was surprised that the sparrows came back almost immediately after my restocking. And so did a few squirrels only a few days later. The former have increased in size, sometimes growing to almost 20 birds, and visiting throughout the day. I would think that most of the seeds would be eaten by mid-morning (I limit the amount of daily feed) so I'm not sure what they are still pecking at later on. The squirrels seemed a different set of individuals. They looked like young'uns by their size and skittishness. Prior, it was older ones who weren't nearly as bothered by car noises.

As I watched them eat, I realized that nobody makes automatic bird feeders. I don't mean the sort that dispenses fixed amounts into a tray. But something that sprays feed onto the ground at regular intervals. It's more enjoyable to watch them forage (and probably more natural for the critters) than for them to fight over a few available spots on a typical feeder. Hey, maybe this could be my Shark Tank idea?

It's weird that these urban moochers would be the only reason I'd want to stay in this neighbourhood or even this city. But then that old geezer, with his big bag of unshelled peanuts, who made the daily rounds around the apartment complexes at Bloor and Dovercourt probably felt the same. I haven't seen him in a few years though. I wonder if he has moved away or maybe has gone to the big metropolis in the sky?

Geezerhood means complaining about the cost of things and I do it all the time now. The latest was my visit to Mama Chef on Saturday. It was nice that they had finally put out tables on the sidewalk. But I was wincing at the $29/lunch with tax and tip for the tofu stew ($10.99) and seafood pancakes ($9.99). It was both the price and the kitchen mis-steps: the grittiness of undercooked rice and the doughiness of underfried pancakes. The latter improved immensely when I (re)-pan-fried the leftovers at home to add more charring and crispiness. If I become a cranky skinflint who only eats at home, why bother living in The Big Smoke?