Cottage Memories: Chronicles of A City Boy’s Life In The Country
My Wild Life
By Craig Nicholson
It used to be that wild life involved partying at my college frat house. Like a rowdy beer commercial, but with fewer perfect-looking people. When I got a cottage, wildlife took on a whole new meaning – it’s what’s moving all around us, usually making creepy noises at night. The wife says, she thought that was me snoring.
When it comes to wildlife, it’s important to remember that they outnumber us – and are around 24/7. So, nature’s critters have a big strategic advantage – no doubt who the real property owners are!
So, accommodation is key. Not the sleeping kind, but the getting along kind. Wildlife is just that – untamed, uncontrolled, unpredictable. So, patience, adaptability, and a sense of humour are best for dealing with forest creatures. Also, fleet feet, a tool kit and that immortal quote from W.C. Fields: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” Which is my motto whenever I’m dealing with wildlife – the wife says, live and let live, but I persist…
I’m frustrated by birds nesting on my porch light – undeterred by the light lighting, the door slamming or me making simulated cat noises to shoo them away. I clean their droppings off the porch yet again, but they return immediately to procreate and defecate. The wife says, it looks good on me.
Then there’s bird feeding. I put out seeds; they gorge. Ad infinitum. But mine are picky. They perch on the feeders, shovelling aside all but their choice titbits until the ground is covered in seed rejects. After the squirrels, chipmunks, raccoons, skunks, mice and moles select their meals from these discards, I rake and re-rake the remainder. A zillion seeds and not one has ever taken root. So much for my green thumb.
Storing bird seeds for the feeder requires cunning, dexterity and a wire cutter. Huge seed bags are cumbersome to lug about, so I decided to store my seed in garbage cans nearby. The raccoons were delighted! And the bungee cords I used to secure the can lids became their favourite hors d’oeuvres, until I replaced them with heavy wire. The critters couldn’t get in, but neither could I. Which explains the wire cutter – and the ear plugs I wear each night to diminish the constant clatter of crashing metal. The wife chalks another win up for the wildlife. Such a party girl.
Wildlife is invisible. For every critter seen, hundreds more slip by undetected, leaving only traces of their passage. Like holes in my lawn. I have a plague of them. Big ones, small ones, some the size of your head… hidden ones and ones I trip over. My ground is more hole than earth. Where do they come from? What lives there? What possesses a passing animal to dig a whole hole? Do I really want to know? The wife says, she’s waiting for an opening my size to put me in.
Equally frustrating are the chewed saplings disappearing from my shore, the brake cable gnawed through in my drive, the patio festooned with little black pellets, the grass covered with patterned skin sheddings, and what’s left of our fresh fish dinner on the stringer floating in the water by my dock. And what took my bait? Tore up my garbage? Dug up the flowers? If only the phantom knows, then he has much to confess.
And what about the critter convention that always seems to be going on in my attic? Mouse traps that have caught more of my fingers than actual mice? The bear cub that looked inquisitively through our window until mama called? Or the red-headed wood pecker that flew around our living room after coming down the chimney? It’s like living in a zoo where we’re the ones on display!
I’ve become adept at pulling quills from pin-cushioned canines. They never seem to learn that playing with porcupines has painful consequences. And our friendly mutts are only too eager to share their new scent after encountering a skunk. Nothing like being sprayed to make fido want to cuddle with you!
Our dogs compete for space with wildlife. Chase the frogs, frighten the snakes, try to figure out fish, dig out every hole in sight and explore with insatiable curiosity. Which leaves me filling in more holes. The wife always knows where to find me – out there somewhere, trying something again and again. My wildlife would be easier if I’d actually read the complete W.C. Fields quote: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it.”
Craig Nicholson is a long-time Kawarthas cottager who also provides tips and tour info for snowmobilers at intrepidsnowmobiler.com and for PWC riders at intrepidcottager.com.
