View From The Shed by Shaun Finnie - PERFECT BALANCE

PERFECT BALANCE

It's a strange quirk of the human psyche that we tend to go all gooey eyed at the sight of a wild mammal in a way that we would never do over an insect or reptile. You're much more likely to hear the adjective 'cute' applied to a mammal than, say a grass snake or a stag beetle. We're just hardwired that way. We love to see mammals, especially in the wild.

The mammal that you're probably most likely to see around the Dearne Valley is the cute little grey squirrels. See, I did it right there. There's no denying that they are cute. Maybe not as cute as our own native Reds but I always smile when I see one and I'd bet that most of you are the same. Don't start me on the 'American Interloper' argument. Whichever side of that particular discussion you fall, they're here now and they're not going anywhere. Not this week, at least – which means I've got enough time to write this blog.

However you feel about them, there's no denying that they're smart creatures . I'm sure you've seen film of these furry grey Einsteins working their way along an assault course to get to a tasty treat. These films are usually voiced by David Attenborough (aren't all the best ones?) and set to a soundtrack of the 'Mission Impossible' theme music. They leap across ever-increasing gaps, landing on spring-loaded platforms. They climb greasy poles and hang from their hind claws, their feet turned almost 180 degrees at the ankle. They snake through mazes and run across ropes, swaying their tail from side to side in an effort to keep upright. It's a marvellous display of balance, dexterity and determination, and all for the promise of a just few precious nuts and seeds. It's also pretty funny when they slip and fall. Judge me if you must.

But it's not only in these artificial, man-made conditions that the Squirrel's intelligence can be observed. Take this little scene that I witnessed recently. It's being played out around the country at the moment and it was a privilege to witness...

Scene One. An English woodland in early November, weather unseasonably warm but still a few degrees down from the previous weeks. Enter a squirrel with a nut in his mouth. He saw me but showed little concern as he dug a little hole and dropped the nut into it. Then he swiftly and deliberately patted it down with his little paws, fingers splayed, shoulders working as he put his whole (incredibly slight) bodyweight into making the ground appear as if he'd never passed that way. He topped the little performance off – literally – with a fallen oak leaf which he delicately placed over the tiny mound to disguise his handiwork. He bounced away in that gorgeous way that only squirrels can but within a few seconds he was back with another nut in his mouth, repeating the dig, bury and cover routine to his satisfaction.

I smiled but this wasn't the end of this little natural play. Scene two – enter the villain of our piece, a naughty but beautiful Jay. He'd been watching from the wings and when the time was right, with a twirl of his metaphorical moustache he leapt to centre stage, the place previously occupied by our heroic little squirrel. With a triumphant cackle he plunged his beak into the ground and emerged with his prize. He'd dug up the nut that had not two minutes earlier been buried by the squirrel. And to make matters worse for the fluffy hero of our piece, the Jay moved on to where Tufty (don't you hate it when people name wild animals?) had buried his second future-meal and he disinterred that too. The Jay had learned to watch where the squirrel was depositing his nuts and simply followed, pinching a tasty snack from literally under the squirrel's nose. If there had been a theatre audience they'd have booed and thrown rotten tomatoes. Probably.

But wait! The Jay wasn't the only one that could watch and learn.

Scene three; the denouement. The squirrel flicked his tail in annoyance and proceeded to bury another nut. Same frenzied little digging and same comical patting down pattern at the end. And yet again, after a couple of minutes, the Jay hopped along and stuck his nose into the little squirrel's hole. But here comes the twist, for the thieving cousin of the Magpie came up empty handed. Empty beaked, if you will. Because the squirrel had seen what was happening and this time had only pretended to bury his nut. He'd actually run off with it still in his mouth. It would seem that sleight of hand is not only a human ability.

The Jay looked around in astonishment and disappointment. He knew that he'd been rumbled and beat a hasty retreat before the avian equivalent of the Five-O could turn up and nab him for grand theft hazelnut. He'd managed to sneak a few little meals for free but the gig was up, leaving our little squirrely friend free to continue laying down his larder-for-later in peace. At least for a while. The Jay would be back another day to try again and the whole charade would repeat itself.

And this is how nature works. The Squirrel's actions are obvious enough for the Jay to notice so the Jay gets enough food. The Squirrel is just smart enough to stop the Jay getting all of the nuts, so the Squirrel has enough buried cache to survive through lean food times. Yet the Squirrel is forgetful, meaning that enough nuts remain buried to propagate the tree from which they have fallen.

Everything is in perfect balance. Brilliant.