Quote:
Originally Posted by Amy L
Saw a mink this morning running by with his catch. Thought at first he had one of our new chicks, but turned out to be a chipmunk in his mouth.
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A Wolfeboro friend enjoyed my photos of my variously-trained chipmunks, but added, "Around here, you have people like me who enjoy their antics—then there's my sons, who shoot them off our stone walls."
We had
six minks running along our place this spring, and an unusual dearth of chipmunks.
Minks are not particularly wary, and the freshwater mussel shells minks left behind can be sharp to the feet: I'd
much rather have chipmunks around. No other wild creature can be trained to come when they're called.
This season, I've got two chipmunks that will race to my whistle.
Yesterday, I'd bought some new sunflower seeds, and whistled into the "empty woods" to the east. It was very entertaining to watch one of my trained chipmunks racing non-stop off stumps, bouncing off mossy clumps, and off boulders—to arrive at the top of my stairs. This was not one of my favorite chipmunks, as "she" (I think) isn't very bold.
"She" may be able to count, however, as I formerly held three seeds between thumb and forefinger, but after wrestling with positioning those three seeds, then switched to two. It didn't matter, this chipmunk took two, then—each time—nipped a finger for the third.
I'm back to holding three, now—who's training whom?
