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Destructive Little Cuties by Stephanie Kroepfl

Posted on by Jim Kroepfl
Pine Squirrel
Photo provided by National Parks Service

When your Denver mechanic excitedly says, “You’re not going to believe what we found!” and you live in Grand Lake, you know this isn’t going to be good. Our vehicle just didn’t have its usual oomph when climbing Berthoud Pass, so naturally I assumed it was time to replace the filters and spark plugs. Yes, it needed a tune-up, but what my old Highlander didn’t need was a friggin’ huge nest that has been there for who-knows-how-long packed tightly into the air filter box (fortunately, animal parts and babies were not present). A huge mass of dried grasses, twine from my drooping Christmas lights and cloth fragments from who knows where had been suffocating my car’s engine.

After a bit of research on the types of rodents that build humungous nests, I’ve sleuthed that the culprit was most probably a pine squirrel, also known as a chickaree. Here’s a description of the pine squirrel: “Like the Chihuahua who thinks it’s a pit bull, this squirrel thinks it’s a mountain lion.” It’s one of the most vocal animals in the forest. It chatters, stomps its feet, and if you’ve ever had the audacity to walk past a tree on your property, it scolds from its lofty perch for intruding in its territory. They are literally the sentries of the forest, alerting other animals of imminent danger.

Some tree squirrels work symbiotically by burying seeds to propagate new forests. This one, unfortunately, isn’t a tree-hugger. Pine squirrels are seed predators who live almost entirely on pine cones. They either eat the seeds immediately or store the cones in their secret larders where the seeds remain moist and have little chance of germinating. They can reduce cones and seeds by fifty percent. When you’ve seen that huge pile of pine cone debris under a tree—called midden—it’s the pine squirrel’s doing. And if that’s not destructive enough, you may have noticed the tips of your lodgepoles’ branches scattered across the snow. Yep, it’s safe to blame it on that ridiculously cute pine squirrel. But to put my ravaged lodgepoles in perspective, there’s a far bigger tragedy attributed to squirrels. One chomped through a power line to the New York Stock Exchange and literally stopped America’s commerce—twice.

A few more nerdy facts. A squirrel nest high in a tree is called a drey; a nest in a tree hollow is a den. Squirrel teeth grow six inches per year; however, their teeth stay short from constant wear as they nibble and gnaw. And, their back feet can turn 180 degrees, which is how they climb head first down trees. I’m, admittedly, torn about how to feel toward the tiny gray squirrel that busily scurries up and down the lodgepole outside my window. How can something make me smile after I plunked down savings towards car maintenance when it could’ve gone toward a beach vacation?

Originally published in The Boardwalk newspaper, Grand Lake, Colorado.

Fox: The Cat-Dog by Stephanie Kroepfl

Posted on by Jim Kroepfl
Gage, the fox-taunted Chesapeake Bay Retriever
Gage, the fox-taunted Chesapeake Bay Retriever

All winter long, a game has been played between our Chesapeake Bay retriever, Gage, and a red fox. The rules aren’t too complex  . . . for the fox. It boldly marks within feet of our cabin, prances across the snow as if walking on water, and then daintily perches itself on a nearby boulder. Gage’s turn. She snaps awake, nose twitching, barks her deep-chested warning and whines to be let out (hence, our crazy-high heating bill). With fur raised and huge attitude, Gage dashes out and races around the cabin, only to get distracted after smelling the fox’s challenge. She spends a ridiculously long time sniffing, vacuuming up every last scent molecule, and proudly struts through the door, confident that she’s protected her humans against certain death. Never once has Gage noticed the fox. Thirty feet away. Snickering. And then the fox lifts its leg again.

Since sneering at perceived lesser being’s ineptitude is more a cat’s behavior, I wondered if a fox is technically a cat or a dog. Here’s the answer: fox are part of the Canidae family that includes wolves, foxes, jackals, coyotes and domestic dogs. Canidae (Canines) are divided into two tribes: those related to wolves (Canini) and those related to foxes (Vulpini). So, scientifically speaking, they’re dogs. Except . . .

  • Foxes have vertical pupils that allow them to see in dim light, like cats, rather than rounded pupils like other canines. (If they had “puppy dog eyes,” I might be breaking the cardinal rule of not feeding wildlife).
  • Foxes walk on their toes, like cats. And—get this—many fox species haveretractable claws that allow them to climb. Some even sleep in trees. BTW, fox are nocturnal creatures, as are cats (dogs, on the other hand, sleep, like, always).
  • Similar to cats, foxes have sensitive whiskers and spines on their tongue. Foxes also have whiskers on their legs, which they use to help find their way. (Ladies, remember this explanation when you don’t feel like shaving).
  • Foxes are not pack animals, except when raising their young. They also prefer to sleep alone. (How many battles have you won for bed/couch space with your pup?)
  • Foxes hunt in a similar manner to cats by stalking and pouncing on their prey. They also play with their prey before eating it. (The dogs I know aren’t exactly patient when it comes to anything resembling food.)
  • No one would ever confuse a dog’s bark with a fox’s sharp, high-pitched shrieking/ screaming noise that’s on par with a cat in heat. It makes your skin crawl (as compared to how you feel when your neighbor’s dog is incessantly barking).
  • Baby foxes are called pups, kits or cubs. Male foxes are known as dogs, tods or reynards. Female foxes are vixens (not going there). A group offoxes is a skulk, leash or earth. (There may be a reason why they can’t agree on one name. Can we say “cat-dog”?)
  • Super nerdy factoid: fox harness the earth’s magnetic field to hunt. Other animals such as birds, sharks and turtles have this “magnetic sense,” but foxes are the first known to use it to catch prey.

Foxes are unique creatures unto themselves. Gage doesn’t have a chance.

Originally published in The Boardwalk newspaper, Grand Lake, Colorado.

It Could Happen by Stephanie Kroepfl

Posted on by Jim Kroepfl

 

Canadian Lynx
Photo by Norbert Rosing, National Geographic

Back on December 30th, a lynx was spotted at Purgatory Ski Resort in Durango. It’s worth watching the video that exploded across social media to marvel at the gorgeous animal sauntering by dozens of stunned skiers and snowboarders. At the time, a spokesperson from Colorado Parks and Wildlife (CPW) stated that the animal may not be well since it was acting atypically. Unfortunately, last week there was an article in one of our local newspapers about how this same lynx was found dead, assumedly of natural causes. Although lynx sightings occur regularly in Southern Colorado, what are our chances of spotting one of these beautiful cats?

The shoddy reporters on the Web repeatedly state that Lynx were once EXTINCT in Colorado. I’m sure the followers of this column shook their heads knowingly. Lynx were an EXTIRPATED species, meaning they no longer lived here but still existed in the wild elsewhere. Fact: In 1999, the CPW began to reintroduce lynx in the San Juan Mountains, which is in the southwest. It is estimated that there are now between 150-250 lynx thriving across our state. The RMNP’s website shows a photo of a lynx and notes that they are found in the Park, although at present none are known to be permanent residents. So, since there is a chance of seeing a lynx—however slight—it’s always wise to get some learning under our belt.

There are four species of lynx; the aptly named Iberian (or Spanish) and Eurasian lynx are found guess where? The bobcat roams the lower 48 states, while the Canadian lynx is found in the remote northern forests of North America. The bobcat is snow-challenged since it doesn’t have fur on its soles, so don’t plan on seeing one in Grand Lake. But, our winter wonderland is perfect for the Canadian lynx since they love cold, snowy places that have a high density of their favorite meal, the snowshoe hare. They are so dependent on the hares, the lynx’s population ebbs and flows in direct correlation to an area’s snowshoe hare population, which tends to plunge every ten years. Although, if absolutely necessary, lynx will eat voles (yeah!), mice, squirrels and birds.

Canadian lynx are covered in very thick, spotted fur that is light brown in the summer and grey in the winter. They have unusually large paws that act as snowshoes, which is probably why they’re pretty bad runners. Instead, their hunting style is to hide and ambush. Their most unique traits are the black tufts on the tip of their ears and their stubby, bobbed tail (hence, how that wimpy species, the bobcat, was named). Lynx are very vocal, sounding cat-like with meows, purrs, and a method of communication that only cat lovers find endearing, hisses.

No matter your political bent, it’s been a stressful few months. Enjoy the accompanying photo; we all need a little sweetness in our lives. And, maybe just maybe, you’ll be one of the honored few who spot a Canadian lynx this frigid winter!

Originally published in The Boardwalk newspaper, Grand Lake, Colorado.