It wasn't long before our ears let us know that we were in fact still heavy one rodent. Since we had about 1/2 hour until closing time, I became concerned that a polite "last call" inquiry might fail to entice the frightened forager to make its exit. So I made a call to our friend George at Statewide Exterminating, and explained that we were concerned about locking a squirrel in overnight. He graciously volunteered the use of a non-lethal trap, which we could use to bag the intruder for release into the field behind our shop, where many of the squirrel kind are known to frolic daily.
Right about the time I finished my call to George, my colleague Aaron had scared the squirrel out of its hiding spot amidst some PA speakers. We now had the wily critter cornered in a sort of corral made of boxes of Yamaha drum hardware.
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Aaron and I plotted to try to wrangle the squirrel out the front door, which we had propped open to entice our guest's egress. I was able to prod the creature from it's hiding spot with a cymbal boom arm, which the poor rodent fiercely attacked in vain, letting out some rather whimpering battle cries. At last it sprang from amidst the boxes, and headed toward the front door, Aaron and I cacophonously giving chase. But the path a squirrel will follow when two grown men are stomping and shouting is one fraught with unpredictability. Alas, the path out the door was the only vector the shrewd mammal ignored. Among its preferred trajectories was a zig-zag pattern ending with a bombastic bass drum accent. Who knew that a squirrel noggin would be such a warm and articulate alternative to the traditional bass drum beater? More unexpected learning for the ravenous audio researchers at The Laboratory. And amazingly, it gave us both the slip. I am convinced that squirrels possess the secret of teleportation, but not the secret of looking both ways before crossing the street. Aaron speculated that perhaps we didn't see the animal scurrying out the door, but I was dubious that anything could be that easy.
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So it was that Aaron and I could no longer stave off the admission of defeat, and I proceeded to visit with our exterminator friend, to acquire the squirrel trap and receive some tutoring in its operation. Tutoring in the trap, that is. I already knew that the operation of the squirrel was beyond my comprehension. George was good enough to supply some peanuts, and had applied a wad of peanut butter to the trigger of the trap. How could our startled friend resist such an aromatic temptation?
Back at The Laboratory, Aaron was just finishing the end of day tasks, and we left the baited trap with a pile of peanuts inside of it for our overnight shopper to explore (i.e. become ensnared in), and made our way home.
Sunday I entered the store expecting to find an angry creature in the trap, but I was amazed to discover it empty. Aaron must have been right! George the exterminator stopped in to collect his trap, and when I explained that it was empty, he suggested that I should keep it another day, just in case.
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All day Sunday we operated as normal, and by all appearances were completely squirrel-free. I resolved to return the trap to George the next day, and again we closed up shop. I wasn't entirely certain about the critter's whereabouts, though, so I left the trap baited and armed.
Monday morning and still no capture. There was much busy activity as a result of the day's business, and all thoughts of an on board squirrel were diminished to the awareness of a trap in need of returning. That's when the little rascal appeared again! However unlikely, the furry freak had resisted the peanut butter and the open door, and only chose to emerge as I was nearly ready to return the trap. There was some more wrangling, and the squirrel was last seen darting behind some PA speakers. Mark placed the trap in the darkened recess behind those loudspeakers, and all was quiet for a few minutes.
CLUNK!
That was the sound we had been waiting for. To our great joy and relief, the squirrel had at last succumbed to the overwhelming combination of a days-empty stomach, and the etherial scent of peanuts and peanut butter.
I picked up the squirrel filled cage and, trailing peanuts as they slipped between the wire mesh, made my way out the back door. I set the cage gently down near the tree line, careful not to pinch the little fella's delicate toes. Once the cage was at rest on the ground, I opened the trap door, and the squirrel burst from the enclosure and made light speed scampering into the thicket. It was a joyous moment, since I had a keen interest in barring the animal from our shop with no injury to rodent or to man.
