I may have mentioned before in my column that I do not enjoy squirrels. There was a time in my life when I lived in a large city and camping in the woods was a vacation. In those days squirrels and chipmunks were cute little woodland denizens. I believe I may even have said something as fatuous as "Oh! Look! A chipmunk! Isn't it cute?" to a camping companion at one time or another. Those were the days.

But I live in the country now. I do not find rodents , of whatever stripe, cute any longer. Chipmunks and groundhogs have dug their burrows under the foundation of my house and barn, doing their best to drop both structures to the ground. The groundhogs were eventually trapped by a Wild Animal Control Officer. My dog Trisket patrols for, and harasses, chipmunks.

One winter my kitchen was invaded by white-footed deer mice. Usually outdoor mice, they had decided the back of my refrigerator was a better place to live. These field mice are tan with white underbellies. They are very heavy-footed. They tromped from my attic to my kitchen and back, all night long and I heard every footfall.

That was a particularly cold, snowy winter and I was often indoors with way too much time on my hands. So I propped a heavy wooden salad bowl upside down at an angle on a heavy wooden cutting board using a pencil to hold the bowl up. I smeared peanut butter on the cutting board under the shadow of the bowl, and grabbed a few tennis balls. I withdrew to a distance and waited until a mouse emerged scurrying under the propped-up bowl to eat the peanut butter. Then I let fly the tennis ball, hitting the pencil, and neatly dropping the bowl over the mouse.

The thing about rodents is, you have to take them very far away, preferably across a large body of water, before you free them or they will return. I drove my mice to a Park & Ride about 10 miles from Cripple Creek. So regular were my deliveries that a red-tailed hawk began waiting for me to drop them off.

There have always been squirrels in the barn at Cripple Creek, nesting in the rafters. But one year a pregnant gray squirrel found her way into the common wall between my cottage and the barn. She had her babies there. There was a great deal of baby squirrel merriment, scampering and squeaking in the wall and, eventually, the attic. And momma squirrel, needing perhaps some "me time", began gnawing herself a bigger space. She gnawed all night long while her children partied in the attic. Like a victim in a story by Edgar Allen Poe, I thought I would go mad... "the gnawing... the gnawing..." Finally she gnawed right through the sheetrock into my bedroom.

I tried everything to discourage the squirrels... Hav-a-Hart traps, loud music, predatory bird calls, aerosol gas sprays, and firearms. In the end I had to exterminate them. Then I had to refinish the bedroom wall and cover the wall in the barn with screen cloth.

My next close encounter with the rodent family involved flying squirrels. They simply climbed up the wall of my house and entered the attic via the eaves. Flying squirrels really are cute. And they make great pets (or pests depending on the nymber of sibilants you want to use). In winter they buddy-up for warmth, often in communities of fifty-or-so.

I chose to trap my flying squirrels humanely. I already had a trap for gray squirrels and a trap for white-footed deer mice. But the flying squirrels were too small for the first and too large for the second. As with Goldilocks and the Three Bears, I had to get a trap that was "just right". So I did, and began the arduous process of climbing a ladder to the attic each day and baiting a trap with peanut butter (which to this day I cannot bring myself to eat any longer). Then at dusk I had to retrieve the trap and drive the caught squirrels far away across a large body of water. Some squirrels I took to the area near my office, 30 miles south of my home. Some I took across the Susquehanna River, 30 miles east. Some went west to a state park on the far side of a huge lake.

After a few weeks I believed I'd trapped them all out of the attic. But one evening I heard a rattling noise on top of the louvered vent in the ceiling above my sofa. Something was lurking in the attic. I poked the louvers open with a broom handle, and two baby flying squirrels fell out onto the sofa. Trisket thought this was wonderful . He wanted to chase them. I had the presence of mind to drop a trashcan over them. Then I scooped them into a bucket and Trisket and I drove them far away over a large body of water.

This past autumn my handy-woman noticed the screen cloth on the barn wall had several holes chewed in it. And at night I began to hear the od familiar gnawing. Another squirrel had found her way into the wall between the house and barn. This time I bought much thicker wire screen cloth and, making sure the squirrel was not at home, my handy woman sealed the barn wall. She also sealed the eaves with screening. The squirrel spent a few days trying to get into her nest while I smiled to hear her desperation. Eventually she gave up.

Winter has been another cold, snowy one. And it was the first in years during which I slept untroubled by rodents. There were no gray squirrels in my walls. I am no longer a Hav-a-Hart gal, and the mice in the attic or kitchen succumbed to mouse bait after a few days. I have heard no flying squirrels.

But the weather has been warming toward Spring. The sun is stronger and shines longer. And this morning I awoke to the sight of several gray squirrels making an assault on the back wall of my house. I could not believe my eyes. One was clinging to the window frame. Two were sitting on the porch. There were a pair in the tree beside the porch. There was at least one on the roof and another climbing the house wall itself. It was The Baader-Meinhoff Gang of Ninja Squirrels.

The back yard is fenced with chain link and is still under several inches of snow. There is a dog-door to the yard which had been closed all winter. I'm sure the squirrels felt safe from predators inside the fenced yard. Trisket, faithful representative of law and order, was very eager to disabuse them of this sense of security. So I let him out.

With great pleasure I watched squirrels fall to the snow-covered ground with a sound like (very small) bags of wet cement. How they ran! Trisket sobbed with pleasure as he chased them around the yard until they escaped through the chain link, their dark gray bodies easily seen against the white snow. They ran terrified into the woods. It was a beautiful sight. The dog-door is now left open in case they try to return. And as much as I enjoy Cripple Creek, I'm thinking.... Condo