Oh sure. He looks sweet enough.

But he’s a little red dictator.

Screaming and chuntering at anything that even thinks of interrupting his meal.

And he prefers to eat alone, thankyouverymuch.

See that blur of black in the background?

That’s a much bigger fella waiting his turn.
Sometimes there’s a queue.

Everybody knows the rules.

The [seriously more dignified] greys and blacks hide out in the spruce, watching, waiting, drumming their impatient little claws, not daring to grab a morsel because that only means being chased unceremoniously into the next yard by a little twirp. And who has the energy for all that running on an empty stomach?

Plus it’s embarrassing.

The smart ones don’t even bother showing up until His Twirpness has burped and moved on.

Moral of the story: it’s not as easy as one might think, being squirrely.