One of the first things my freshman roommate, Jim McDaniel, and I noticed after moving into Roble Hall in 1971 was the army of ravenous squirrels darting about on the ledges and ivy-covered walls. So, as much for our own amusement as their welfare, we started a squirrel feeding program -- which evolved into a squirrel bathing program.
We began by scattering a few peanuts on a windowsill, then a few more just inside the room. When the squirrels got into the habit of creeping through the open window to retrieve their snacks, Jim and I came up with a new twist. We invented a technique whereby a volume of space at time t containing air and a squirrel would at time t + delta t contain air, a squirrel and approximately 12 ounces of liquid.
In other words, we'd douse our little visitors with a glass of water when they got to the windowsill.
The sopping squirrel would just stand there for a moment, looking puzzled. Then he'd shake himself off, come into the room as usual and fill his tiny cheeks with peanuts, slipping back out the window as the next squirrel stepped up for his turn.
Lest anyone accuse us of cruelty to animals, the bathing regimen was entirely voluntary on the part of the squirrels. They could easily have avoided our window if they wanted to. On the contrary, we sometimes had 15 or 20 squirrels lined up on the ledge, waiting for their baths and snacks. I suppose it goes to show that squirrels will do anything for a peanut -- and freshmen will do anything for a laugh.
-- John T. Robinson, '75
