TreatsTreaty
Pretty Bird's Peace Treaty
When COVID hit, I suddenly found myself with more time than money worries. Like a lot of people, I was collecting government assistance, and instead of spending much of it on myself, I ended up spoiling the wildlife around camp. Every week I'd buy a ten-pound bag of peanuts. Before long, my feeding schedule became part of the forest routine. Three times a day the animals would show up expecting their treats. If I was late, they seemed to notice. The biggest fans were the squirrels. They quickly learned that camp was a reliable source of food and became surprisingly comfortable around me. Some eventually gained enough confidence that they would take peanuts directly from my hand. The peanuts also attracted ravens. Unlike the squirrels, the ravens kept their distance. They were intelligent and curious, but much more cautious. They preferred to watch everything from nearby trees before deciding whether it was safe to approach. One raven in particular became a regular visitor. I named her Pretty Bird.
Over time I started noticing a conflict developing between Pretty Bird and one of the squirrels. The squirrel had a system. It would gather peanuts, eat a few, and then spend the rest of its time burying the extras around the forest for later. Pretty Bird had her own system. She would patiently watch where the squirrel buried its peanuts and then swoop in to steal the stash whenever the squirrel wasn't looking. The squirrel was not happy about this arrangement. For nearly two weeks I watched the same battle play out over and over again. Every time Pretty Bird appeared near a buried peanut, the squirrel would chase her away. The raven would retreat, wait for another opportunity, and then try again. It became part of my daily entertainment. Then something unexpected happened.
One afternoon I noticed that the squirrel had stopped chasing Pretty Bird. At first I thought maybe it had simply given up. But after watching for a while, it became clear something had changed. The squirrel would run into camp and grab a peanut. It would eat one. Then it would carry another over to where Pretty Bird was waiting. After that it would bury a peanut for itself. Then it would repeat the process. Eat one. Give one to Pretty Bird. Bury one. Again and again until the peanuts were gone. And just like that, the fighting stopped.
Pretty Bird no longer spent her time raiding the squirrel's hidden food caches. The squirrel no longer wasted energy chasing away the raven. Somehow they had reached an arrangement that worked for both of them. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but from where I sat it looked an awful lot like a peace treaty. I've spent years living outdoors and watching wildlife, and it was one of the more unusual interactions I've ever witnessed. Whether it was cooperation, negotiation, or simply two smart animals figuring out how to benefit from each other, I can't say for sure. What I do know is that after weeks of conflict, they suddenly seemed to have an understanding. Pretty Bird eventually became one of my many forest friends. Like Foxi, she gave me countless opportunities to watch wildlife do things I never would have expected. And she left me with a story I'll never forget—a story about a squirrel, a raven, and what looked suspiciously like diplomacy in the middle of an Arizona forest.
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