Squirrels

The squirrels back east are small and grey. So small in fact that I once saw an entire family of seven or eight come popping out of a birdbox, one by one, like clowns from a Volkswagen. They had gnawed the entry hole just large enough to squeeze through and make it their home. As clever and industrious as these squirrels were, they were nothing compared to the slightly larger reddish-brown squirrels I have met here in Idaho.

I use the word “met” intentionally, as I have never come across any creatures in the wild as willing to communicate or eager to please as the squirrels here in the west. Posing demurely for multiple photos like runway models, boldly staring down approaching hikers in a squirrely “Mexican standoff” or carrying on seemingly deep conversations with the humans they encounter; the squirrels here truly seem to have minds of their own.

I recall a time that I spied a squirrel sitting very close above my head in the branch of a large weeping cherry-plum tree in our backyard. The double row of neat little teats on her underbelly told me she was a nursing mother. As I watched her peering down and staring at me fixedly, I had an eerie feeling that she was trying to tell me something. Her focused concentration and intensity were very unsettling and so insistent that I actually felt compelled to speak out loud and ask what she needed. Are you hungry? Thirsty? What is it you want?

Then I noticed that although most of the fruit was gone from the tree, there was a lone ripe plum dangling from the tip of a thin willowy branch that was too fragile to bear her weight. I plucked the fruit and laid it on the ground where she could easily run down and grab it. Although I did not stick around to see whether or not she retrieved it, as she may have been too timid to come so close to where I was standing (and I was definitely too timid for her to get that close to me) there was no doubt in my mind that her intention had been to get me to assist her in some way.

As unnerving as this experience was, it was nothing compared to what occurred one day while I was visiting the local nature center. As I was strolling around the exhibits there, I stopped to face an elevated berm abutting the walkway. This raised area brought what would normally be at ground level up to eye level, creating a sort of naturally occurring “stage”. This elevated earthen shelf was home to a grove of small evergreens whose droppings covered the ground with a bed of pine needles, boughs and cones.

As I stood enjoying these sights and scents, a small squirrel came creeping down the trunk of one of the trees. It looked straight at me then began arching its back with its front paws dangling out in midair while clinging to the trunk of the tree with its back feet, as if to get as close to me as possible without leaving the safety of its tree. After summing me up and deciding that I was no threat, it began a series of excited and energetic movements.

Running up and down the tree and tumbling round and round its base, it summersaulted and cavorted wildly. It skidded and wove in and out among the pinecones like a stunt rider on a pony. It would intermittently scamper back up to the safety of the tree, turning to take quick glances over its shoulder, as if to say, “Are you watching? Are you watching?” Then it would run back down and begin its frenetic gyrations again.

After many minutes of this acrobatic activity, the squirrel finally rolled over, flat on its back, lifted a large pinecone onto all four paws and began rotating it round and round in midair just like a circus performer tumbling a barrel.

This routine was so enthralling and well-choreographed, I fully expected to see the squirrel end it with a bow. To say I was flabbergasted by this performance would be putting it mildly. I was simultaneously astounded, delighted and awestruck by this enchanting display. But, mostly, I was humbled by my extreme good fortune at having been in the right place at the right time to be entertained by a creature so full of such spunky good nature and sheer unadulterated enthusiasm.

I could not end these squirrel chronicles without including the story of an animal possessed of a sublime lethargy easily equivalent to the unbridled exuberance of the previous animal. One day I was riding along a bike path that borders a nearby estate that is surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence.

Lying flat across the top rail of this fence was a squirrel, stretched out on its stomach with its head and tail fully extended and its four legs dangling straight down on either side.

This squirrel looked so bazaar and unnaturally relaxed in this completely prone position that I wondered if it was even alive. As I watched it lay there absolutely motionless for many minutes, my mind was jumping to all sorts of strange conclusions. Was it napping? Meditating? Catatonic? Tired? Was it simply because it was the laziest squirrel in town? Or maybe some weirdo had draped its carcass there as some sort of ghoulish prank. I was totally baffled.

As I stood there looking and wondering, it suddenly sprang up and hopped away along the top of the fence as if nothing had happened. It loped out of sight, in the casual arching hop so typical of squirrels, totally self-composed and seemingly happy. I, on the other hand, was left standing, scratching my head, flummoxed yet again by the vagaries of squirrel behavior.

But they aren’t fooling anyone. I’m sure it was the squirrel that struck up the conversation in the first place.