My day of reckoning finally arrived. Last month, I wrote a story about my fears; a story of a terrifying inevitability that filled me with dread down to the very last fiber of my being. A day so completely horrifying in its implications that I found myself lying awake at night, twisting and turning in the darkness as though I was trying to physically dodge what fate had in store for me. Alas, there was nothing I could do to save myself.
The baby red squirrels are here.
At first, I thought I might escape this fate altogether. The mother squirrel who visited my deck earlier in the spring had been gone for quite some time and I wondered if something bad had happened to her and her babies. Then, one day, a particularly small and trusting red squirrel appeared on the railing of my deck. I remember quietly uttering the words, “Oh no.”
Of course, I did so with a wry smile on my face.
This little squirrel was new to everything and my presence on the deck didn’t phase it in the slightest. Because the squirrel was so small it seemed to have a proportionately small appetite and it didn’t put too large a dent into the birdseed supply. I could sit at the table on my deck, writing in my journal with a little squirrel munching on seeds less than 10 feet away from me. This, I thought, was a good thing.
I was able to enjoy this period of peace and harmony for about a week, but then things took a dramatic turn toward the ridiculous. It was a beautiful Friday morning and I was sitting under the cottonwood tree enjoying a fresh cup of coffee and a good book. The trunk of the cottonwood tree is less than 12 inches from the railing of the deck and I was sitting in a chair positioned right next to the trunk and facing away from it.
It was at that moment that a virtual stampede of little red squirrels came charging down the driveway and onto the deck. I am almost certain that they didn’t notice my presence right away. If they did notice me it was only a tangential thought that crossed their young minds, which was completely overwhelmed by youthful exuberance. Two of the little squirrels ran right under my chair and the third scampered up the tree trunk and jumped onto the railing about 10 inches from my head.
What a riot of activity they produced. Zigging, zagging and chasing each other in endless circles. I tried to remain motionless, but even suppressed laughter causes slight and uncontrollable spasms of movement. I had no reason to fear, however, because the little squirrels either didn’t notice or they didn’t care. However, that all came to an abrupt halt when the mother arrived.
The mother squirrel took issue with me the instant she saw me. As if she were exploiting a “teaching moment,” she took up a position about five feet above my head and unleashed a barrage of scolding, denigrating and outright cursing that still hurts when I think of it. The ridiculous nonsensical frenzy of fun came to a halt and all of the young squirrels joined her in the cottonwood tree to give me an epic dressing down. I mean, yikes. Suddenly, I was not the master of my domain, but a trespasser in theirs. I couldn’t decide if I should be offended or if I should laugh even louder than I already was.
As children are prone to do, the young squirrels quickly tired of the “game” and went back to their own fun. The mother, much older and much less forgiving, sustained her diatribe for over 10 minutes in what would later turn out to be her “blaze of glory” kissoff speech. She had shown her offspring where food and water could be found and while they were distracted, she bailed.
I haven’t seen her since.
But even as I type out these words there are three little red squirrels causing quite a ruckus on my deck. They take issue with one another, but they seem completely unconcerned with my presence out here this morning. For now, they remain a great deal of fun to watch, but in the fall these little squirrels will be teenagers. They will eventually “turn” and I will no doubt become the object of their endless criticism and derision. Sound familiar moms and dads? Oh, what fun that will be.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 22 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service and the Massachusetts State Parks and currently teaches high school biology and physics. Visit www.speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.