Damn Yankees: Squirrel Division

While I was living in London, I began to notice the prevailing opinion that the American gray squirrel was responsible for the shrinking population of native English squirrels. There were newspaper articles, radio and TV programs, all asserting that some neglectful person brought the American squirrel over, and since then they were edging out the native red squirrels.

Often the new world squirrels would be compared to the British ones as “fat,” “aggressive,” and “gluttons.” Once, an article even said American squirrels were “murdering” the English squirrels!

In other words, as was said of American GI’s during WWII, the American squirrels were “overfed, oversexed, and over here.”

I decided to defend my fellow, uh, countrymen. I went to the local library and checked out every squirrel book it had. Every single one made these same claims. Except for one book, much to my relief. It explained that the reason English squirrels were dying out was that man had felled most of its habitat. It can only eat coniferous nuts (like pine nuts), and these forests had mostly been destroyed in the UK.

Whereas, of course, the American squirrels could eat anything: bagels, chicken, popcorn, you name it. No wonder “we” were taking over! Armed with my research, I went to an anti-American squirrel protest that advocated “execution” of the “murderers.” I discussed my findings. I wrote letters to editors. I was a one-person PR campaign.

Alas, the controversy continues, with the House of Lords debating the need for an “Eat a grey, save a red” campaign. So to my fellow Americans I say this: When you travel in Britain, try to blend in, don’t gorge yourself, and be nice to the natives.

A Squirrel’s Heart, Part 2

Some days I would have lunch in my little garden. This always seemed to attract my squirrel friends, who would beg for morsels and if that didn’t work, they would try subterfuge. They would crawl on their bellies, flattening themselves out like in an old Roadrunner cartoon. As if somehow by doing this I wouldn’t see them!

But my friend whom I met fresh from her nest would just straightforwardly get up in my lap. Sometimes she would take a little snooze, too. Imagine the degree of trust that took. I was at least 100 times her size!

When I did yoga, she often would gaze at me from outside the bedroom window. Squirrels are such athletes, I think she must have been interested in what she saw, almost from a technical point of view. And if I did a headstand, she would turn upside down, too. At that moment, a sort of smile would pass between us. Our own private joke.

The Way into a Squirrel’s Heart

While sitting on my small patio one spring, I spotted a baby squirrel emerging from its nest for the first time. I knew it was the first time because I had spent most of the previous day on my patio as well, and had not seen any small squirrels.

This baby squirrel staggered around, unsure of how to walk or even what it was seeing, but it looked at me. I was the first thing it had seen apart from its enclosed world of the nest.

I watched it for an hour or so, mesmerized. It fumbled around for awhile, but kept adding a bit more ambition with each new effort. It would go from one bush to another, back and forth, forth and back. What could it be doing, I wondered? Once it seemed to master a process, it would add another bit: It would go a tiny way up the bush–the first time, with great difficulty–then fall or climb down. Then over to the other bush, doing the same. Over and over, until it finally had aced both bushes, top to bottom.

In the coming days I would see it simultaneously learning its territory and developing its abilities to navigate and climb. It memorized every branch of every bush and tree, sniffing, examining, climbing, falling. It then began to learn to jump. The first time, when leaping from the original bush to the other, it miscalculated and fell short, thus unceremoniously plopping onto the ground. It then tried again, only to put too much oomph in the effort, sailing clear past the targeted bush, like some Roadrunner cartoon. The third time it finally landed on a branch, performing a wheelie.

The funny thing is, it was clearly aware that I was observing its little triumphs and humiliations. When it would mess up, the squirrel would pick itself up, look at me, and I swear it would make a gesture that said “Meant to do that!”

In this manner, she and I bonded. And for the next six years she trusted me, letting me into her private life as a squirrel.

To be continued.