There was this squirrel (like that's something new) sitting on the corner of the fence, east of the garage. I walked straight at her--I would normally say "him," don't know why, but after what happened I know it was a woman. Anyway, I walked straight at her, thinking, "I'll scare this one but good."
She seemed fearless, like daring me to come closer. Which I did. She, at the last second, turned and scampered away along the top of the fence.
That is an activity I have seen from my writing room window at least 10,000 times since we built this house--squirrels running along the top of the fence.
I turned to go back inside, but just then a tiny squirrel came almost flopping out of the rain pipe. And then I knew why the first squirrel wanted stay where she was. She was watching.
This little squirrel, I saw his heart pounding, and he was not nimble, not sure on his feet. "You're a baby," I said in a friendly voice, which scared the soup out of him.
I wondered how the heck he got into the rain pipe. Was it from below? Or from above? I looked up to the roof, which is when I saw the mourning dove stepping down the slope. Do the doves have a nest up there too? I hear them every day now. Probably, yes, they have a nest on my roof. There are pine needles gathered where the roof slopes (like that's something new).
Sidebar: There are pine needles everywhere on my property from the neighbor's five--or is it six?--very full-grown pine trees, at least one of which is diseased, oozing something ugly, throwing down its dead needles. My new lawn guy says that is why my lawn is dying. It's the acid from the pine needles.
Back to the squirrel. He went around the corner as fast as he could, which was not squirrel-like fast. He tried to climb up the fence but couldn't do it. Too little, didn't know how yet.
So he started to cry. And it was loud and no doubt a cry for his mom. I said, "Yeah, I know. You are terrified. Poor baby."
Yes, this baby squirrel's predicament and resulting terror softened my heart. Because, if you know anything about me and squirrels, then you know I say who needs them? You know I say they are just rats with fat tails. You know I would like them to go away, stop their running all over my roof. And now I'm thinking they have a nest somewhere up there.
Wait. I said my heart was softened. I'll try to remember that.
So he cried, and I knew his mother would come running, and she did. Right at me while I was trying to seem harmless. I thought she was going to jump on me, but she veered off and went into the nearby pine tree.
Sidebar: I had a squirrel jump on me when we were new to Idaho. My two little boys were in the stroller, and I was walking the mile or two from our house to Isons' egg farm. We saw a squirrel and stopped. I, stupid, ignorant Californian that I was, thought, "Oh, how neat! A squirrel," and held out my hand to it. After hesitating a brief moment, it jumped on my hand, ran up my arm, across my shoulders, and down the other arm. And only then did I think of what its claws might have done to my little boys.
Back to my squirrel. I tried to see where the mother was up in the tree. She was making noise, but I couldn't find her. I moved toward the mailbox, a safe distance, and watched. No movement. No rescue.
That is when the mourning came down from the roof to the driveway and was soon joined by another. They did a little dance and the one flew off and the first one moved onto the side lawn and began pecking around for food.
All the while I could hear the sparrows who do nest somewhere on the roof near my writing room. And maybe the finches, too, are there.
I said, as I went inside my house, "Okay. My home is your home. Obviously."
A while later, the baby squirrel was gone.
